Pathway to Japanese Literature

Genkyū 2, Boshin (Year of the Elder Earth Dragon).
Second month: small.
Third Day, Kanoto-U: Clear. The sacred music and dance at Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine proceeded as customary. His Excellency the Shogun did not attend due to smallpox; Former Chief of the Imperial Table Ōe no Hiromoto performed the ritual worship as envoy. Additionally, Lady Masako visited the shrine.
Tenth Day, Kanoe-Inu: His Excellency the Shogun's smallpox caused severe mental anguish; consequently, vassals from nearby provinces gathered in multitude.
Twenty-ninth Day, Kanoe-Mi: Rain fell; during His Excellency the Shogun’s convalescence, there was a ritual purification bath.
(Azuma Kagami.
The following similarly.)

Regarding your inquiry about Lord Kamakura Minister of the Right, I shall now inform you of what I have seen and heard, striving to avoid embellishment and present matters exactly as they are.
I intend to recount matters with utmost care to avoid errors, yet should there be any discrepancies in dates or lapses in recalling esteemed names, I humbly beseech you to dismiss such faults with a light laugh—attributing them to my below-average intellect—and graciously overlook them.

How time flies—it has now been nearly twenty years since the late Lord Minister of the Right passed away. At that time, overwhelmed by grief at His Lordship’s passing, over a hundred vassals—beginning with Lady Masako, Lord Chikahiro the Governor of Musashi, Commissioner Tokihiro, Former Governor of Suruga Suetoki, Castellan of Akita Fortress Kagemori, Governor of Oki Yukimura, Lieutenant Kagetoshi, and others—took Buddhist vows. Even a minor like myself, barely past twenty years of age, became so grief-stricken and distraught that I too renounced the world without a second thought. Now, nearly twenty years later, having withdrawn to live deep in these mountains far from life’s sorrows, Kamakura itself—the Nun Shogun, the Hōjō, the Wada, the Miura—all seem but faint shadows to me now, no longer even distractions from my prayers. However, when I think of him—the late Lord Minister of the Right—my heart feels crushed. I can no longer focus on my prayers. Whether I behold flowers or gaze upon the moon, memories of that noble figure surge forth with such vivid intensity that it becomes unbearable. It's just that I feel nostalgic. People may have various perspectives, but to me, he was simply a dear person. Some may say he possessed a gloomy and melancholic disposition, while others might claim there still resided within him that underlying strength characteristic of the Minamoto clan. There were those who lamented what they called his cultured weakness, while others praised him to the skies, declaring how elegant he was. But to me, all such critical remarks seemed unbearably rude and presumptuous. There were those who, surmising from his circumstances, whispered knowingly of pessimism, despair, or profound resignation; yet in my eyes, His Lordship always appeared composed and carefree. There were times when His Lordship would burst into loud laughter. Judging from his circumstances, one might sympathize thinking he must be suffering terribly—yet to then witness His Lordship living with an unexpectedly bright spirit is, I believe, a common enough occurrence in this world. To begin with, even His Lordship’s daily life, as we observed it from close at hand, was by no means such a dark, pitiful thing. I first entered His Excellency’s service during my twelfth New Year. On the sixteenth day of that first month, Monk Hiromoto of the Monchūsho’s residence in Nagoe burned down. Three days later, my father brought me to serve at His Excellency’s side. In that fire, they say Monk Hiromoto reduced to ashes all the precious documents entrusted to him by His Excellency—everything was lost. Even when visiting His Excellency’s residence afterward, the monk seemed utterly dazed, merely streaming tears down his face. Seeing this, I could not suppress my laughter and ended up giggling faintly. Startled back to my senses, I glanced toward His Lordship in the inner chambers—and there he was, casting a fleeting look my way before breaking into a gentle smile. Even after many precious documents had been burned, His Lordship—far from showing any resentment—seemed rather amused by Monk Hiromoto’s distress as he stood beside me. To my eyes, that demeanor appeared divinely noble and precious, and I thought to myself: Ah, I would sooner die than leave this lord’s side. No matter what, there exists a world of difference between us and him. He was of an entirely different nature from birth. To use my poor mortal heart as a yardstick and attempt to measure His Lordship's nature through such reasoning is the very root of outrageous error. To claim that all humans are the same—what a shallow, self-righteous notion! It truly infuriates me.

It was when His Lordship had just turned seventeen—his frame already fully grown, his posture slightly downcast yet composed as he sat—that his figure appeared more judicious, mature, and reliable than any elder at court.

When I grow old, each year's ending makes me feel myself solitary.

By that time, His Lordship had already been composing such waka poetry that, though one might say it was innate, we could only regard it as utterly mystifying.
Regarding His Lordship’s poetry—though I must later provide various details—from the age of thirteen or fourteen he had already been reading works like the Shin Kokinshū, and while gradually composing waka himself, by seventeen he had become a poet surpassing even his instructors in excellence.
He would write with such effortless fluidity, then show them to us with a faint smile—yet every poem was startlingly vivid, leaving us with a peculiar sensation of being gently mocked.
It was almost like a joke.
But I shall reserve detailed discussion of waka poetry for later. Shortly after I began serving at His Excellency’s residence—I believe it was early February—His Excellency the Shogun suddenly developed a fever, which soon revealed itself to be smallpox. The commotion at the residence goes without saying; even among Kamakura’s townsfolk, rumors spread that His Excellency lay on his deathbed. Vassals from nearby provinces—Izu, Sagami, Musashi, and others—flocked to the residence in succession. As for myself, having only just entered service and being a mere child of twelve, I was utterly terrified. Even now, those vivid memories remain seared into my heart, unforgettable even in dreams. Allow me now to recount that time in greater detail.
In early February, His Excellency developed a fever; from the night of the sixth day onward, his condition was brought to a critical state, and by the tenth day, he was nearly at death’s door. That period marked the turning point, after which his affliction gradually lessened—as if peeling away layers of thin paper.
I cannot forget—on the twenty-third day at noon, Lady Masako arrived at His Excellency’s sickroom for a visit, accompanied by Her Ladyship the Shogun’s Consort.
I too was waiting in quiet attendance at a corner of the sickroom that day when Lady Masako crawled straight to His Excellency the Shogun’s bedside, gazed intently at his face, and declared in a tone as casual as one might discuss the weather: “I wish to see your original face once more.” Even with a child’s heart, I felt mine pound unbearably.
Her Ladyship the Consort, upon hearing this, could not bear it and collapsed in tears, but Lady Masako, still not averting her gaze from His Excellency the Shogun’s face, inquired of that noble figure in a calm tone: “Do you know…?”
On that noble figure’s face remained smallpox scars, resulting in a dreadful change in countenance.
Those in attendance all feigned ignorance of the matter, but when Lady Masako calmly broached the subject at that moment, we were left pale and feeling as though our very souls had fled.
At that moment, that noble figure gave a faint nod, then remarked with a smile that revealed a glimpse of white teeth.

“It will soon become familiar.”

How profoundly grateful I remained for those words. After all, that noble figure stood—how might one phrase it—utterly beyond compare. Thirty years had now passed since then, and I myself had reached the age where one heeds forty’s call, yet such crystalline serenity of mind as His Lordship possessed could never be attained—not at thirty nor forty, nay, not through decades yet unborn. What manner of preeminent being had he been? Might one term it unhindered fluidity? Not a shadow of reservation clouded his heart.

Truly, we too had initially deemed his countenance grievously altered. Yet whether through habituation—for His Lordship showed not the slightest fixation upon his own visage—or some subtler alchemy, all gradually came to perceive him again as he had ever been: smiling and dear.

I clung to this conviction—that for one of his refined spirit, even scars might enhance rather than diminish beauty—yet when lamplight fell upon his night-time face, casting sorrowful shadows too profuse to ignore, I found myself yearning despite myself to behold his original countenance once more, exhaling an unwitting sigh.

But such sentiments amounted merely to base self-attachment—shallow sighs unworthy even of worldly minds.

Same year.
May, a long month.
On the twenty-ninth day, Dīngmǎo: Hyōe no Jō Kiyotsuna—having arrived from Kyoto the previous day—presented himself at the palace this day. Being a man of considerable learning in courtly matters, he was granted audience with His Excellency the Shogun. Kiyotsuna offered a volume of the *Kokin Wakashū* as a hereditary treasure, explaining it had been transcribed by Minamoto no Mototoshi of the Left Gate Guards. The calligraphy displayed a master's hand; it might already be declared a treasure for future ages. His Excellency showed profound appreciation and further made inquiries regarding affairs in the capital at that time.

Though we speak of His Excellency's recovery from smallpox, given the severity of that grave illness, lingering effects remained—occasional slight fevers still arose—and thus throughout that year, His Excellency did not attend Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine's Great Scripture Assembly, the Release of Living Creatures Ceremony, or any other festivals, remaining secluded within the inner chambers of his residence.
No—not only that year, but even in the following year after the lingering effects had completely subsided and his fevers ceased, His Excellency did not visit Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine.
In the year after that as well, there were only proxy visits; he did not attend in person.
On the twenty-second day of February in his twentieth year—the third year since his illness—His Excellency finally paid his first visit to Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine. Yet it seems the people of that time indulged in vulgar speculations, claiming he had refrained from appearing at the shrine until then because he wished to hide the smallpox scars marring his face from others.
But that is mistaken.
Though His Lordship remained secluded in the inner chambers for an extended period, he was by no means living in gloom throughout that time; during fever-free intervals, he would joyfully compose poetry with those attending him, and he continually met with Monk Hiromoto and Lord Yoshitoki to issue rulings on shogunate affairs—no different from before. Not the slightest hint of concern over his own countenance could be detected—not even a speck.
Truly, the vulgar conjectures of the lowly ought to cease.
We believe it was simply that His Excellency showed deference to Tsurugaoka Hachimangū's deity.
Being every bit as deeply reverent toward the gods as His Late Father the Right General had been, the very thought of visiting shrines while still in a state of impurity following his grave illness would never have occurred to him; it was simply that he abstained for three years until both body and spirit were purified—a matter most straightforward and entirely reasonable.
I say again: refrain from such smug prying.

On the twenty-ninth day of the fifth month of that year—when His Excellency the Shogun had not yet fully recovered from his grave illness—Hyōe no Jō Kiyotsuna, a long-serving retainer of Her Ladyship the Consort who had been residing in Kyoto, presented himself at the residence bearing a volume of the *Kokin Wakashū* transcribed by Fujiwara no Mototoshi as a gift from the capital. Upon its offering to His Excellency the Shogun, he was exceptionally delighted,

“A treasure for generations to come.”

His Excellency had declared thus. Even when later presented with a privately transcribed volume of the *Man’yōshū*—a family heirloom from Kyōgoku Jijū Sanmi-sama—he had shown considerable delight; yet on this day, upon taking the *Kokin Wakashū* into his hands, his spirits soared to such heights that one might say it surpassed even that prior joy. Given his well-known scholarly inclinations, it seemed he had already read through the *Shin Kokinshū* by age thirteen or fourteen, and even for the *Kokin Wakashū* or *Man’yōshū*, he had likely perused fragments of transcribed copies and grasped their essential contents. However, in the New Year of that very year, all his beloved poetry collections entrusted to Monk Hiromoto’s library had been burned—a loss he met only with that beautiful smile of his, uttering not a word. Yet afterward, he appeared to suffer shortages of reading materials, enduring both constraint and tedium. Thus, Lord Kiyotsuna’s *Kokin Wakashū* must have been nothing less than timely rain after drought for His Excellency.

He summoned Lord Kiyotsuna close to his side, declared it a treasure for generations to come with flushed cheeks, and proceeded to inquire in detail about affairs in the capital—one matter after another.

His Excellency took pleasure in various pursuits—waka poetry, kemari football, picture comparisons, gagaku music, banquets—but above all else, he seemed to delight most in hearing news from the capital.

He yearned for Kyoto’s ambiance with nostalgia and, with profound reverence, cherished the noble figures of the imperial court with the wholehearted devotion of an infant. Indeed, he so frequently dispatched his attendants to the capital and awaited their return with such eager anticipation for their tales of the journey that even we attendants found ourselves equally impatient for their homecoming.

That day too, His Excellency spent entirely engrossed in listening to Lord Kiyotsuna’s various tales from the capital. Lord Kiyotsuna skillfully recounted the splendid and lively scenes of events in the capital from the ninth day of the past month—the New Hie Shrine’s Kogatsue festival and the Retired Emperor’s visit—with such vividness they seemed to float before one’s eyes. He declared that to avoid any errors in memory regarding the programs of horse races, mounted archery, and target competitions, he had properly recorded them thus on paper—whereupon he drew a scroll from his breast pocket and unfurled it before His Excellency, proceeding to explain: “In this horse race, the first match was between So-and-so and So-and-so, the second between Such-and-such and Such-and-such—with Lord Sanesada as drummer and Nagatsune as gong player. Truly, it was most splendid!” Thus did Lord Kiyotsuna demonstrate his thorough understanding.

At that mounted archery contest, a beautiful youth named Mineō also participated. Drawing his bow taut with precision, he swiftly loosed an arrow—only for it to miss the target entirely. Overcome with shame, he fled the scene on the spot and promptly took monastic vows. At this, Her Ladyship the Consort and all those in attendance alike collapsed into uproarious laughter.

"The capital is radiant and splendid."

His Excellency the Shogun remarked with a smile.
This Lord Kiyotsuna had originally served as attendant to Her Ladyship the Consort—who, as you know, was daughter to Former Major Counselor Bōmon Nobukiyo. When she entered Kamakura in her bridal palanquin at thirteen years of age, His Excellency being likewise thirteen at the time, they must have made a most charming young couple.
The Former Major Counselor was maternal half-brother to the Empress Dowager of the Retired Emperor's court and counted among Kyoto's foremost noble houses. Accounts suggest there had initially been recommendations from the regency faction to take as consort a daughter of Lord Ashikaga Yoshikane—a Hōjō relative—but though only thirteen then, His Excellency displayed keen discernment and—

His Excellency the Shogun’s Consort resides in Kyoto.

His Excellency the Shogun reportedly declared this with crisp finality, compelling his councilors to reluctantly consider daughters of Kyoto nobles. Certain intermediaries in the capital even labored to facilitate the match until at last Lord Bōmon Kiyotsuna’s daughter was settled upon as Consort. Regarding this matter too, I have heard vulgar gossip circulating—claims that His Excellency, precocious and capricious, desired a delicate Kyoto-bred beauty over some sturdy rustic daughter from Ashikaga. Nothing could be more false. To my mind, His Excellency simply wished—guided by his characteristically temperate disposition—to bring the capital’s radiance to the eastern provinces. This alone motivated his decree that the Consort be chosen from Kyoto. Yet if pressed further, I would say this too stemmed from His Excellency’s guileless intuition—an intuition that, though appearing trifling at the time, later proved uncannily prescient as years passed, revealing itself as a measure far surpassing multitudes’ deliberations in apt simplicity. Had he selected a Consort from among eastern vassals instead of distant Kyoto, it might have birthed another maternal clan in Kantō rivaling the Hōjō—the very nuisance of local in-laws being something His Excellency surely understood from childhood, having witnessed conflicts like those between Hōjō and Miura clans. Perhaps he foresaw such strife and acted accordingly—though even this risks echoing commoners’ flattering conjectures. Yet some stretch further still, preposterously speculating that even then His Excellency harbored grand designs for court-shogunate unity or even imperial restoration, deliberately choosing a Consort from the Retired Emperor’s maternal line—outlandish notions indeed.

This too was but clumsy overthinking, for His Excellency—whom I served closely—never harbored such secret schemes. Even in governance, much like when composing poetry, he would discern the moment’s atmosphere without hesitation and decide matters left or right—truly divine inspiration devoid of logic, effortlessly unburdened in all things.

Yet his heart’s pursuit of radiance remained extraordinary,

"The Heike are radiant."

He would remark thus and have his attendants repeatedly recite aloud the passage from war tales known as the "Loyalty Helmet": *"As the Genji pressed their attack where the Taira had destroyed Gojō Bridge and raised makeshift shields, Kiyomori—startled by giant salamander waves—donned his helmet backward. When retainers cried, 'Your helmet is reversed!', fearing they might mistake his composure for cowardice, he declared: 'Should His Majesty cross over, facing the enemy would place our sovereign at my back—an unthinkable disrespect. Thus I wear it reversed! Mark this well.'"* His Excellency would listen with evident delight, smiling as he did so.

He also favored Heike biwa recitations, frequently summoning biwa priests to perform episodes like the Battle of Dan-no-ura. When they reached passages such as *"Lord Tomomori, newly appointed Middle Counselor, boarded a small boat and hastened to the imperial ship, declaring: 'Now I perceive the world thus—*

"'Cast all unsightly wretches into the sea and cleanse this vessel,' he commanded," whereupon they swept, wiped, gathered debris, and raced between stern and bow to purify it with their own hands.

When the ladies-in-waiting cried, "Ah, Middle Counselor! How fares the battle? How fares it?", and he retorted with a dry chuckle, "At this very moment, you shall behold a most curious eastern man," even during such passages His Excellency would still let slip a glimpse of white teeth as he smiled.

"Brightness may be a form of ruin. People and houses, in darkness, have not yet perished," His Excellency would sometimes murmur to himself when alone. Even during recitations of *Heike biwa* epics, he seldom requested passages detailing the Genji clan's military exploits. Once, when hearing the chapter about Nasu no Yoichi—"Yoichi nocked a whistling arrow, drew his bow taut, and loosed it with a sharp *twang*"—the narrative continued: "The small-statured warrior's bow measured twelve fists and three nodes in draw strength; the arrow's shrill cry echoed across the bay as it cleanly split the fan's pivot point from an inch away." The whistling arrow sank into the sea while the fan soared skyward, tossed once then twice by spring winds before scattering across the waves. That crimson fan glowed against the sunset as it drifted upon whitecaps—buoyed then submerged—while out at sea the Taira tapped their gunwales in awe. Up through the passage—"On land, the Genji beat their quivers and roared"—His Excellency listened transfixed. But when the biwa priest continued: "Overcome by this spectacle, a fifty-year-old man in black-laced armor emerged from a Taira ship. Leaning on a white-hafted naginata where the fan had stood, he began a solemn dance," Ise Saburō Yoshimori commanded Yoichi: "By His Lordship's order—do this too!" Yoichi nocked a medium arrow and pierced the dancing man's heart with a *thud*, sending him sprawling headfirst into the ship's hold. Though some shouted "Fine shot!", others lamented "No mercy!" As the Taira fell silent and Genji stamped their quivers anew, His Excellency rose abruptly before the monk could finish. To me, it appeared His Excellency held little affection for his uncle Lord Kurō Hōgan. Those he truly revered were but two: his ancestor Lord Hachiman Tarō Yoshiie and His Late Father the Right General.

I must apologize for having gotten carried away and prattled on at length, but in any case, His Excellency the Shogun’s daily life in his youth was by no means dark. Rather, one might say it brimmed with harmonious and warmly misted air, and among the poems His Excellency composed during that time—though they did not gain particular renown among people—there were indeed beautiful ones.

Spring rain’s dew-lodging blown by wind, scattering fragrance—kerria flowers.

Would one call it artless innocence?
Had there been even the slightest worry in the heart, such a waka poem could never have been composed.

Genkyū 3, Year of the Serpent.
Fifth Month: Major.
On the twelfth day, Kinoe-Tatsu [Wood-Dragon day], Wada Saemon no Jō Yoshimori privately petitioned for appointment as Governor of Kazusa Province. His Excellency the Shogun consulted Her Ladyship the Nun Shogun, whereupon it was noted that during the Late Shogun’s reign, a ruling had been issued to halt samurai appointments to provincial governorships. Consequently, establishing a precedent to reject such petitions—and deeming women’s counsel insufficient in these matters—they found themselves unable to comply.

The same year.
Eleventh Month: Major.

On the Fourth Day, Kinoe-Uma [Wood-Horse], at the eastern courtyard of the Minor Palace, Wada Shinzaemon no Jō Tsunemori and his stalwarts shot targets—this event being convened due to Lord Yoshitoki’s counsel that the arts of bow and horse must not be abandoned—whereupon it was declared that contests should be held.

On the Fifth Day, Kinoto-Hitsuji [Wood-Goat], within Ōba Mikuriya of Sagami Province stood the Daibutsudō Hall. Its principal image was a particularly sacred Buddha, for the Late Shogun’s devotion had been no trivial matter. Yet upon hearing reports in recent years of its dilapidation, miscellaneous functionaries were summoned; on this day, an order was issued to Lord Yoshitoki to undertake restoration.

On the Seventh Day, Tsuchinoto-Tori, regarding the archery contest held on the Fourth Day: the losing faction presented their imposed tributes. Consequently, a grand banquet with revelry unfolded at camp headquarters, enlivening both public and private festivities. Thereafter, Lord Yoshitoki and high officials exhausted veiled counsel—asserting that should martial arts be prioritized and the imperial court vigilantly guarded, this would establish an enduring foundation for Kantō’s prosperity.
On the Fourteenth Day, Kinoe-Tatsu [Wood-Dragon day], Lord Yoshitoki petitioned that among his long-serving retainers, those with merit should be accorded status equivalent to samurai. Though this matter was privately deliberated, no approval was granted. It was strictly decreed that should such individuals be permitted, their descendants would surely forget their ancestral origins and mistakenly scheme to ascend within the shogunate—a cause for future calamity. Thus, it was proclaimed that this request must never be sanctioned.

Same year, same month.
On the twenty-seventh day, Tsuchinoto-Mi [Fire-Serpent day], Wada Saemon no Jō Yoshimori’s petition regarding his request for the governorship of Kazusa Province—following private deliberations—received an imperial command to temporarily await a decision, whereupon he was said to have been especially delighted.

It seems there were those among the common folk who clamored about Lady Masako’s high-handedness or Lord Yoshitoki’s underhandedness, but from what we observed, both Her Ladyship and Lord Yoshitoki possessed dispositions as straightforward as split bamboo—uncomplicated and clear.
They would state their thoughts bluntly, without hidden motives or pretense, and afterward be done with it entirely—scolding subordinates yet looking after their troubles without making a show of their kindness. Perhaps this was a trait of those born into the Hōjō family, but their personalities held an unyielding rigidity and meticulousness; they detested wastefulness, their attention reaching every corner. For us in our mischief-prone youth, this very quality felt somewhat stifling.
And then—though this is truly difficult to speak of—if I may venture to say, they were vulgar.
Of course, we had no qualification whatsoever to speak of such matters—indeed, I myself was at that time thoroughly coddled and raised under the care of Lady Masako and Lord Yoshitoki. To utter these words now fills me with such guilt that my mouth should rot, yet I must say it: those of the Hōjō family carried about them, somewhere, the faintest whiff of an ineffable vulgarity.
And so, that somehow unpleasant foulness gradually spawned a gloomy shadow—I cannot help but feel it became the foundation for the manifold calamities of later years.
No, they were by no means bad people.
They were all sincere, fine individuals.
They served His Excellency the Shogun with undivided loyalty, and their relations with His Excellency appeared most harmonious.
There were apparently no small number of people who plausibly gossiped that from the matter of Lord Wada Saemon no Jō’s petition for the governorship of Kazusa Province, His Excellency the Shogun and Lady Masako had engaged in dispute, their relationship growing increasingly strained—and that this had further deepened His Excellency’s loneliness and world-weariness. While this was not entirely groundless from the start, to speak of a “dispute” was an outrageous fabrication; persons of their noble station—moreover, a true mother and son—would never engage in such frivolous quarrels.
In all likelihood, throughout their lives, there was never such vulgar contention as disputes between those two.
It was mid-May, a fine day indeed. Her Ladyship the Nun Shogun came to the inner chambers and engaged in quiet discourse with His Excellency the Shogun. I too remained reverently in attendance. Truly serene—a noble mother and filial son so worthy of clasped hands in prayer—I felt deeply aware of my own fortune in serving them.

“Wada is requesting the governorship of Kazusa Province.”

“It will not do.”

Lady Masako replied lightly and without delay.
Yet at the corners of her lips lingered a tender smile, as though she found the young Shogun unbearably endearing.

Because Wada had also grown old.

His Excellency the Shogun had in various ways favored the elderly loyal retainer Lord Wada Saemon no Jō even before that time.
All the more so because in previous years, having reluctantly lost the Hatakeyama clan—whom he had also privately favored—His Excellency now treated this sole remaining great meritorious retainer with ever greater care, and even we could glimpse in His Excellency’s demeanor a disposition to grant this recent petition for the governorship of Kazusa Province as far as possible.
On that day, during a casual conversation with Lady Masako about trivial matters, His Excellency the Shogun happened to broach the subject [of Wada’s petition]. Lady Masako seemed to discern His Excellency’s sentiments perfectly; smiling, she replied, “No—it still will not do. During His Late Father the Right General’s reign, it was firmly decided that samurai appointments to provincial governorships would not be permitted,” and thus calmly invoked the precedent set by His Late Father. To this, His Excellency gravely nodded multiple times in earnest agreement, after which he formally expressed his gratitude to Lady Masako.

“No—but,” Lady Masako must have found His Excellency’s forthrightness utterly endearing, for she laughed with deliberate brightness to lift his spirits: “Your father was your father, and Masako has her own ways. Now, no more meddling from this woman hereafter.” Yet how could this be called a dispute? Far from it—the two of them joined forces to seek precedents from His Late Father the Right General’s reign, applying their minds to ensure no deviation from his policies, striving single-mindedly for benevolent governance. To claim their rapport had soured and thereby birthed His Excellency’s world-weariness—what preposterous slander! No—forgive my crude outburst in momentary agitation—but in all matters, just as here, I perceived not the slightest trace of those strange, oppressive tensions between His Excellency and Lord Yoshitoki that vulgar gossip alleged.

Between His Excellency the Shogun—noble, one might say imbued with divine inspiration—and Lord Yoshitoki, whose refreshingly straightforward disposition was coupled with sufficient prudence, there could be no conceivable reason for such foolish conflict to arise.

It was not that differences of opinion never arose between the two from time to time, but being figures of such unparalleled prowess—the likes of whom might not reappear in this land for hundreds of years—their swift metamorphosis into what is vulgarly called quick-wittedness, their effortless laughter and mutual nods of understanding, struck even my childish heart with exhilaration as I watched from the sidelines.

Compared to the spectacle of foolish men in the world endlessly bickering until their disputes devolved into disgraceful uproars of punching and slashing, it was as if there lay a world of difference between them.

On the fourth day of the Eleventh Month, a grand archery contest was held in the palace grounds. This came about when Lord Yoshitoki merely remarked, “Your poetry is commendable,” whereupon His Excellency the Shogun promptly ordered the contest, and Lord Yoshitoki humbly set about preparing it—nothing more. Yet as was their wont, those prone to malicious speculation spread rumors in certain quarters that His Excellency had reluctantly ordered the contest only after being sternly admonished by Lord Yoshitoki.

Truly, though the principals themselves are of no concern, when those on the sidelines raise a clamor over nothing, it is not uncommon in this world for matters to end in strange results.

The archery contest was something His Excellency the Shogun appeared to be enjoying wholeheartedly as he watched.

The following day, Lord Yoshitoki came to the inner chambers, expressed his gratitude to His Excellency the Shogun for the previous day’s events, and with a slight smile inquired, “How did you find it?” when—

“The archery contest is commendable,”

His Excellency the Shogun laughed while perfectly mimicking Lord Yoshitoki’s remark from the previous day, then added in a gentle tone—shifting to an entirely different matter—“As the Daibutsudō Hall in Sagami Province, to which His Late Father the Right General showed profound devotion, appears grievously dilapidated, please arrange for its immediate repairs.”
This utterance may have stemmed from His Excellency’s admonishing intent—that while martial arts held importance, reverence for deities and Buddha must not be neglected.
Lord Sagami laughed heartily with an “Ahahaha,” declared “I stand corrected,” and withdrew—or in common parlance, one might say he had been deftly bested in a single stroke.
Given his position as governor of Sagami Province, Lord Yoshitoki must have felt particular chagrin.
Their exchanges always carried this lightness—refined and blameless—with none of the gloomy confrontations rumored among the populace ever apparent to us.
Two days later, on the seventh day, a banquet was held at the palace.
As His Excellency delighted in lively affairs, he would host festivities at every opportunity, watching with genuine pleasure as people frolicked, his face wreathed in smiles.
That day followed the custom where those defeated in the Fourth Day’s archery contest treated the victors. His Excellency—finding this arrangement amusing—further enlivened the revelry by distributing sake and delicacies himself. The night’s banquet overflowed with vigor unlike the usual poetry or gagaku gatherings: some laughed while others danced; quarrels erupted here, drunken tears flowed there, and mock brawls broke out elsewhere. To His Excellency, this raucous feast seemed both novel and curiously entertaining; he drank more freely than usual and appeared in excellent spirits as he traded light jests with Lord Yoshitoki and Monk Hiromoto at his side.

“And yet,” said Monk Hiromoto—never one for heavy drinking—as he swept his gaze about with an elegant grimace, “though this be a banquet following an archery contest, such disorder seems excessive.”

“This much suffices,” declared Lord Yoshitoki, legs splayed wide in a cross-legged posture as he sipped from his cup and surveyed the lively scene with evident satisfaction.
“This will do.”

“Truth be told,” Monk Hiromoto ventured, darting a glance toward His Excellency the Shogun, “while post-martial revelry serves some purpose—one might endure it—these days bring too many inexplicable feasts.” His furrowed brows lent the complaint an old man’s peevishness.
Yet His Excellency appeared oblivious, smiling placidly all the while.

“However,” Lord Yoshitoki murmured absently, as if speaking to himself.
“Drinking with ladies and children is also an indulgence one cannot forsake.”

“Is that so,” said Monk Hiromoto, a faint smile gracing his cheeks as he leaned forward slightly.
Given that Monk Hiromoto’s words always carried layered meanings, even then I could not begin to discern what true intent lay behind this utterance.
“You too have grown remarkably refined.”
“I had only ever understood sake as a means to bolster martial spirit, but it seems there exist sundry other virtues to it as well.”

At that moment, His Excellency the Shogun murmured quietly as if to himself:

"Sake exists to intoxicate.
It holds no other virtue."

Then, staggering to his feet, he withdrew to the inner chambers, whereupon Lord Yoshitoki and Monk Hiromoto exchanged a fleeting yet sharp glance between them.
This trivial incident later became wildly sensationalized, spawning rumors that His Excellency had been earnestly admonished by Lord Yoshitoki and Monk Hiromoto to abandon cultural refinement and devote himself to martial arts.
Leaving aside Monk Hiromoto, Lord Yoshitoki—of all people—should have best understood His Excellency's exceptional innate gifts. For His Excellency had become Kantō's paramount leader at merely twelve years of age upon receiving the imperial decree as Seii Taishōgun, and by the following year was already personally adjudicating petitions concerning land steward appointments—though this was naturally accomplished through Lord Yoshitoki and Monk Hiromoto attending him with counsel. Even in later years, he prioritized resolving the people's legal disputes, overseeing magistrates to prevent judicial delays while dispatching them to provinces to eliminate burdensome appeals. Moreover, it was during his reign that direct petitions to the shogunate were first permitted, each case decided with crystalline clarity. That a man of Lord Yoshitoki's stature could fail to recognize this heaven-sent brilliance in His Excellency was inconceivable.
Had Lord Yoshitoki himself heard these rumors of earnest remonstrations, he would surely have started in surprise and offered a wry smile.
To my mind, even Lord Yoshitoki—for all his eminence—likely found no grounds to voice criticism against His Excellency's nearly flawless character.

Far from subtle remonstrance, seven days after that grand banquet—on the fourteenth day of the Eleventh Month—it was Lord Yoshitoki who found himself truly and earnestly instructed by His Excellency the Shogun in a complete reversal of roles, making for a most curious turn of events indeed.
The sight of Lord Yoshitoki—nearing fifty and in his prime of wisdom—being calmly admonished by His Excellency the Shogun, then just eighteen, without uttering a word in response filled me with such heartening gratitude that even now, the memory lightens my heart.
This too stemmed not from any shallow intent on His Excellency the Shogun’s part to settle personal grievances against Lord Yoshitoki, but simply from his solemn proclamation of righteous principle—a matter I had reiterated time and again. Within His Excellency’s heart always shone skies as crisp as early summer’s zenith, utterly unclouded by notions of hatred or resentment. Judging right as right and left as left without strain, he loved all people free from entanglement, conducting himself with flowing water’s effortless grace, devoid of attachment. Thus I firmly believe what he declared to Lord Yoshitoki that day held no hidden meaning—merely decisive words born of divine insight.

When Lord Yoshitoki casually proposed to His Excellency the Shogun—saying he wished to promote certain long-serving retainers who had shown particular merit over the years to samurai status and had come to seek permission for this—His Excellency smiled gently,

“Have you considered it?”

“Huh? What could that be?” Lord Yoshitoki stared blankly.

“It will not do.”

“Huh?” Lord Yoshitoki could only stare with eyes wide.
He had likely been considering nothing but trivial requests.

Descendants will stir up desires beyond that.

It was spoken in an imposing tone befitting His Excellency.
Lord Yoshitoki also involuntarily jerked his hands forward.
His Excellency the Shogun continued his admonishment further: should you elevate retainers to samurai status based on their merits, then within that individual’s lifetime, they may indeed be stirred by their lord’s benevolence and strive yet harder in loyal service. Yet when it comes to their children’s and grandchildren’s generations, they will forget the vital circumstance—that their ancestor was once a mere retainer who had been exceptionally promoted to samurai through extraordinary grace—and instead conceive outrageous desires: to rise further as shogunal vassals, to ascend to your presence, to meddle in governance, and suchlike. For such ambitions will inevitably arise, and thus may become the very foundation of shogunate turmoil—this was precisely what he earnestly imparted to Lord Yoshitoki.

"There is more yet to arise from this matter."
"This shall never be permitted."

He proclaimed in crystalline tones, paused as if some thought had surfaced within him, then bowed his head and chuckled softly,

"The way of gagaku holds greater virtue."

“I say gagaku is preferable,” His Excellency the Shogun declared.
Lord Yoshitoki also seemed relieved as he looked around and laughed loudly,
“Has my advocacy for martial arts brought ill fortune?” Lord Yoshitoki remarked, yet before a hair’s breadth could pass,
“That too exists.”

It was striking.
Of course, this was in jest; though something had been obliquely mentioned days prior by Lord Yoshitoki and Monk Hiromoto, there existed not a shred of base scheming in His Excellency the Shogun to nurse resentment and exploit this occasion for forceful retaliation. Precisely because no such intent existed could he laugh so composedly and remark, "That too exists." Had even the faintest lingering emotion clouded his heart, he could never have answered with such airy detachment.
Indeed, Lord Yoshitoki—as one might expect—appeared to have pierced through this truth; having received His Excellency's response, he instead adopted an expression of profound relief and turned toward us retainers attending nearby.

“How fortunate we both are,” he said in a low, earnest tone that carried no trace of empty flattery.

Following these events, His Excellency the Shogun began conducting affairs with ever-greater decisiveness—guided, one might say, by his own divine intuition—and ceased consulting Lord Yoshitoki, Monk Hiromoto, or even Lady Masako on every matter as had been his custom before. To us retainers observing him, it seemed he had at last commenced exercising his unique form of benevolent governance.
Regarding that persistent matter of Commissioner Yoshimori’s petition for provincial governance, it transpired that the Commissioner had now formally submitted a memorial reiterating his request—one that meticulously enumerated the Wada clan’s meritorious deeds since the Jishō era and emphasized how this single appointment constituted his family’s sole aspiration for posterity. His Excellency examined this exhaustive petition with utmost care and, though he had previously received counsel from Lady Masako regarding precedents established by the late Lord Yoritomo on such matters, nevertheless summoned Commissioner Yoshimori,

“I shall give it due consideration.”
“Wait for a time.”

He remarked as if it were nothing.
Commissioner Yoshimori’s aged eyes brimmed with tears of joy, but I—unable to forget the beautifully noble sight of the mother and son engaged in tranquil conversation on that fine mid-May day—felt my childish heart flutter with unease.
Yet such matters lay beyond mortal comprehension, and we who compared to His Excellency were mere blind turtles could do naught but place profound faith in the infallibility of every word and deed that issued from his divinely bestowed inspiration.

Genkyū 4, Kanoe-Uma (1210).
Fifth Month, Minor.
On the 6th day (Kanoto-Mi), His Excellency the Shogun made an imperial visit to Lord Hiromoto’s residence. Lord Yoshitoki of Sagami, Lord Bushū, and others attended. A banquet featuring waka poetry and other diversions was held, it is said. The host presented the Three Imperial Anthologies as a gift, it is recounted.
On the 21st day (Kanoto-Saru), His Excellency the Shogun proceeded to Miura Misaki. Aboard the vessel, gagaku court music was performed, enlivening every occasion. He also viewed small kasa-gake archery, with Tsunemori, Tanenaga, Yukihira, and others serving as the archers, it is recounted.
On the 25th day (Mizunoe-Saru), concerning the revitalization of temple complexes in Hiraizumi-no-ho, Mutsu Province: though the late Lord Yoritomo had left written instructions during his reign to manage these matters following precedents set by Motohira and others, the temples and pagodas had deteriorated year by year, with offerings and lamp-lighting ceremonies already discontinued—a situation lamented by the temple monks. Consequently, Hiromoto was appointed magistrate to ensure no negligence as before, and today orders were issued to the land stewards of the temple estates, it is recounted.

The same year.
Tenth Month, Minor.
On the 15th day (Kanoe-Uma), records concerning Prince Shōtoku’s Seventeen-Article Constitution, the locations and quantities of lands confiscated from the traitor Moriya’s lineage, and the treasures stored at Tennō-ji and Hōryū-ji Temples—all matters His Excellency the Shogun had been inquiring into these past days—were investigated by Lord Hiromoto upon his command and presented for review today, it is recounted.

The same year.
Eleventh Month, Major.
On the 22nd day (Hinoe-Uma), a memorial service for Prince Shōtoku’s portrait was conducted at the private Buddhist chapel, with Shinchibō Hōkyō Ryūsen serving as officiant. It is recounted that this fulfilled a long-held wish of His Excellency.

In the following Genkyū 4 (1210), though few distinct memories remain with me now, His Excellency the Shogun’s daily life grew ever more tranquil, his health appearing even sturdier than the previous year. Though he had been a man of frequent illness, I recall that in this year he never once took to seclusion.
The customary banquets of waka poetry and gagaku music were now frequently hosted without deference to anyone’s reservations, for His Excellency the Shogun had fully matured into adulthood. Monk Hiromoto and Lord Yoshitoki appeared somewhat reassured by this development, offering fewer of their usual meticulous admonishments over imagined troubles; indeed, they even began inviting His Excellency to leisure outings of their own initiative.
Truly splendid was the power of His Excellency’s virtuous influence.
The shogunate remained stable, the realm at peace. Whenever His Excellency the Shogun heard petitions concerning dilapidated shrines or temples, he would promptly investigate their historical precedents; should they merit restoration, he would summon Lord Yoshitoki and issue meticulous directives. Though not one known for excessive piety toward gods or Buddha, Lord Yoshitoki’s visibly flustered demeanor on such occasions became fodder for lighthearted jokes among the courtiers—truly peaceful days continued one after another.
I had heard those self-styled sages later proclaim that His Excellency the Minister of the Right’s era marked a critical juncture for the Minamoto clan’s survival—a cauldron of mutual enmity, jealousy, and conspiracy from beginning to end. Yet such matters cannot be understood unless one dwelled in its depths. In that very year, even the eight-layered cherry blossoms in the inner garden bloomed with an unusually heavy, exquisite beauty, their fragrance lofting high, while within His Excellency’s court harmonious laughter arose without cease, all immersed in blissful reverence for his reign’s prosperity.
In this year as well, His Excellency the Shogun busied himself greatly with scholarly pursuits, and even during his scant leisure from governance, he engaged in reading various texts.

"I wish to know more about Prince Shōtoku."

Uttering it like a refrain—"I wish to know more about Prince Shōtoku"—he had Lord Hiromoto and Monk Zenshin of the Monchūsho assist him in gathering countless heaps of ancient texts documenting Prince Shōtoku’s administrative deeds, which he then examined with extraordinary intensity; all this too occurred around that time.

Unparalleled through all ages—truly a divine incarnation of gods and buddhas.

There were days when he would speak in a voice grown hoarse, release a deep sigh, and appear completely lost in thought.

"I want even those in lands across the seas to know,"

His Excellency would often say.
When speaking of that truly august Prince Shōtoku of antiquity, merely uttering his sacred name made our very beings tremble with inexplicable awe—so lofty were his administrative deeds that we could not even begin to fathom their measure. Yet perhaps His Excellency the Late Minister of Right found profound instruction in such aspects as the Prince's boundless compassion, his divinely inspired conduct, and his sincere devotion to Buddhism—or so I can but dimly surmise through these shallow mortal contemplations.
Though Prince Shōtoku was said to be an incarnation of gods and buddhas, even His Late Excellency possessed countless qualities transcending this mortal realm. In the Seventh Month of the previous year, His Excellency the Shogun had dedicated twenty poems at Sumiyoshi Shrine following a revelation received in nightly dreams. Then on the twenty-fourth day of the Eleventh Month in Genkyū 4 (1210), came word from the chief priests of Bamyō Daimyōjin at Kenpuku-ji Temple in Suruga Province—a divine oracle received at the Hour of the Hare on the twenty-first foretold war in the Year of the Rooster. Unable to dismiss this, Lord Yoshitoki and Monk Hiromoto inquired whether they should reconfirm the prophecy through fresh divination—whereupon His Excellency smiled with lonely grace,

“On the twenty-first at dawn, I had the same dream,” he said. “There is no need for fresh divination.”

His calm reply made everyone involuntarily exchange glances. True enough, three years later in Kenpō 1—the Year of the Rooster—the Wada Rebellion erupted in Kamakura, reducing even his residence to ashes. Yet such mysterious dreams continued occurring frequently thereafter, and not merely in sleep—even during banquets, he would suddenly fix his gaze upon someone nearby and prophesy their fate.

Since these predictions always proved uncannily accurate, we could not help but believe his very nature differed fundamentally from ours from birth.

They say Prince Shōtoku possessed supernatural powers, his very body radiating divine light. For lowly retainers like us, such sublime majesty inspired only fearful awe that threatened to blind our unworthy eyes—how could we presume to comprehend it? Yet one of His Excellency’s stature might have glimpsed some fleeting truth, for he would fervently extol the Prince’s profound intellect, statecraft, and virtue.

“Prince Shōtoku’s governance stands as Japan’s eternal model,” he often declared. Though one imagines he sought to align his own policies with these ideals while nurturing diverse aspirations for the future, his tragic demise at twenty-eight—cut down at life’s very threshold—renders this loss not merely the Minamoto clan’s burden, but all Japan’s profound misfortune.

Genkyū 5, Kanoto-Hitsuji (1211).
First Month, Major.
27th Day (Kanoto-Hitsuji), Clear. At the Hour of the Tiger [3–5 AM], a major earthquake struck. This morning’s sun cast neither light nor shadow; its hue was reddish-yellow.

The same year.
Second Month, Minor.
22nd Day, Kinoto-Mi, Clear. His Excellency the Shogun made an official visit to Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine, with Asamitsu performing duties for the ceremonial sword. Since Genkyū 2 [1210], he had refrained from public appearances out of concern for his smallpox scars; today marked the first such occasion.

The same year.
Fifth Month, Minor.

15th Day (Hinoe-Tora), Hour of the Sheep [13:00-15:00]: Earthquake.
On the 19th day (Kanoe-Uma), a quarrel arose between pasture officials of Ogasawara-no-Maki and the deputy of magistrate Miura Hairokubē-no-jō Yoshimura. Judgment was rendered today regarding this matter. Such conflicts readily occurred when those styling themselves magistrates permitted arbitrary enforcement against low-ranking provincial workers—a situation arising entirely from neglected impartiality. It was ordered that Yoshimura's magistracy be swiftly reformed, with Sahara Tarōbē-no-jō being assigned to the post, it is recounted.

The same year.
Sixth Month, Minor.
On the 2nd day (Mizunoe-Uma), overcast, Hour of the Monkey [15:00–17:00], His Excellency the Shogun suddenly fell ill, exhibiting signs of grave urgency. Consequently, at the Hour of the Dog [19:00–21:00], a Sokushōsai ritual was conducted in the southern garden of the palace.
On the 3rd day (Kanoto-Hitsuji), Clear. At the Hour of the Tiger [3–5 AM], His Excellency’s ailment abated. The revelation from his divine dream was solemnly reported, it is said.
On the seventh day, Tsuchinoto-I (丁亥), the steward of Sammi Manor in Echigo Province arrived [in Kamakura] due to litigation and was lodged at a civilian dwelling near Ōkura. At dawn today, he was slain by thieves. After daybreak, Commissioner Yoshimori investigated the matter and, declaring it an act of enmity, summoned the deputy land steward of said manor. Consequently, the victim’s relatives—through connections among court ladies—privately appealed to Lady Masako’s faction. However, it was proclaimed that Yoshimori’s judgment held no discrepancy, and the matter reached Suruga no Tsubone as intermediary, it is recounted.

The same year.

Seventh Month, Major.
3rd Day (Mizunoe-Saru), Clear. At the Hour of the Rooster [17–19], a major earthquake struck; cattle and horses panicked in uproar.

The same year.
Eighth Month, Major.
On the 15th day (Kinoe-Uma), Clear. At Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine’s Hōjō-e release of living creatures ceremony, His Excellency the Shogun did not make an appearance due to a slight indisposition.
On the 27th day (Kinoe-Uma), Clear. His Excellency the Shogun, following his period of indisposition, paid his first visit to Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine.

The same year.

Ninth Month, Minor.

On the 15th day (Kinoe-Ne), clear weather. The young lord of the Konoe Shogun underwent tonsure in the chamber of Monk Jōkyō Sōzu and received the dharma name Kugyō.
On the 22nd day (Xinwei), clear weather. Zen Master Kugyō proceeded to the capital accompanied by Monk Jōkyō Sōzu to ascend the ordination platform and receive precepts. His Excellency the Shogun dispatched five attendant samurai; this was due to [Kugyō] being his adopted son.

The year Genkyū 5—when His Excellency the Shogun turned twenty years of age—was renamed Kenryaku 1 on the Ninth Day of the Third Month; yet this year saw frequent major earthquakes, nearby fires erupting, summer rains persisting so long they brought floods, and His Excellency’s health remaining unimproved such that he often withdrew into seclusion. For these reasons and more, those serving in the inner court wore uniformly somber expressions, laughter seldom arose, and it became an ominous, altogether unpleasant year.

That said, though he often withdrew into seclusion, during moments of improved spirits he would still engage in his customary banquets, his poetry continuing to flow as ceaselessly and beautifully as a spring gushing forth. Then too—was it around the end of the Fourth Month?—he visited Eifuku-ji Temple with all his attendants, standing childlike and absorbed for hours within the temple groves, eagerly awaiting the cuckoo’s first cry of the season.
At that time, though he waited for several hours, ultimately not a single cry of the cuckoo was heard, and he returned empty-handed. Now, that matter alone became but a meager subject for light conversation in the inner court, while beyond this, there remained scarcely any pleasant memories from that year.
His Excellency the Shogun’s administrative rulings too, from around this year onward, grew ever more severe—no, one might even say rigorous—with an uncanny sharpness, and with that, I could not help but feel a growing unease as the tranquil air of years past gradually faded from his presence.
It was mid-fifth month when a private conflict arose between pasture officials of Ogasawara-no-Maki and the deputy of magistrate Miura Hairokuhyōe-no-jō Yoshimura. Now, given that Lord Yoshimura was a personage of such high standing, everyone was aghast that mere provincial workers like pasture officials—lowly in status—had dared oppose his deputy, deeming it utterly foolish. Yet against this, His Excellency the Shogun handed down a judgment truly thunderous and wholly unexpected in nature.

“Miura was in the wrong.”
“If a magistrate allows himself to be defied by mere pasture officials, he lacks authority.”
“Dismiss the magistrate.”

With his customary composure, he stated this matter-of-factly.
At that moment, even I—seated in the lowest position—felt a chill run through me.
Truly resolute and peerlessly bold was His Excellency’s judgment—even one of Lord Miura’s exalted stature found all matters swept from consideration as if guided by heavenly principles alone. Though this became routine with each instance, I could only marvel wide-eyed at how effortlessly His Excellency delivered these pronouncements.
To be sure, for a deputy magistrate to provoke conflict with mere pasture officials—provincial laborers of low station—spoke poorly of his discernment as an administrator. When viewed through His Excellency’s decree, this ruling appeared wholly just and beyond reproach. Yet for us ordinary mortals, to witness one such as Lord Miura Hairokuhyōe-no-jō Yoshimura—a personage of no small standing—treated so summarily, indeed with what seemed unduly harsh severity, could not but leave us apprehensive of what consequences might follow.
Furthermore, in early June, Lord Wada Saemon-no-jō had the deputy land steward of Sammi Manor apprehended—a matter that soon grew complicated.
The steward of Sammi Manor in Echigo Province had been murdered by bandits who fled without leaving trace of their identities. Lord Saemon-no-jō consequently summoned that manor’s deputy land steward for questioning; however, when relatives of said deputy voiced objections and maneuvered covertly to appeal to Lady Masako, it developed into an awkwardly delicate affair.
At that time, His Excellency remained bedridden during his convalescence—yet even while ill, he never neglected governance. Thus on that day too, while still resting, he received reports from Lord Yoshitoki regarding various provincial lawsuits when Suruga no Tsubone—an attendant court lady—pursed her lips and slowly approached, offering a renewed bow before—

"I beg to report. An innocent person has been taken into custody—the deputy land steward of Echigo Province’s Sammi Manor—" she began, when Lord Yoshitoki clicked his tongue in irritation.

"What? That?" he said. "That matter has already been settled. His Excellency the Shogun has declared Lord Commissioner’s measures entirely appropriate." His displeasure showed through furrowed brows and pursed lips as he added, "And you—why meddle with such an affair?"

“Lady Masako has also interceded,” declared Lady Suruga, her voice quivering yet resolute.
She had always been a strong-willed lady-in-waiting.
“I earnestly beseech you to conduct a renewed investigation.”
“The measures taken by Lord Wada Saemon-no-jō in this instance are entirely contrary to reason, and as the deputy land steward—who weeps under false charges—along with all his relatives find their circumstances unbearable to witness, Her Ladyship the Nun Shogun too appears deeply concerned.”

Upon hearing “Lady Masako,” Lord Yoshitoki faintly smiled.
And then, with an air of having suddenly reconsidered something, he glanced at His Excellency the Shogun’s face upon the sickbed without a moment’s pause,

“It is not a matter of right or wrong.”

With his eyes lightly closed, he spoke swiftly.

Even Lord Yoshitoki appeared caught off guard, simply staring wide-eyed at His Excellency the Shogun’s face.

“Before Wada’s investigation has even concluded, if they stir up such a commotion, the proper order of things will be disrupted.
There is no need for trivial intercessions.”

Lady Suruga’s face contorted into an ugly grimace of tears for an instant; then, pressing one hand to her chest and writhing as though pierced through, she prostrated herself. His tone held no trace of anger, yet beneath those smoothly uttered words—untroubled by hesitation—I sensed a cold, severe resolve suffused with unearthly solitude, one that dared defy even his mother, Lady Masako. Such was the aura that even my child’s heart shuddered in equal measure. Though I speak of a “childish heart,” by that time I had already turned fifteen and become capable enough to serve as His Excellency’s companion in poetic exchange. Yet compared to His Excellency’s thoroughly mature disposition, there truly existed a world of difference between us—for though His Excellency had only just reached twenty years of age in this Kenryaku 1 era, by the seventh month of that year, during the great flood that engulfed the Kantō region, he had already composed that magnificent...

When time overflows its bounds, the people’s lamentations rise; Eight Great Dragon Kings, I beseech you—stay this ceaseless rain.

he composed waka poems such as that one and demonstrated the dignified bearing befitting Kantō’s great magnate in both name and reality.
Truly, though we speak of innate gifts, His Excellency achieved such heights of excellence in all matters that we ordinary mortals could scarcely fathom.

As for matters of poetry and such, I shall defer discussing them for later. Now then, it is time I turn to speak of that young Zen master.
As all are no doubt aware, the late Minister of the Right had two sons: the elder being Lord Yoriie—later known as the Venerable Nii-no-Miya—and the younger being Lord Senman—later known as the Minister of the Right. Though there were other siblings as well, they all passed away prematurely. After the late Minister of the Right departed this world on the thirteenth day of the First Month of Shōji 1, at the age of fifty-three, Lord Yoriie—then eighteen years of age and the legitimate heir of the Minamoto clan—succeeded to his father’s legacy. Yet concerning this lord, I myself know nearly nothing beyond what I have heard from others—that he was of sickly constitution, possessed a strong temper, was a master of kemari, and bore a beauty unparalleled in this world—though there can be no doubt he wielded extraordinary capabilities.
Yet perhaps it could be said the times were ill-fated—rebels emerged in Kamakura and the provinces alike, so that nothing proceeded according to His Lordship’s will. Moreover, owing to his notorious temper, his conduct showed signs of somewhat rash judgment, drawing criticism even from his own kin. Whether Heaven too had abandoned him, his illness gradually worsened until, in the eighth month of Ken’ei 3, he fell critically ill. Thereupon, Lord Yoriie resolved to designate his eldest son Lord Ichiman as heir, bequeathing to him the offices of General Protector and land steward over twenty-eight Kantō provinces while granting his younger brother Lord Senman stewardship over thirty-eight western provinces. This became the cause of turmoil: instantly, strife arose between Lord Ichiman’s maternal relatives, the Hiki clan, and Lord Senman’s maternal relatives, the Hōjō clan. The Hiki were annihilated, and at that time Lord Ichiman too—merely six years of age—was slain.
Upon hearing this, Lord Yoriie—the Left Guards General confined to his sickbed—became enraged and immediately issued written orders to the Wada and Nitta clans to subjugate the Hōjō. Yet the Hōjō learned of this with alarming swiftness, and instead even Lord Yoriie’s own safety became imperiled. Thus his mother, Lady Masako, forcibly ordained him into monastic life while petitioning for an imperial decree designating his younger brother Lord Senman as Shogun. As Lord Yoriie’s condition showed slight improvement, he was sent down to Shuzen-ji Temple in Izu Province—a great upheaval that was brought to temporary resolution through Lady Masako’s efforts, or so I have heard.
Lord Sa Konoe Zenjitsu spent his days in despondency at Shuzen-ji Temple and finally passed away on the eighteenth day of the seventh month of Genkyū 1 (1204), at twenty-three years of age.
Concerning his passing, there arose a sinister rumor that he too had been killed by the Hōjō’s hand—or so it was said. Yet this occurred when I had only just turned seven or eight years of age; to delve into such matters now weighs heavily on my heart—I find myself wishing to dismiss it all with a “Surely such a thing could not be.”
Now, Lord Yoriie—the Second Shogun later tonsured as Venerable Nii-no-Miya—had children including Lord Ichiman, Lord Zenkyō, and Lord Senju. His eldest son Lord Ichiman was slain alongside the Hiki clan during their rebellion by the Hōjō; his third son Lord Senju later became entangled in a seditious plot by Shinano Province’s Izumi Kojiro Chikahira and committed suicide after taking monastic vows; while his second son Lord Zenkyō escaped such tribulations and grew robustly. This Lord Zenkyō—at six years of age in Genkyū 2’s Twelfth Month—entered a monastery under Lady Masako’s direction as a disciple of Abbot Son’akira of Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Temple; then in Ken’ei 1 (1206), again through her arrangements, he was formally adopted by His Excellency the Shogun.
And thus in Kenryaku 1 (1213), he finally reached twelve years of age and underwent tonsure in Abbot Jōkyō Sōzu’s chambers, where his dharma name was established as Kugyō.
It was on the fifteenth day of Ninth Month when—after completing his tonsure—he was led by Lady Masako to pay respects to His Excellency; at that time I first met this young Zen master. To put it simply, he was a most amiable person.

With that bashful smile—one characteristic of those who had tasted life’s bitterness since childhood, seemingly open-hearted yet tinged with a faintly servile timidity—he returned each bow with meticulous courtesy even to those of us nearby.
In his efforts to act bright and innocent—a forced cheerfulness discernible in the demeanor of that mere twelve-year-old child—I felt both pity and a gathering darkness within my heart.
Yet indeed, his superior bloodline as the Minamoto clan's illustrious direct lineage remained undisputed—his frame large and sturdy, his countenance perhaps somewhat too delicate when compared to His Excellency the Shogun's imposing features—yet still bearing an endearing nobility befitting a noble prince.
Sitting pressed close to Lady Masako as if clinging to her, he gazed up at His Excellency the Shogun’s face and merely smiled.

At that moment, whether it was my imagination or not, His Excellency the Shogun appeared faintly displeased. For a while he uttered nothing, sitting motionless as usual with his back slightly hunched and eyes downcast, but eventually lifted his face with a weary air.

"Do you find monastic studies to your liking?"

he posed a somewhat unexpected question.

"Yes," Lady Masako answered in his stead.
"He has been most dutiful as of late."

“It may be forced, but I cannot deny it.” And once more bowing his head, he murmured low as if to himself: “That alone is the path to live.” Lady Masako extended her slender neck and swiftly surveyed her surroundings. As for why she surveyed them, it goes without saying that someone like myself could not possibly know—but might it not have been that even Lady Masako herself did not understand her own purpose, and had simply felt an abrupt impulse to glance about? After his tonsure, to devote oneself solely to scholarly pursuits or sutra recitation—to resolve that this alone was the path for a Zen Master to live—had seemed to us at the time nothing more than the most natural course, and His Excellency the Shogun’s words had held no particular strangeness. Yet later, when that tragic matter arose between His Excellency and the Zen Master, even His Excellency’s seemingly casual admonition that day came to feel somehow like a divine voice.

Same year.
Tenth Month, Major.
Thirteenth Day, Kanoto-U: Kamo no Chōmei—shrine custodian and lay priest of Kamo Shrine—who had recently journeyed here at Lord Masatsune’s invitation to pay repeated audiences to His Excellency the Shogun, visited the Hokke-dō Hall on this day marking the memorial of the Late Shogun’s passing. During sutra recitations, tears of nostalgia welled unceasingly; he inscribed upon a pillar this waka: *Grasses and trees bend low—autumn frost melts away—mountain winds sweep moss from stones where sky meets earth.*

Same year.
Eleventh Month, Major.
Twentieth Day, Tsuchinoe-Tatsu: His Excellency the Shogun concluded today the discussions on Zhengguan Zhengyao, having commenced them on the Fourth Day of the Seventh Month of the past year.

Same year.

Twelfth Month, Major.
Tenth Day, Tsuchinoe-Uma: Regarding inquiries about distinctions of honor between Japanese and Chinese military commanders, Nakaakira Ason compiled annotations on the matter and presented them for review. Today, Zenshin [Hiromoto] and others read these aloud before His Excellency. His Excellency raised points of clarification, and after repeated discussions, it is said he expressed profound admiration.

Moreover, in the autumn of that year, Councilor Lord Masatsune Asukai—then a master of kemari and contributor to the Imperial Poetry Bureau in Kyoto—brought out Venerable Chōmei Kamo, that fellow poetry companion of his, from his Kyoto hermitage, and together they journeyed down to Kamakura, whereupon Lord Masatsune recommended Venerable Chōmei to serve as His Excellency the Shogun’s poetic interlocutor. Yet this inspiration of Lord Masatsune’s did not strike us as particularly successful.
The lay priest was known by the dharma name Ren’in, and with word that this Ren’in-sama would be coming to His Excellency’s residence today, we too grew tense, while even His Excellency the Shogun had been eagerly awaiting this day since morning.
After all, when one speaks of Venerable Chōmei of Kamo, he was among Kyoto’s most celebrated poets—one said to have enjoyed no ordinary favor at the Cloistered Emperor’s court. Though his court rank as Junior Fifth Rank, Lower Grade through the Empress’s patronage was rather modest, at forty-seven he was granted the exceptional honor of being selected as a contributor to the Imperial Poetry Bureau alongside such luminaries as Regent and Minister of the Left Lord Yoshitsune, Minister of the Center Lord Michimasa, and Junior Third Rank Lord Teika. Later, for reasons of his own, he took Buddhist vows, secluded himself in Ōhara, then relocated his hermitage to Hino’s outer mountains. By the time of his journey to Kamakura in Kenryaku 1 (1213), he was nearing sixty years of age—a man who had utterly renounced the world. Yet as the saying goes, “To hide one’s name is to reveal it”: his poems were included in several places within the *Shin Kokinshū*, and his renown as a cultured man of refinement had spread even to Kamakura’s rustic corners.
On that day, guided by Councilor Masatsune, Venerable Ren’in paid his respects at His Excellency the Shogun’s residence, whereupon a banquet was promptly convened. Yet the lay priest remained detached—barely touching his lips to the sake cup offered by His Excellency before setting it aside—and continued gazing absently about the room.
Given his renown, I had naively imagined he must surely possess piercing eyes, an unblemished character, and a dignified bearing—yet he proved utterly unexpected: a plump, diminutive country old man devoid of distinction, his face ruddy as a monkey’s, nose flat, scalp bald, teeth fallen out, and demeanor unsettlingly frivolous. How such a man could have won favor at the Cloistered Emperor’s court remained beyond my comprehension.
And moreover, even His Excellency the Shogun maintained an air of tense formality in his hospitality,

“A little… stories of the capital, perhaps?”

Yet when addressing the lay priest, His Excellency spoke with such stammering deference—as though facing a venerable master—that it struck us as all the more peculiar.
Venerable Ren'in
"Hm?" said Venerable Ren'in, tilting his head as he strained to listen. Then, in a low voice: "No—these days, I know nothing of such matters." He remained thus, head inclined and gaze vacant.
Yet His Excellency the Shogun, with that characteristic air of his—as though he perceived all yet knew nothing—maintained a leisurely demeanor and gave a slight smile,

“The state of mind of one who has renounced the world—”
And he inquired further.
The lay priest still,

“Hm?” said Venerable Ren’in, tilting his head as he strained to listen. Then, in a low voice: “No—these days, I know nothing of such matters.” He remained thus, head inclined and gaze vacant.
“With all due respect, I must say—”
“The heart of a fish cannot be understood unless one lives at the bottom of the water.”
“The heart of a bird cannot be understood unless one entrusts their entire life to a nest in the treetops.”
“The state of mind in seclusion is entirely the same—unless one renounces all worldly attachments and lives day in, day out in a ten-foot-square hut, it cannot be understood.”
“No matter how I may explain in words the profound truth therein, I fear Your Excellency’s comprehension would remain elusive.”
he smoothly stated.
However, His Excellency the Shogun remained entirely unperturbed.

“The renunciation of all,”
he smiled graciously in assent,
“Had he succeeded?”
he said with a touch of hastiness in his speech.

“In that case,” Venerable Ren’in also began—this time with his habitual “Hm?”—without even straining to listen, he responded immediately. “To rid oneself of material desires is rather easily accomplished, but to cast away the heart that seeks honor is quite a difficult matter. As it is written in the Yogācārabhūmi-śāstra: ‘Worldly fame is akin to washing blood with blood.’ Thus, this desire for honor—compared to coveting gold—is all the more repulsive and strange, truly an insufferable thing. Due to Your Excellency’s wise inquiry just now, I shall candidly express Ren’in’s recent reflections—though called a renunciant, this one has yet to fully abandon the desire for honor. Though my form resembles a saint’s, my heart churns murky with discontent; though I dwell in mountain seclusion, not a single night passes without yearning for others. Is this the retribution of poverty tormenting me? Or has delusion driven me to madness? I have posed this question to my own heart time and again, yet no answer comes. Only the nenbutsu is one’s salvation.” Yet not a shadow of agitation showed upon his face; having spoken without faltering, he remained as detached as ever.

As for the motive behind renouncing the world—

His Excellency the Shogun’s manner in lightly posing the question was also truly magnanimous.

“It was a conflict with my own blood relatives.”

When he said this, I thought I saw a strange smile fleetingly appear on Venerable Ren’in’s wrinkled, ruddy face—though perhaps it was merely my imagination.

“What constitutes a fine waka?”

His Excellency the Shogun, in his usual composed tone, inquired about a different subject.

“At present, I find only unpretentious poems to be preferable.”
“Classical Japanese poetry should suffice if it pleases the ear and naturally stirs people’s empathy—it need not be imbued with lofty, pretentious meanings.”
Gazing absently elsewhere, Venerable Ren’in uttered those words as though muttering to himself, then—as if recalling something—nodded with a “Hmm,” and declared unexpectedly: “Having recently received instruction from Councilor Masatsune and perused dozens of Your Excellency the Shogun’s poems, I felt as though dawn had broken upon the very form of classical Japanese poetry I have long yearned for. It is no falsehood to say I forgot my advanced age and came floating out from my hermitage in Hino’s outer mountains to journey afar to Kamakura, partly at his invitation. Yet another reason compels me: it troubles me deeply that a poet of such exceptional talent should lack even one companion bold enough to offer candid counsel on verse. Pearls too grow dim without care—this old man presumes to meddle—but driven by unbearable urgency, I have come forth in this unsightly manner without regard for propriety.”

“There must be many immature poems.”

“No—their form refreshes, their melody rings with nature’s wondrous tones—truly they are all poems that startle the mind awake. Yet pray forgive me—these are but a rogue renunciant’s words. I beg you not to read falsehood within them.”

“What manner of thing is a lie?”

“It is an imitation.”
“For example, love poems and such.”
“With all due respect, Your Excellency does not yet comprehend the heart of true love.”
“I implore you not to imitate the capital.”
“This I must declare even at the risk of my life.”
“It is precisely because Your Excellency stands as such an exceptional poet that I cannot remain silent—such waste would be tragic beyond measure.”
“Love likened to wild geese, love likened to clouds, or love likened to robes—such themes have now become mere jests in the capital. Should you mimic their airs of wit to fashion verses feigning solemnity, Kamakura would be rendered—nay—forgive my plainness—a provincial laughingstock.”
“In Kamakura there must dwell Kamakura’s own essence.”
“Compose that alone with unswerving focus.”

“At dusk, the deep purple of long-familiar tresses comes now to glow unwittingly”—poems such as this one made Ren’in doubt whether they could truly be the work of that genius shogun.
“Your Excellency has no companions—no, even if you had many, none like this Ren’in—” he began to say when His Excellency the Shogun rose to his feet with a laugh,
“Enough.
“If only you had cast off that profound desire as well.”

With that, His Excellency withdrew to the inner chambers.
I too followed in his wake into the inner chambers, where the attendants were all censuring Venerable Ren’in for his presumptuous demeanor.
However, His Excellency the Shogun calmly,
"After all, he was no renunciant."

With that alone, His Excellency appeared not to take notice of anything.

The following day, Councilor Masatsune paid a somewhat hesitant visit to His Excellency’s residence. Even then, His Excellency the Shogun received him cordially; after engaging in various pleasant conversations, he even went so far as to send word through him to Venerable Ren’in that there remained much he still wished to inquire about, and that the venerable one should feel free to call upon him again without reservation.
Yet whether something had taken root in Venerable Ren’in’s heart, he thereafter paid two or three visits to His Excellency’s residence; however, each time he departed swiftly after mere greetings, and His Excellency the Shogun likewise appeared not to forcibly detain him.

He seemed a man without faith.

There had also been times when such things were murmured. Be that as it may, from our perspective, he seemed a man still harboring considerable ambition—we could not entirely dismiss the notion that he had come down to Kamakura solely to serve as His Excellency the Shogun’s poetic companion—yet the true sentiments of such an eminent figure remained ultimately beyond our comprehension. On the thirteenth day of the Tenth Month—the death anniversary of the late Minister of the Right—this venerable one visited the Lotus Sutra Hall, recited sutras, shed copious tears, and inscribed upon a pillar this poem: *“A mountain wind bends grass and trees, melts autumn frost, and sweeps moss from the sky.”* Shortly thereafter, he departed Kamakura for the capital. His deliberate visit to the late Minister’s hall, his tears, and poetic inscription struck us as a veiled slight toward His Excellency—a matter we found most disagreeable.

To that thoroughly cantankerous elder, His Excellency’s spirit must have seemed too youthful and innocent, leaving him unsatisfied—or so we surmised. He struck us as capricious and inscrutable, yet within months he reportedly completed *Hōjōki*, a text hailed across the realm whose renown reached even distant Kamakura. Truly he was an unpredictable renunciant—crude in appearance yet harboring inexplicable power. In my estimation, when they met, some precious spark—beyond our ken—ignited between them, becoming the catalyst for that work. Or perhaps that venerable one, having had his flaws laid bare by His Excellency’s unadorned brilliance, roused himself to write. You may laugh at such partiality, but I remain convinced.

In any case, that Chōmei—nearing sixty—journeyed from Kyoto’s hermitage to Kamakura bespoke extraordinary resolve. That in this transient world he still sought one person alone; that he approached His Excellency as a final hope—this much we grasped. Yet his brief stay, tears at the late Minister’s hall, swift return west, completion of *Hōjōki*, and death four years later—these matters held subtleties only adepts might fathom.

Our uncouth speculations should perhaps end here.

Though I have digressed at length about Venerable Chōmei of the Kamo clan, that small and unassuming old man who maintained an air of detachment became for us a figure cloaked in strangely vivid memories—one we could never forget in our lifetimes. Moreover, this held true not just for us: even His Excellency the Shogun himself seemed—though this may have been my foolish delusion—to have undergone some slight, truly imperceptible change after meeting that venerable one.

That man—whether one calls him a master or an eccentric—possessed an aura steeped in such profound karmic darkness that it seemed to radiate formidable power.

From around that time, His Excellency the Shogun ceased composing love poems with his former frequency.

Nor did he create other verses as before—those effortlessly penned with spontaneous inspiration grew scarce. On occasion, he would write only the opening lines on paper before falling into contemplation, setting down his brush, and tearing the sheet to discard it.

This act of destruction being wholly unprecedented, we attendants at his side felt our spines chill and palms sweat with apprehension each time it occurred.

Yet even as His Excellency tore these drafts, his countenance showed no particular distress; he would laugh beautifully as was his custom, white teeth glinting briefly through parted lips,

"The waka poetry has taken shape of late," he would say before lapsing again into absentminded contemplation. From this time onward, His Excellency the Shogun redoubled his scholarly efforts, summoning before him Monk Hiromoto of the Judicial Council, Lord Ōkannoryō, Lord Bushū, Lord Shūri-no-suke, and other vassals to collectively study various Sino-Japanese classical texts and engage in fervent debates. To his august character was added an ever-deepening gravity of presence, until those in his service came to revere him as a future shogun who might one day rival even the late Minister of the Right—a prospect we beheld with utmost reassurance.

Kenryaku 2, Mizunoe-Saru.
February (30 days).

Third Day, Kanoto-Tatsu: Clear. At the Hour of the Dragon, His Excellency the Shogun and the Nun Shogun set forth on pilgrimage to the Two Shrines, with Lord Sagami, Lord Bushū, Lord Shūri-no-suke, and others in attendance—or so it is recorded.
Eighth Day, Kinoto-Tori: His Excellency the Shogun and retinue made their honorable return from the Two Shrines.
Nineteenth Day, Hinoe-Saru: Following an inquiry into lax provinces neglecting their Kyoto guard rotations, a decree was issued this day: henceforth, any constable failing to report for duty without cause for one month shall serve three additional months. This order was proclaimed to provincial constables, with Yoshimori, Yoshimura, and Moritoki overseeing its enforcement.
On the twenty-eighth day, Kinoto-Mi, reports arose that several spans of the Sagami River Bridge in Sagami Province had decayed and required repair—a matter proposed by Yoshimura. Lords Yoshitoki, Ōe no Hiromoto, and Zenshin convened deliberations, citing ill omens: in the ninth year of Kenkyū [1198], when Monk Shigenari newly constructed the bridge and conducted its consecration, the late Shogun attended to form karmic bonds but suffered a fall from horseback during his return journey, passing away not long after. Monk Shigenari too met calamity—thus deeming this no auspicious matter. Though all agreed reconstruction should not be forced now, they petitioned His Excellency that unforeseen troubles might arise. He proclaimed: “The late Shogun’s passing occurred after twenty years of martial rule and attainment of supreme rank—a natural lifespan. Monk Shigenari incurred divine punishment for his own transgressions, unrelated to bridge-building. Henceforth, cease all talk of ill fortune. This bridge remains vital for pilgrimages to the Two Shrines and eases commoners’ travels—its benefits are manifold. Repair it swiftly before collapse.” Thus was the decree issued.

The same year.
May (Minor).
On the seventh day, *Kanoto-Tori*, Sagami Jirō Tomotoki incurred displeasure due to a scandal involving a woman; having been formally disowned by his father, he departed for Fuji District in Suruga Province. The woman in question was the daughter of Sado no Kami Chikayasu, who had come down from Kyoto the previous year and served as a lady-in-waiting to the shogun’s wife. However, Tomotoki—given to licentiousness—had sent her amorous letters which she rebuffed; thus, late the previous night, he had stealthily gone to her quarters to lure her out—or so it was reported.

In February of Kenryaku 2, I was permitted for the first time to accompany His Excellency on the Pilgrimage to Two Shrines.
It had been five years since the last pilgrimage in the first month of Jōgen 1, but at that time His Excellency the Shogun had been sixteen years old, and I had not yet entered service at his residence; thus this occasion truly marked my first time accompanying him since birth.
From this year onward, His Excellency the Shogun performed the Pilgrimage to Two Shrines nearly every year without fail—so devoutly that in Kenpō 2, he visited twice, in the First Month and Ninth Month. The depth of his reverence for the gods was perceived to surpass even that of the late Minister of the Right.
The late Minister of the Right too had been deeply pious, placing reverence for gods and Buddha at the forefront of his governance. In the first year of Juei [1182], shortly after raising his army, he had urged his weighty vassals to dedicate sacred horses and gold dust to Ise Grand Shrine. Not long after, he himself had made pilgrimages with his wife to Kamakura’s Amanawa Shrine—a branch of Ise—and it was said that from childhood, he had recited the Lotus and Kannon Sutras daily as spiritual practice. Though I had heard much regarding the profundity of his faith, His Excellency the Shogun [Sanetomo], since assuming office, had likewise dedicated sacred horses to shrines including Ise’s Inner and Outer Sanctums, Tsurugaoka, Nisho, Mishima, and Nikko; never neglecting pilgrimages. Moreover, his loyalty to the august personages of Kyoto’s Imperial Court—direct descendants of Ise’s Great Deity—had appeared unshakable as bedrock.
Though I intend to revisit this matter later, it was also in this year’s Second Month, shortly after His Excellency the Shogun returned from the Pilgrimage to Two Shrines, that he heard reports of provincial samurai tasked with guarding Kyoto growing negligent in their duties. Greatly alarmed by this intolerable state of affairs, he sternly proclaimed to all constables that henceforth, any man who shirked his duties for one month would be compelled to serve three additional months.
By now, His Excellency the Shogun had reached twenty-one years of age, and gradually, a solemn dignity—one might even call it august—with profound shadows had begun to manifest in his words and deeds. Moreover, on the twenty-eighth day of that same month, he rendered a truly splendid judgment.
On the pilgrimage to the Two Shrines, the Sagami River Bridge had deteriorated in places, and we experienced great peril while crossing it. At that time, His Excellency the Shogun commanded those nearby: "Many suffer hardship here—let repairs be hastened." However, concerning this order, today Lord Miura Hyōe-no-jō raised the matter, whereupon Lord Sōshū, Former Dainagon Hiromoto, Monk Zenshin, and others convened for deliberation. Their opinions proved difficult to reconcile, and after several hours, it was settled that the repairs would be temporarily postponed.
The reason—though rather unbecomingly childish—was said to lie in the bridge’s ominous history. Originally constructed by that Monk Shigenari of Inage Saburō, it was during its consecration that the late Minister of the Right attended, crossed it, and in December of Kenkyū 9 [1198], upon returning from completing the rites, suffered a fall from horseback. This led to his taking ill and passing away in the First Month of Shōji 1 [1199] at fifty-three—a tale known to all. Compounding this ill-fated legacy, Monk Shigenari himself soon conspired with Lady Maki and others in treasonous plots, meeting an ignoble end. With this and that grievance cited, they deemed it inauspicious—the bridge surely haunted by vile vengeful spirits—and thus unanimously resolved to postpone repairs. When this decision was presented before His Excellency the Shogun, he did not grace them with his usual gentle smile. Instead, adopting a solemnity that straightened every collar in attendance, he declared: “This is mistaken. The late Shogun’s passing came after twenty years of martial rule and attainment of supreme rank—a natural lifespan. To claim he met some grotesque calamity because of this bridge is unthinkable. As for Monk Shigenari—his crimes invited divine punishment; none of this stems from bridge-building itself. Henceforth, banish all talk of ill omen. Repairing this bridge will ease countless travelers’ hardships—can you not see this? Never abandon this duty to serve the people. Commence repairs at once.” In tones uncharacteristically forceful, he issued this decree with crystalline clarity.

The senior vassals turned pale and withdrew furtively, but Lord Yoshitoki alone remained beaming as he took his leave—even sticking out his tongue. Yet this gesture sprang not from disrespect toward His Excellency the Shogun, but rather from a sheepish self-reproach—as if to concede, "You've bested me!"—and I found myself smiling despite myself. Though widely reputed to be ill-tempered, Lord Yoshitoki revealed here this unexpectedly cheerful facet of his character.

To begin with, this Lord Yoshitoki had cherished His Excellency since his lordship's tender youth—one might say with an almost irrational partiality verging on obsession. His fervor knew no bounds when it came to Lord Chihata [Sanetomo], for he had joined forces with his father Lord Tokimasa to overthrow their political rivals, the Hiki clan—all to secure Lord Chihata's succession as Shogun. In Kennin 3 [1203], through these machinations, Lord Chihata received both the imperial decree appointing him Seii Taishogun and the posthumous name Sanetomo from the court. Yet when Lord Tokimasa—egged on by Lady Maki—later plotted to assassinate the young Shogun, Lord Yoshitoki swiftly detected this treachery. This time opposing even his own parents, he sheltered His Excellency within his residence, guarded him rigorously with his vassals, compelled his stepmother Lady Maki to commit suicide, and persuaded his biological father Tokimasa to take monastic vows—thereby narrowly averting catastrophe through this monumental intervention.

Thereafter, Lord Yoshitoki devoted himself wholly—both overtly and covertly—to nurturing His Excellency's development. As regent, he became governance's foremost guardian, serving tirelessly day and night with evident delight at shaping His Excellency into a shogun who might one day surpass even the late Minister of the Right [Yoritomo]. Yet as time advanced, subtle changes manifested in his demeanor.

One reason for this shift—though this lowborn fool dares speculate—may have lain in how His Excellency's peerless innate majesty gradually exceeded even Lord Yoshitoki's capacity to manage. Somehow, I cannot help but feel this dynamic sowed seeds for subsequent misfortunes.

From Kenryaku 2 onward, His Excellency began exhibiting an ever more solemn grandeur—a presence that drained the color from senior vassals' faces during the Sagami River Bridge deliberations. Nor was this transformation limited to governance; even in his customary waka composition, His Excellency achieved extraordinary refinement from this period onward, producing in rapid succession poems approaching divine works.

On that year's ninth day of the Third Month, His Excellency proceeded to his Miura Misaki residence accompanied by Lady Masako, Her Ladyship the Shogun's Wife, Lord Yoshitoki, Lord Bushū, Former Dainagon Hiromoto, the Chief Priest of Tsurugaoka Hachimangū, and ourselves among his retinue for daylong boating revelries. The poem His Excellency composed during this excursion transcended mortal craft in its sublime beauty—so profoundly moving that Her Ladyship the Shogun's Wife, ever tender of heart, recited it repeatedly through streaming tears.

Seeing waves draw near the rugged shore, he composed:

Waves surging upon the great sea’s rocky coast break, crash, split, and scatter—perhaps.

I believe no explanatory words are necessary.

Let us now speak of Her Ladyship the Shogun’s Wife.
As I mentioned previously, Her Ladyship was the daughter of Lord Bōmon Nobukiyo—a Kyoto noblehouse bearing imperial marital connections—who entered into bridal procession to His Excellency's household in Genkyū 1 [1204], at thirteen years of age.
By hearsay, on the fourteenth day of the Tenth Month that year, twenty young samurai—solely those of splendid appearance and vigorous spirit, specially selected from Kantō’s foremost houses—departed for Kyoto to receive the bride. Among them, the chief envoy Left Horse Administrator Masanori passed away from illness upon reaching Kyoto. Furthermore, Hatakeyama Rokurō Shigeyasu initiated a violent quarrel with Taira no Uemon Tomomasa—proprietor of their Kyoto lodgings—over trivial matters, an incident that later became a distant cause of the Hatakeyama clan’s downfall. Yet despite these disturbances, by the tenth day of the Twelfth Month they had successfully guarded the princess’s procession to Kantō without major incident. The splendor of that procession remains a topic of conversation even now.
On the tenth day of the Twelfth Month when departing Kyoto under a cloudless sky, the Retired Emperor was said to have observed from a viewing stand constructed along Hōshōji Temple’s western lane. At the vanguard marched nine young samurai from Kantō’s foremost houses in dazzling brocade robes—each a peerless paragon of masculine beauty—followed by two horsemen, two attendants, six ladies-in-waiting under woven hats, then Her Ladyship’s palanquin trailed by sixteen sumo wrestlers. Lords Nakakuni and Hideyasu followed in full warrior regalia, then Major General Tadayasu’s ten private soldiers and ten more comely youths from Kantō’s elite houses. Six additional palanquins for attendants brought up the rear, every garment glistening with gold and brocade beneath sunlight that left spectators dazed as if dreaming. Yet some insisted they heard stifled sobs escape the bridal palanquin—though such a thing should never have occurred. Still, being thirteen years old and journeying to an unfamiliar eastern land, she must have felt profoundly uneasy.
His Excellency could not have failed to perceive this, and it is believed he showed her every kindness.
When I entered service at His Excellency’s residence, Her Ladyship had already reached seventeen years of age. She appeared thoroughly accustomed to eastern waters and dialect, betraying no longing for Kyoto.
Throughout the late Minister of the Right’s lifetime, she had never visited the capital, having wholly become Kamakura’s own. On the very day following His Excellency’s passing, under Monk Shōgonbō Gyōyū’s guidance, she took Buddhist vows before nearly any shogunal vassal.
Though appearing fragile enough to be buffeted by wind—a frail figure aged beyond years—this noble-born lady maintained within her breast an unyielding pride befitting Seii Taishogun Minamoto no Sanetomo’s wife, discernible even in our daily interactions.
Given Her Ladyship’s virtuous nature, even Lady Masako—of formidable temperament—doted upon her unreservedly. Wherever she went, she took Her Ladyship along; they interacted with harmony surpassing true parent and child.
His Excellency’s devotion manifested strikingly when bandits attacked Lady Tango—Her Ladyship’s attendant—at Suruga’s Utsu Mountain in Jōgen 4 [1210], stealing treasures and ceremonial robes from Kyoto’s Bōmon house. Upon hearing this, His Excellency immediately ordered night guards posted at coastal stations west of Suruga and rigorous traveler protections enforced henceforth, commanding exhaustive efforts to recover the stolen finery.

To His Excellency the Shogun’s profound affection of this nature, Her Ladyship the Shogun’s Wife must have surely wept in private—or so I believe. They often made pilgrimages to shrines and temples together, and His Excellency invariably invited Her Ladyship to flower viewings, moonlit excursions, and boating parties. Particularly during poetry gatherings and art competitions, she proved indispensable—appearing almost as a gentle tutor imparting Kyoto-style refinement to His Excellency.

Thus their union remained ever harmonious in all respects save one melancholy shadow: they never conceived a child. That such peerless spouses—flawless in every grace—might be denied offspring by Heaven’s design struck us as no mystery. Yet those meddlesome gossips persisted in making lewd conjectures—how their tongues didn’t rot from uttering such filth bewildered us far more.

This I can state unequivocally: though the late Minister of the Right drank sake and wandered beneath blossoms and moonlight, never once in his august lifetime did he engage in untoward conduct toward the inner chamber ladies.

The recluse Kamo no Chōmei had remarked His Excellency lacked skill in love poems—though lines like “one who secretly pines” adorned his verses’ margins, these were mere fictions or, as Chōmei declared, outright falsehoods.

Upon reflection, that monk’s discernment proved fearsome indeed. Without hesitation he asserted His Excellency knew nothing of love—perhaps through waka’s mirror-like nature, he had pierced to the depths of that dispassionate temperament simply by reading those verses.

Over years there may have been two or three attendants who received faint favor—yet never once did base rumors correspond to truth.

Having first maintained purity in his own conduct, His Excellency would laughingly forgive drunken indiscretions among his retinue but invariably met lewd misconduct with severe punishment.

In May of Kenryaku 2 there was Lord Tomotoki—Regent Yoshitoki’s second son—a fair-skinned portly gentleman whose ineptitude contrasted starkly with his elder brother Lord Yasutoki’s ingenuity.

Though known for romantic pursuits—I cannot speak to particulars—he apparently fixated on one of Her Ladyship’s attendants newly arrived from Kyoto: a noble-born beauty whose subtle charms elude us warriors. In any case, he composed clumsy love letters—a foolish tale I recount with shame.

These missives proving ineffective, he abandoned all refinement—sneaking into her chambers at midnight to drag her out by force through spectacular ineptitude that saw him swiftly apprehended.

An ill-fated soul indeed.

Yet being Regent Yoshitoki’s favored second son whose transgression seemed mere court jest rather than true villainy, we expected dawn would bring pardon. But come morning His Excellency heard the account and—without deliberation—pronounced exile from Kamakura.

They know nothing of the tension-filled hearts of those who serve.
Separated from both parents and siblings, they serve.

With that, he turned his face aside, gazing quietly at the verdant leaves of the courtyard trees as he spoke.
We came at last to comprehend the depth of His Excellency's discernment—how he sternly censured the folly of one who, ignorant of the hearts of those serving alone at his residence day and night with utmost tension after being parted from parents and siblings, concerned himself solely with devising carnal schemes.
Lord Yoshitoki too remained in attendance at the scene, but being the sagacious man he was, appeared to resign himself at once to the irrefutable justice of the matter. Without lingering attachment, he petitioned His Excellency the Shogun to disown Jirō Tomotoki effective immediately. Thus did Lord Tomotoki, his hopes dashed, depart weeping for a remote hamlet in Fuji District of Suruga Province.
While restraining licentious impulses goes without saying, how scrupulously and properly His Excellency the Shogun cherished the ladies-in-waiting and pages serving at his august residence becomes luminously clear even through such seemingly trivial anecdotes as this.
I repeat and reiterate here that not a trace of such insolent, detestable facts akin to base vulgar gossip was ever observed.

Same year.
June: 30 days.
On the 22nd day, Hinoe-Saru (Jinshen), a memorial service for Prince Shōtoku was conducted at the Private Buddhist Chapel, with Shōgonbō and six other invited monks in attendance.
On the 24th day, Tsuchinoe-Inu [Jinshi], His Excellency the Shogun entered the residence of Wada Saemon-no-jō Yoshimori. The preparations proved exceedingly meticulous, with twelve scrolls depicting Japanese and Chinese generals being presented as gifts, it is said.

Same year.
July: 29 days.
On the Ninth Day, Mizunoto-U [Jingmao], regarding the Kamo River embankment—though it presented difficulties—an order was issued by imperial edict to swiftly remove those problematic sections.

Same year.
August: 30 days.
On the 18th day, Kanoto-U [Xinmao], an order was conveyed through Lord Yoshitoki today that Iga no former governor Asamitsu and Wada Saemon-no-jō Yoshimori should attend at the three-chamber Northern Guard station—a post where elite warrior attendants were selected and assigned to rotational shifts. However, though both men were senior vassals, they were included in this duty specifically to hear ancient tales.
On the 19th day, Mizunoe-Tatsu [Jinshen], an order was issued to the shugo and jito to prohibit falconry; however, it was stated that falcons for offerings to Suwa Taisha of Shinano Province would be exempted.

Same year.
September: 29 days.
On the 2nd day, Kinoto-Mi (乙巳), clear weather. Yoritoki, Former Governor of Chikugo, returned from Kyoto last night and presented correspondence from Lord Teika along with documents of waka poetry.

Same year.
October: 30 days.
On the 20th day, Jinshen [壬辰], during the Hour of the Horse [11 AM–1 PM], winged ants scattered before the treasure hall of Tsuruoka Hachimangū Shrine—their numbers beyond counting.
On the 22nd day, Kinoe-Uma [Jiawu], magistrates were dispatched to the provinces under Kantō jurisdiction, with an edict that the people’s grievances should be adjudicated locally—a measure intended to halt the nuisance of petitionary visits.

Same year.
November: 30 days.
On the 8th day, Kanoe-Inu [Gengxu], a picture competition was held at the shogunal residence. Men and women of all ages were divided into Left and Right factions to decide artistic supremacy. This event had been planned since early August, prompting extraordinary preparations—some commissioned Kyoto artisans while others deliberately crafted scenes of refined elegance. Lord Hiromoto presented a scroll depicting Ono no Komachi’s life cycle of glory and decline, while Asamitsu’s faction contributed biographies of our land’s Four Great Masters. Among numerous scrolls, these two works received particular imperial favor, resulting in the Left faction’s victory.
On the 14th day, Hinoe-Tatsu [Bingchen], regarding the picture competition of the 8th: the losing faction presented their assigned penalties; courtesans were summoned wearing hitatare robes adorned with maple leaves and chrysanthemums in imitation of children’s attire. Each performed elegant melodies to perfection—it was said those mastering such refined arts would attain longevity.

Same year.
December:30 days.
On the twenty-first day, Mizunoto-Mi [Guǐsì], cloudy: A Kyoto envoy presented records from the tenth-day appointments ceremony. His Excellency the Shogun had been elevated to Junior Second Rank.

On the 28th day, Kanoe-Ne, clear weather, Hour of the Dog [7–9 PM]: A minor commotion arose throughout Kamakura. The roads buzzed without cause—this was no year-end bustle. Suspicion lingered that certain parties might be plotting rebellion, or so it was said.

Being one who exercised such solemn consideration even toward the lowliest maidservants and pages, His Excellency the Shogun treated the shogunate’s senior vassals and retainers with incomparable care as well. All people alike bathed in his profound benevolence, their swaying allegiance to this young shogun resembling reeds bending before a field wind. Though this might be said to stem from kindness loftier than mountains and deeper than seas, the magnificence of his authority made it feel as though he had surpassed even his father, the late Minister of the Right.

To me, it seemed this very time—His Excellency the Shogun at twenty-one years of age, and further into his twenty-second year—may well have been the most prosperous period for His Excellency’s personage itself.

It was a most impertinent conjecture, and truly difficult to voice.

Yet to call what followed “darkness” would be excessive—laughter still rang out at court; banquets, flower viewings, and poetry gatherings continued unabated—but an eerie, sinister presence lingered. Though formless, a loathsome gray shadow seemed to prowl within and beyond the palace grounds, making one shudder inexplicably at times. This opaque, oppressive shadow of unease grew denser year by year, until by Kenpō 5–6 and into that sorrowful Jōkyū 1, incomprehensible dread filled all Kamakura like a foul stench. Though unspoken, those at court shared a silent understanding: some cataclysmic calamity *must* occur. Hearts no longer met in trust; without cause, people grew distant, suspicious, fearful—a far cry from Kenryaku 2’s vanished splendor.

In those days of Kenryaku 2, people’s hearts still harmonized warmly. What those above favored, those below innocently emulated. As for poetic arts, though initially deemed stuffy by the hard-boned eastern warriors—with even Lord Yoshitoki obliquely voicing caution—by this time, figures like Monk Hiromoto; Lord Tokifusa of Musashi, Lord Yoshitoki’s younger brother; his eldest son Lord Yasutoki; Lord Yoshimura of Miura; Lord Asamitsu of Yūki; Lord Tomomori of Wada; Lord Tomochika of Naitō; and Lord Shigetane of Higashi—all these fierce, martial generals had somehow transformed into full-fledged poets. With furrowed brows, they twisted their sunburnt thick necks while earnestly composing thirty-one-syllable verses, strolling the palace corridors—a sight that struck one as irresistibly quaint.

Driven by covetous hopes that composing poetry might earn forgiveness even for grave missteps, many retainers began studying thirty-one-syllable verses, causing the palace poetry gatherings to flourish ever more. That year also saw an extraordinarily grand art competition held, where the usual fierce generals-turned-poets joined ranks with ladies-in-waiting and attendants in participation—culminating in the startling upset of Lord Asamitsu’s ruggedly martial paintings claiming supreme victory. Days later, the losing faction provided a feast that became a raucous banquet; courtesans were summoned to dance and sing, their revelry so infectious even we lower attendees were compelled to perform arts, creating an atmosphere of truly carefree splendor.

However, His Excellency the Shogun was by no means always absorbed in such frivolity; his administrative rulings grew ever more incisive, while his longstanding reverence for Prince Shōtoku’s governance appeared to deepen into near-devotional study during this period. Indeed, on June 22nd of that year, he conducted an earnest memorial service for the prince at the Private Buddhist Chapel.

While His Excellency’s devotion to Prince Shōtoku stemmed from various additional reasons, his innate reverence for imperial personages—held without instruction, as if by natural instinct—manifested ever more distinctly in his absolute deference to the Retired Emperor’s Palace whenever matters arose. That same year, acting on an imperial directive, he commenced repairs to Kyoto’s Kamo River embankment. Yet come July, disputes erupted within the shogunate over labor allocations for the project. When the imperial court established new quotas and presented them to the shogunate, figures like Lord Yoshitoki—paramount among Kamakura’s leadership—descended upon the palace to protest that these impositions would gravely burden the regime. As turmoil threatened to erupt anew, what one might call a crane’s cry intervened—

“The Imperial Will transcends right and wrong.”

The gathering fell silent. Declaring it divine mandate, he solemnly admonished that regardless of difficulties, the imperial edict’s intent must be swiftly fulfilled. He was by no means one solely absorbed in waka poetry and gagaku music.

Indeed, when considering sincerity of heart, breadth of vision, loftiness of conception, or nobility of bearing, we perceived His Excellency to stand dozens of tiers above even Lord Yoshitoki and his ilk.

While His Excellency reveled in picture competitions and banquets, he also issued stern administrative rulings. Though he himself delighted in refined arts, he never compelled his retainers toward them indiscriminately—neither showering exclusive favor upon poetry-composers nor disdaining innate warriors who found verse-making baffling and art competitions intolerable. Take Lord Wada Saemon-no-jō Yoshimori: this man epitomized Kamakura’s most unpolished warrior—waka poetry left him confounded, art competitions were anathema, and even cuckoos’ songs drew stony-faced indifference as he devoted himself solely to his duties as Military Office Commissioner—a paragon of undivided loyalty in his advanced years. Yet His Excellency cherished this rustic lord above all others. Of those stalwart warriors surviving since his late father’s uprising, only Yoshimori and Asamitsu remained—scarcely filling five fingers. Particularly after Genkyū 2 (1205), when the incorruptible Hatakeyama father and son met tragic ends under Lord Tokimasa’s scheming—framed for crimes they did not commit—His Excellency grew ever more protective of these elder statesmen. He showed particular solicitude toward Lord Yoshimori: in his presence, poetic matters were seldom broached, replaced by earnest inquiries about the late Minister’s shogunate-establishing struggles or pressing for accounts of Yoshimori’s dozen-odd battles. The white-haired commissioner would shake his head and haltingly recount those days, departing with dignity befitting an honored elder—a routine witnessed time and again.

Moreover, from Kenryaku 2 onward, His Excellency’s favor toward this aged loyalist deepened further—so profoundly that on June 24th, he graced Lord Yoshimori’s residence with a personal visit. For the Wada clan, this marked unparalleled honor. His Excellency’s gift—portraits of fierce generals from Japan and China—proved characteristically thoughtful, precisely tailored to delight an old warrior. How profound must Lord Saemon-no-jō’s joy have been that day!

All at the residence celebrated the elder’s honor that would echo through generations—and indeed envied it.

This honor multiplied on August 18th when His Excellency ordered Lord Yoshimori—alongside another favored veteran, Lord Asamitsu of Yūki—to attend regularly at the Northern Three-Chamber Station near his person. This inner sanctum typically hosted young attendants like ourselves in rotating shifts—hardly a place for elderly figures to fumble about. Yet by decree, they were added to its duties so His Excellency might hear old tales intermittently.

No greater honor existed in old age; so tender was his consideration that even we outsiders were moved to tears.

Though aged, Yoshimori redoubled efforts to serve loyally—a path that should have secured glory for his descendants. Yet cruelly, the very year after this zenith of favor brought clan annihilation through great upheaval.

In April, shoots sprouted from palace pillars bearing white blooms; in October, winged ants swarmed Tsurugaoka Hachimangū; at year’s end, Kamakura’s roads echoed strangely. Though Kenryaku 2 was called peaceful, baleful miasma lurked beneath—anxious souls feared calamity. Yet who could have imagined... as for that Lord Wada—

Kenryaku 3, Mizunoto-Tori (Water Rooster).

January: 29 days.
On the 16th day, Tsuchinoe-Uma [Earth Horse], clear weather: His Excellency the Shogun commenced ritual purification for the Pilgrimage to Two Shrines.
On the 22nd day, Kinoe-Ne [Wood Rat], clear weather: His Excellency the Shogun departed for the Pilgrimage to Two Shrines, with Lord Yoshitoki of Sagami, Lord Tokifusa of Musashi, and others in attendance.
On the 26th day, Mizunoe-Tatsu [Earth Dragon], clear weather: His Excellency the Shogun returned from the Two Shrines.

Same year.
February: 30 days.
On the 1st day, Mizunoe-Saru [Jinshen], a waka gathering was held at the shogunate under the theme “Plum Blossoms Herald Ten Thousand Springs.” Lord Tokifusa of Musashi; Iga Jirōbyōe-no-jō; Wada Shinbyōe-no-jō; and others attended alongside ladies-in-waiting. Following poem recitations, linked verse was composed.
On the Second Day, Mizunoto-Tori [Guiyou], artistically skilled attendants were selected from among close retainers for Academic Council duty—assigned rotational shifts requiring constant attendance to fulfill immediate needs while narrating Sino-Japanese classical tales.
On the 15th day, Hinoe-Inu [Bingxu], clear weather: Chiba no Suke Naritane captured alive a monk—messenger of rebel forces—and presented him to Lord Yoshitoki of Sagami, who promptly reported these details to His Excellency.
On the 16th day, Hinoto-I [Dinghai], clear weather: Through Annen Hōshi’s confession, authorities apprehended rebels across multiple regions—130 ringleaders and approximately 200 accomplices. Investigations traced origins to Izumi Kojiro Chikahira of Shinano Province, who since two years prior had conspired to install the late Left Guards Captain’s son as generalissimo and overthrow Lord Yoshitoki.

Same year.

March: 30 days.
On the 2nd day, Mizunoto-U [Guiyou], clear weather: When it was heard that Izumi Kojiro Chikahira, mastermind of this rebellion, lay hidden at Kenkyō, the authorities dispatched Kudō Jūrō to summon him. Finding no recourse, Chikahira contrived battle, slaughtered Kudō and several retainers, then fled. To block his escape route, uproar swept through Kamakura—yet in the end, his whereabouts remained unknown, it was said.

On the 6th day, Dingwei, clear skies: A messenger from Danjōdaibu Nakamasa arrives from Kyoto. On the 27th of last month, the imperial relocation to Kan’in Palace occurred; tonight, rewards for its construction are conferred. His Excellency the Shogun is promoted to Senior Second Rank, whereupon the appointment document is presented.
On the 8th day, Tsuchinoto-Tori [Jiyou], clear weather. As rumors of armed uprising in Kamakura spread across the provinces, shogunal vassals from near and far gathered in numbers beyond counting. Wada Saemon-no-jō Yoshimori, who had been residing in Ihasu Manor of Kazusa Province in recent days, hastened to attend upon hearing this matter. Today, he presented himself at the palace and was granted an audience. Thereupon, [he] both considered his accumulated merits over many days and lamented the charges against his sons Yoshinao, Yoshishige, and others. Consequently, without requiring further deliberation, [His Excellency] was moved anew by [Yoshimori’s] father’s repeated military achievements and pardoned both sons’ crimes. Yoshimori thus withdrew with dignity befitting his advanced years, it is said.

Now, in the following Kenryaku 3—which became Kenpō on December 6th—truly, it was an eventful year.
From New Year’s Day onward, earthquakes struck us as most inauspicious, and indeed, plots and uprisings and conflagrations at the palace and major earthquakes and lightning strikes—nothing but upheavals that turned all Kamakura upside down continued one after another.
Yet regarding His Excellency the Shogun’s personal circumstances, while there must have been no small measure of hardship and heartache, at the same time, one could not deny that this period around that year appeared to be an era of his greatest vigor.
That year saw the successive composition of exceptional poems verging on divine works, while the immortal and cherished poetry anthology later called *Kamakura Udaijin Kashū* or *Kinkai Wakashū*—appeared to have been secretly compiled by His Excellency himself toward year’s end. The names *Kamakura Udaijin Kashū* and *Kinkai Wakashū* were naturally affixed posthumously—though I might add that “Kin” in Kinkai derives from the “sickle” radical in Kamakura’s character, while “kai” signifies “minister” as you know—thus “Kinkai” denotes the Kamakura Minister of the Right. To us, that anthology—now tinged with mournful memories and standing as the sole memento through which we recall his countenance—having been completed when His Excellency was but twenty-two years of age, serves perhaps as the paramount evidence that he was indeed no ordinary man.
In that year’s New Year as well, His Excellency performed the customary Pilgrimage to Two Shrines, and I too was permitted to join the retinue’s periphery. Shortly after departure, a blustery downpour arose, bringing great hardship—yet His Excellency remained remarkably carefree,

"In spring rain we trudge along the mountain path—who might this woodsman be?"

His Excellency the Shogun composed such jesting verses and set his retinue bursting with laughter.
Though conducted annually from His Excellency’s profound piety, this Pilgrimage to Two Shrines might well have been his sole diversion—for one who rarely ventured beyond his domains, a rare chance to roam at leisure.
First he secluded himself in prayer at Hakone Gongen, then set forth for Izu Mountain Gongen. From the day prior, skies had cleared utterly—not a cloud remained—and warm days followed, making our journey one of flawless delight.
We soon reached the pass after departing Hakone. Glancing back, we saw Lake Hakone below—its blue waters cradled small and tender among the trees.

O jeweled comb box! Hakone’s water-sea—does its heart span two provinces, swaying in the midst?

It was at this moment His Excellency the Shogun composed this verse, which we perceived as a flawless depiction. You may already know this, but in eastern parlance we call matters of the heart *kekere*, while *Nikuni* likely denotes Sagami and Izu provinces. At their border, that sensitive entity sways blue—a sight witnessed each pilgrimage, yet captured here with uncanny precision.

All His Excellency’s poems shared this quality: devoid of vulgar contrivances like hidden meanings or forced allegories, each stood transparent as his words declared—a clarity making them rare treasures. Even a fool like me privately wondered if waka’s essence lay solely in “correctness of form,” though I dare not elaborate further lest today’s poetic masters rebuke me. Yet regarding this Lake Hakone poem—some claim it veils allegories: that His Excellency metaphorized political wavering between Kyoto and Kamakura through its waters, while crasser minds speculate about romantic indecision between Her Ladyship and some maiden. To us, such interpretations chafe unbearably—so much that despite my ignorance, I feel compelled to explain: When we accompanying His Excellency glanced back at Lake Hakone during that year’s pilgrimage, it swayed exactly as his verse described—a living entity with a heart—leaving every retinue member too transfixed to resume travel. That impression alone suffices: His Excellency embodied perfection through poetry.

Repeatedly glancing back at Lake Hakone while ascending the pass, when we reached the summit, the vista before us abruptly opened—

When we emerged from Hakone’s mountains and looked back, there was a small island where waves broke. His Excellency asked his attendants if they knew this sea’s name; upon hearing them answer that it was called Izu no Umi...

When I cross Hakone Road, there lies Izu’s sea—waves breaking on an offshore isle in view.

Truly, this must be what they mean by a divine work.
Even that venerable monk Chōmei—who had once presumptuously declared, “The East must have its own Eastern sentiments”—now found himself wordless before this masterpiece poem, lowering his head in silence without contradiction.
Incidentally, in March of that year, an envoy from Lord Nakamasa, Danjōdaibu, arrived from Kyoto bearing news that on the twenty-seventh of last month at the Kyoto Palace, rewards had been conferred for the completion of the Kan’in Imperial Residence’s construction, and that His Excellency the Shogun had been promoted to Senior Second Rank—this coming mere months after his elevation to Junior Second Rank at year’s end. To receive such layered imperial favor already marked supreme honor; we observed him trembling with unworthiness at this grace. Moreover, appended to the appointment edict was a personal missive from the Retired Emperor’s Palace urging ever-greater devotion to loyal service. That night, His Excellency remained facing the front courtyard until deep into the night, gazing toward the western skies over Kyoto and weeping ceaselessly.

Even were a hundred thunderclaps to fall at once, none would resonate in the heart as powerfully as this.

With a pallid countenance, as if groaning low to no one in particular, that night he composed three poems with utmost reverence and care.

Song Composed Upon Receiving the Retired Emperor’s Missive

Having received my Great Sovereign’s decree, though my heart tears into a thousand folds—how could I ever speak this to others?

If I were in the land of Hingashi, the morning sun would cast Hakoya Mountain’s shadow as its form.

Though mountains may wither and seas run dry in this world, how could I ever bear two hearts toward you?

It is with great trepidation that I offer this explanation: Hakoya Mountain refers to Mount Myōkoya, synonymous with Sentō—that is to say, it appears to be the customary manner of reverently referring to the Retired Emperor’s Palace. Regarding this poem as well, there seem to be individuals who conduct unnecessary and irreverent inquiries—wondering what exactly the contents of that august letter were at the time, or what resolve His Excellency might have formed based upon it. Yet there is no need for such laborious investigations, for everything lies perfectly clear within the poem itself. Having been granted the august letter with profound humility, His Excellency experienced an impulse stronger than a hundred thunderbolts striking at once; as his guileless response, he composed into poetry his heart’s pure and absolute submission to the Great Sovereign—thus the letter’s contents may naturally be surmised. In other words, could it be considered as anything other than an entirely natural imperial edict urging His Excellency to further devote himself in loyal service to the court?

As I have explained at length before, His Excellency’s poems were always so frankly honest—never once did they employ those muddied expressions people call “having something caught between one’s back teeth.” At this time, there even appeared to be those who concocted elaborate conjectures—such as whether some secret pact had been formed between both parties—but if that were truly so, His Excellency ought to have seized the moment to discreetly send a reply in return. To go so far as composing a poem with deliberate ostentation would have been preposterous foolishness surpassing all bounds of absurdity. There were no such convoluted reasons whatsoever.

In loyalty to the Great Sovereign’s sincere heart, there exists no reason. As for His Excellency, we believe he composed these poems solely from a pure and unblemished heart—one moved to tears by boundless imperial grace, utterly free of duplicitous thought. Had there been even the faintest shadow of ulterior intent within his heart, such noble and limpid tones could never have emerged.

His Excellency was but twenty-two years of age at this time when he compiled his personal anthology of waka—later known as *Kamakura Udaijin Kashū* or *Kinkai Wakashū*—positioning these three poems as its concluding pieces. He subsequently presented this collection to the Retired Emperor’s Palace.

In our daily observations, even His Excellency seemed no ordinary mortal—merely beholding him filled us with dizzying reverence. Yet His Imperial Majesty’s virtue—which through a single edict shook that Shogun more powerfully than thunderbolts—transcended our insect-like comprehension. We could only weep at being born in this land where His Majesty towers resplendent above clouds.

If only Lord Sagami—so busied with shogunate affairs—had emulated His Excellency by basking in imperial benevolence’s periphery! But he differed fundamentally: though a statesman of unmatched skill and courage unyielding to pressure, he concerned himself solely with clan interests while spurning noble sacrifice. Thus did others gradually despise him until he exposed his base nature.

In February of that year occurred an incident where Izumi Kojiro Chikahira—a Shinano Province resident—secretly plotted rebellion against Lord Sagami; exposed prematurely, it threw Kamakura into turmoil.

This Izumi Kojiro Chikahira had allegedly plotted a grand conspiracy since around the Kenryaku era (1211-1213), secretly gathering allies to install Lord Chizuru—third son of the late Shogun and Left Guards Captain in monastic retirement—as generalissimo, aiming to annihilate the now-dominant Hōjō clan. While harboring no direct hostility toward His Excellency the Shogun himself, his hatred burned for Lord Sagami, who wielded power at the shogun’s side. Moreover, many vassals shared this simmering resentment toward Lord Sagami no less than Chikahira did. Just as their ranks swelled into a formidable faction, on February 15th, Lord Chiba no Suke Naritane captured a suspicious monk named Annenbo and delivered him to Lord Sagami’s custody.

This marked the grand conspiracy’s exposure. The monk Annenbo appeared to have acted as a roving envoy for the rebellion and thus underwent intense interrogation. Through his confession, over 130 comrades and 200 associates were apprehended. By Lord Sagami’s command, they faced immediate execution or exile. Yet Izumi Kojiro Chikahira—the rebellion’s mastermind—alone vanished without trace, suggesting considerable prowess and cunning.

His Excellency the Shogun showed no astonishment upon hearing of this incident. With composure suggesting prior knowledge, he devoted himself instead to meticulous inquiries into Chikahira’s lineage.

No anger toward the rebels could be discerned in His Excellency. When rebel Sonoda Shichirō Nariakira escaped custody at Lord Hōjō Saburō Tokitsuna’s residence and sought refuge with monk Keion—who urged him to take vows—Nariakira retorted, “Enough jests! I’ll rise anew to greatness!” After drinking sake and bidding farewell with “Well then,” he disappeared. Summoned days later to recount the events, Keion’s report prompted His Excellency to laugh aloud and order: “Admirable spirit! Find and pardon him at once.”

Another prisoner, Shibukawa Gyōbu Rokurō Kagemori, dedicated ten waka poems to Ebara Shrine before his execution. When eccentric souls brought these verses to His Excellency, he remarked lightly: “Skilled compositions. Pardon this man too.”

Through all this turmoil, His Excellency remained utterly unperturbed.

He showed no restraint toward Lord Sagami’s stern countenance nearby—flawlessly natural in demeanor—his magnanimity striking us as wondrous.

Among conspirators were Lord Wada’s sons—Shiro Yoshinao and Goro Yoshishige—now regrettably detained.

Their father Lord Wada Yoshimori, Commissioner of the Left Guards Division, had been residing at Iki Manor in Kazusa Province. Hearing rumors of Kamakura unrest, he rushed back only to find his sons captured. Aghast, he sought immediate audience with His Excellency—a request graciously granted.

When received, Lord Yoshimori prostrated himself instantly. Sweat beading his furrowed brow rendered him speechless momentarily before he haltingly listed his military merits since the late Right General’s uprising—over a dozen campaigns recounted piecemeal.

The protracted recital finally drew laughter from His Excellency midway through,

I understand.
“Your sons shall be pardoned.”

“This honor exceeds my station.”
“This old bone of mine—” he began before being overcome by sobs that shook his frame loose with weeping—but ah! The mutual affection between this lord and vassal shone so beautifully even to our bystander eyes.

Same year.
March (large month).

On the Ninth Day (Kanoe-Inu), clear skies: Yoshimori again attended the palace today, leading ninety-eight clan members to assemble in the southern courtyard. This petition sought lenient pardon for the prisoner Tanenaga, mediated by Hiromoto. However, upon learning that Tanenaga had masterminded schemes as the rebellion's architect, the request was denied. Yukiiye and Tadaiye immediately transferred him from their custody to Yamashiro no Kami Yukimura's charge, while Lord Sagami ordered reinforced confinement. During these proceedings, Tanenaga was bound hands-behind-back and paraded before his clan before being delivered to Yukimura—all attributed to Yoshimori's seditious designs.

On the Seventeenth Day (Tsuchinoe-Uma), cloudy: Wada Heita Tanenaga was exiled to Iwase District, Mutsu Province, it was reported.
On the 21st Day (Mizunoe-Inu), Wada Heita Tanenaga’s daughter, overcome by grief at her father’s distant exile, lay gravely ill with dwindling hope. Then Shimbē no Jō Asamori—whose appearance bore striking resemblance to Tanenaga—arrived claiming news of her father’s return. She weakly raised her head to glance at him momentarily before closing her eyes forever. That same night, her body was cremated. Her mother then fulfilled her resolve [to die], with Nishitani’s Acharya Izumi presiding over last rites, it was reported.
25th Day (Hinoe-Tora): Wada Heita Tanenaga's residential compound, situated before Ebara and adjacent east of the palace, had been fervently petitioned by various intimate retainers due to its proximity. On this day, Saemon no Jō Yoshimori, through the lady-in-waiting Gojō no Tsubone, lamented and petitioned: "This land proves suitable for establishing a night duty station—might it be granted?" The request was immediately conveyed [to authorities]. Yoshimori expressed particular delight, it was reported.

Same year.
April (small month).
On the Second Day (Mizunoto-Tori), Lord Sagami received the residential land before Ebara that had belonged to Tanenaga, whereupon he divided and bestowed it upon Yukiiye and Tadaiye—resulting in the eviction of its prior occupants. Wada Saemon no Jō Yoshimori and deputy Kunoya Jirō each took up residence there. Though Yoshimori harbored resentment, when comparing their standing, it was already akin to tiger versus mouse; thus he could not state his case again. Some days prior, when he had gathered his faction to petition regarding Tanenaga’s matter, there had been no word of pardon—nay, Tanenaga himself was bound hands-behind-back and paraded before his clan before being handed to the judge. Claiming this disgraced their collective dignity, from that day they entirely ceased official duties. Later, when Yoshimori received said land hoping to somewhat console his grievances, it was revoked without inquiry—whereupon rebellion arose ever more fiercely, as reported.

Truly, Lord Sagami was an oddly detested figure.
When His Lordship the Minister of the Right passed away, we over a hundred took monastic vows; the following year, through what they called the Jōkyū Disturbance, the Hōjō clan committed treason so monstrous it surpassed even madness—truly, why repeat such idiotic brutality? To call them rebel traitors fell short—they became Japan’s foremost scoundrels beyond words. Yet until then, they had committed no notably wicked deeds; still, people inexplicably resented them—their reputation remained unsavory.
As I had briefly mentioned earlier, from our observations, he did not appear as sinister as people claimed—there was even a carefree air about him that made him seem refreshingly straightforward. Yet somewhere beneath that disposition lingered a vulgar stench so unmistakable that even we children would feel shivers crawl down our spines. Whenever he entered a chamber, a shadow would instantly fall over the gathering, suffusing it with such joy-killing gloom that it became unbearable to endure.
People often spoke of the Minamoto clan as being dark, but we came to think this was not the darkness of the Minamoto lords themselves, but rather that Lord Sagami Yoritoki’s own gloom had spread to all corners.
Even his father Lord Tokimasa, when compared to Lord Sagami, still possessed an innocent boldness and brightness.
We could not discern from where within Lord Sagami that degree of gloomy aura emanated, but there could be no doubt he lacked some essential virtue of being human.
That innate spiritual deformity of his was perhaps unwittingly exposed through events like the Jōkyū Disturbance, yet prior to such outright treason, none could clearly discern the terrifying deformity within that man’s heart—though this did not preclude the possibility that His Excellency the Shogun alone might have perceived it. At the time, however, most in Kamakura simply harbored an instinctive aversion, regarding him with instinctive distaste.
Even in trivial matters, when that man acted, they appeared inexplicably vulgar—a circumstance that may have been unfortunate for him as well.
Previously, it had not been so pronounced, but ever since His Excellency the Shogun had splendidly come of age and begun handling administrative rulings magnificently on his own, Lord Sagami had grown conspicuously crass and gloomy.
Until then, he had not committed a single misstep; from the time of the Late Right General, he had served his master with such earnest diligence that one could almost hear the clink of his devotion—or so I heard from the elders. In the Late Right General’s prime, a quarrel arose with Lady Masako over his favored concubine—Lady Masako commanded Maki Saburō Munechika, father of the Maki lady, to raze the residence where the concubine was staying. Startled, she fled to the home of a man named Ōtawa Yoshihisa. At that time, the Right General’s own position was not particularly advantageous, so he remained silent. Later, under pretext of official business, he visited Yoshihisa’s residence with an unconcerned air to check on her. He immediately summoned Munechika and berated him fiercely: “Why commit such violence, you fool?” Seizing Munechika’s topknot, he sliced it off with his sword, leaving him shorn like a monk. When word reached Lady Masako, her fury and tears intensified; even the Maki lady joined in the outcry. Lord Tokimasa, Masako’s father—though sympathetic to his daughters—found himself mortified before the shogunate. At his wits’ end, he led his clan back to Hōjō Village without informing the Right General. At this, the Right General remarked to Kajiwara Kagesue: “For Tokimasa to retreat to his village with his whole clan over mere women’s affairs—what an exaggeration! Yet Emma alone among that clan wouldn’t do such idiocy. He’ll surely remain in Kamakura’s house defying his father—go see.”

"Emma" referred to Lord Tokimasa’s heir—that is, the future Lord Sagami—and Kajiwara Kagesue promptly went to observe the situation. Returning soon after with a beaming smile, he reportedly announced, “As Your Excellency predicted, Yoshitoki alone remains in the residence.” His Lordship the Right General rejoiced and at once summoned young Yoshitoki before him, declaring, “You are the one to whom I shall entrust my lineage.” Thanks to Yoshitoki’s earnest demeanor at this time, matters were swiftly resolved harmoniously on all fronts—yet even from youth, he had been peculiarly earnest, never one to be swayed by others’ whims.

In Genkyū 2 [1205], when Lord Tokimasa—egged on by Lady Maki—conspired with Monk Shigenari and others to falsely brand the prestigious Hatakeyama clan as traitors and attempt their execution, Lord Sagami remained unperturbed. With dispassionate composure, he told his father: "Desist. They are no traitors." He refused to budge an inch. The more his father and Lady Maki raged and fumed, the cooler he became. "They are not traitors," he declared bluntly and unpleasantly. "The Hatakeyama lords are peerless loyalists. Cease this foolishness. Why bluster about with such ghastly expressions? You shame yourselves." At this, Lady Maki finally burst into tears: "Must you torment me so just because I'm your stepmother? Is a stepmother so hateful? Yes—hateful! You've always made me the villain! How far will you torture me? Can't you feign filial piety just once?" The young Lord Sagami rose with a wry smile. "Very well—just this once," he said, reportedly joining the Hatakeyama suppression campaign.

In ordinary circumstances, even if one declares “only once,” when pressed further with “just one more time,” though having already refused by stating “I said only once,” people might reluctantly comply while grumbling “there’s no helping it.” But with Lord Sagami, such things never occurred—when he said “once only,” it meant precisely that: once only, without jest or compromise, after which he would firmly refuse.

As proof of this, when Lord Tokimasa—yet again incited by Lady Maki—subsequently plotted the audacious conspiracy to assassinate His Excellency the Shogun, Lord Sagami from the very outset fought against his father and stepmother as enemies, mercilessly crushing their schemes to dust. He exiled his father from Kamakura and urged his stepmother Lady Maki to end her life.

In his character existed not a trace of indecisiveness; with utmost seriousness and precision did he dispose of matters.

That he alone had remained in the residence during the Late Right General’s era; that he had flatly declared the Hatakeyama clan no traitors; that he had risen saying “just this once” when importuned by his weeping stepmother; that he later openly opposed his parents’ wicked conspiracy to protect His Excellency the Shogun—none of these were mistaken in conduct. Far from error, they seemed splendidly correct, acts of single-minded loyalty. Yet somehow, an unpleasant shadow lurked there—a sense that this righteousness was not true righteousness. Though resembling it, it differed utterly somewhere, carrying a dreadfully sinister quality. Or is this perception mine alone?

It was indeed true that voices decrying Hōjō tyranny had grown louder across Kamakura at that time. Yet when pressed to specify which Hōjō member had abused authority and how, matters grew murky. Even Lady Masako—with His Excellency the Shogun having splendidly come of age and now handling all administrative rulings with crisp efficiency—had no need to interject herself at every turn. In those days, she busied herself solely with caring for the late Second-Rank Monk’s orphaned children, managing interactions among Hōjō kinfolk, accompanying Her Ladyship on Tsurugaoka pilgrimages, or joining His Excellency’s boat excursions—nowhere could one detect even a shadow of despotic overreach.

Lord Sagami remained wholly devoted to his duties—pursued from dawn till dusk by the minutiae of shogunate tasks, laboring scrupulously with that characteristic abnormal rectitude of his. At this time, he scarcely opposed His Excellency the Shogun’s august will, nor did he exhibit either leisure or ambition to conspire anew with his clan over schemes.

Moreover, Lord Yasutoki, Master of the Office of Repairs—the eldest son—possessed such exemplary character and enjoyed such splendid favor from His Excellency that when the Academic Council was established in February of Kenryaku 3 (1213), gathering only those attendants distinguished for exceptional artistic talents, he alone was selected to lead it—shouldering his clan’s reputation singlehandedly. Now, it could hardly be said that Lord Tomotoki, the Second Son, acted tyrannically—indeed, tyranny was irrelevant when he had been disowned for licentious misconduct—and as for Lord Tokifusa of Musashi Province, Lord Sagami’s younger brother, he appeared merely mild-mannered, remaining unwaveringly subordinate to his elder brother. Thus did matters grow utterly nebulous: who exactly was behaving despotically? In what manner did they overreach?

To resent Lord Sagami occupying the shogunate’s highest seat as regent defied reason, for it was this Hōjō family that first aided the late Right General. Though Lord Wada Yoshimori often boasted of military merits since the uprising, it was none other than Lord Sagami’s father Tokimasa who had perceived the exiled Lord Yoritomo in Izu as extraordinary at first glance—who tolerated public outrage over his eldest daughter’s intimacy [with Yoritomo], who sheltered him undaunted by Taira dominance, and who dedicated his entire clan—fewer than a hundred souls—to boldly raise the Minamoto standard in Izu’s hinterlands.

When the Hōjō held no real power, Tokimasa made a reckless wager on Yoritomo’s promise. In Jishō 4 [1180], emboldened by Prince Mochihito’s anti-Taira edict, they resolved to sacrifice Izu’s deputy governor Taira no Kagetaka as their campaign’s opening act. The astute young Yoritomo—though still green—summoned each Hōjō clansman individually beforehand to declare, “You alone are my hope.” Each retainer became convinced of unique favor, their morale soaring despite mustering only eighty-five horsemen—a motley force with shaggy peasant nags, faded armor missing sleeves, moth-eaten boots shedding fur, some warriors even wearing face-wraps. But Tokimasa’s desperate fervor proved terrifying; devoid of tactics, they simply stormed Kagetaka’s residence en masse, swarming to take his head—the true birth of their rebellion. Later reinforcements from Wada and Miura clans clashed with then-Taira-aligned Hatakeyama forces. That this threadbare uprising succeeded through Hōjō efforts alone remains undeniable; none could deny their contributions until Yoritomo’s shogunate was forged.

Just as Tokimasa had recognized Yoritomo’s promise, so did his heir Yoshitoki exert extraordinary effort for Sanetomo—overthrowing the Hiki clan to secure His Excellency’s succession, later contending with his own father to protect him, thereafter serving assiduously in shadow and sunlight. Thus did father and son across two generations become paramount vassals to successive shoguns—Yoshitoki naturally deserving regency without needing kinship ties. Yet somehow, voices decrying Hōjō tyranny never ceased within court or streets.

Everything—that peculiar scrupulousness of Lord Sagami—proved ill-advised, for I could not help but think it planted such unpleasant dark suspicions and hatred in people's hearts.
The more one did what was right, the more an unspeakably foul stench seemed to well up from it—truly, there existed persons of such mystifying character.
In March of that year too, though Lord Sagami had taken administrative measures that appeared entirely justified, even to outsiders like us they felt inexplicably cruel and odious—until at last they provoked Lord Wada's clan to fury, sparking upheaval that transformed all Kamakura into a realm of asura.
With the aftermath of Izumi Kojiro Chikahira's disturbance settled and Lord Wada Saemon no Jō Yoshimori's two sons having been granted pardon—leading us to believe matters concluded—came the Ninth Day of Third Month. On the very morrow of Lord Yoshimori weeping at his sons' reprieve arose another earnest plea: that his nephew Lord Wada Heita Tanenaga, likewise implicated in this conspiracy and held in custody, might receive clemency.
At that time I attended in the inner chambers and thus could not witness the scene myself, but by all accounts Lord Yoshimori appeared in splendid attire—a magnolia-patterned suikan robe and arrowroot hakama—leading ninety-eight clan members to array themselves within the southern garden where they devotedly petitioned for Lord Tanenaga's pardon. So grave was this display that Monk Hiromoto turned pale and hurried to the inner quarters to report.
This Lord Hiromoto would later take monastic vows in Kenpō 5 (1217), receiving the dharma name Kakua, but long before then his balding pate had lent him the air of an ordained monk. To my present self, addressing him as "Monk-dono" felt far more fitting than titles like Master of the Grand Council or Mutsu Governor. By the same token, though Lord Sagami later assumed offices including Right Capital Provisional Master and Mutsu Governor—occasions technically requiring titles like "Lord Right Capital"—I found "Lord Sagami" flowed most naturally. Therefore I shall proceed using these forms without excessive formality, trusting you will kindly permit this informality.
Now at that moment His Excellency the Shogun calmly listened to Monk Hiromoto's breathless urgent report. He lowered his head and appeared to ponder awhile, then suddenly raised his face as if to speak—

“Will Your Excellency grant pardon?”

Lord Sagami, who happened to be present at his side, remarked lightly and casually.
Though those words contained not a shred of ill intent—indeed seeming almost absentmindedly spoken—they carried such immeasurably profound undertones that even we in the lowest seats felt our breath catch. His Excellency the Shogun too appeared to have his thoughts wholly overturned by that single utterance, faintly tilting his head to the side.

“Well, in any case,” said Monk Hiromoto, having discerned His Excellency the Shogun’s apparent resolution. With a relieved air, he smoothed his face and furrowed his brows as if weighing complexities before continuing.

This monk was ever cautious, never asserting himself forcefully. To us retainers, he spoke in such circuitous ambiguities that we could scarcely grasp his meaning—only after others had reached consensus would he gravely nod agreement. Though exasperating, this very quality sustained his stature as Kamakura’s preeminent statesman since the late Right General’s regime began, avoiding both resentment and missteps.

“Wada Heita Tanenaga stands among this conspiracy’s masterminds,” he ventured. “To pardon him alongside your sons’ associates seemed untenable—yet faced with ninety-eight petitioners arrayed thus, I felt compelled to relay their plea. Though audacious for the Wada to seek their nephew’s reprieve mere days after their sons’ pardon—given that obstinate elder’s resolve—he sat immovable until heard. In any event…” His words trailed into habitual incoherence.

Monk Hiromoto invariably adopted this manner during critical junctures.

For though His Excellency had already denied clemency, the monk refused to bear the odious task of announcing this to the Wada clan. Instead, he rambled pointlessly while awaiting another to assume that duty—a pattern all recognized.

Lord Sagami could not feign ignorance of this routine. Assuming solemn mien—

“Then I shall deliver the verdict,” Lord Sagami said lightly, beginning to rise—then paused, turning back toward His Excellency. “As there are future considerations, I intend to deliver it with some severity. What say you?”

His Excellency the Shogun appeared somewhat wearied that day and merely silently inclined his head in assent.

In any case, with this, Monk Hiromoto had—as was customary—neatly evaded the role of being resented, while Lord Sagami impassively shouldered that disagreeable duty; though routine, Lord Sagami’s utter lack of displeasure in such moments struck us as profoundly mystifying.

Though I could not witness the manner of Lord Sagami’s official pronouncement that day, being stationed in the inner chambers, it was said to have been extraordinarily severe—yet for Lord Sagami, such measures were natural, indeed precisely “right.”

Though it may have been intended as an administrative measure, whatever Lord Sagami did appeared laced with deep ulterior motives, so that day ended up enraging all ninety-eight members of the Wada clan—it is said that the great Kamakura upheaval had its origins there.

Lord Sagami, facing the assembled members of his clan seated in the southern garden, uttered but a single statement:

Lord Sagami announced with casual indifference, “The petition cannot be granted.” While Commissioner Yoshimori stepped forward to compose his bearing and attempt to speak, Lord Sagami signaled his trusted retainers Yukiiye and Tadaiye with a glance, ordering them to bring out the prisoner Lord Tanenaga from the adjacent chamber. Before Commissioner Yoshimori and the clan could voice their bewilderment, he commanded the two men to bind Lord Tanenaga’s hands behind his back. As the ninety-eight clan members watched in stunned silence at this unexpected treatment, Lord Sagami summoned Judge Yukimura, instructed him to enforce stricter custody, handed over the prisoner, and briskly withdrew to the inner quarters. Though this may have been the proper measure against a rebellion’s mastermind, there seemed little need to humiliate Lord Tanenaga by binding him before so many distinguished clansmen of the Wada house and parading him before officials. Yet Lord Sagami executed it all with his usual dispassionate earnestness—flavorless and abrupt—so much so that even we outsiders felt a visceral unease upon hearing of it. One can only imagine the outrage that must have gripped Commissioner Yoshimori and his kin.
Lord Wada Heita Tanenaga was exiled to Iwase District in Mutsu Province on the seventeenth day of that month, and concerning this as well, there was a pitiful tale.
Lord Tanenaga’s six-year-old daughter, grieving the prolonged separation from her father and pining for him to the point of illness, fell gravely ill by the twenty-first day of that month. Yet even in her labored breaths, she continued calling for him. Unable to bear this sight, his clan—noting that Lord Shinbee no Jō Tomomori bore some resemblance to Tanenaga—resolved to have Tomomori impersonate her father. Though born to warrior stock, Tomomori possessed an uncommonly gentle disposition and enjoyed exceptional favor from His Excellency the Shogun. He readily accepted this sorrowful role, sitting at the critically ill girl’s bedside. Swallowing tears, he said, “Do not fret—your father has returned safely.” At this, the girl murmured “Ah,” faintly smiled as she slightly raised her head, and then breathed her last. Her mother, then twenty-seven years old, took monastic vows on the spot. All who heard this tale sympathized deeply, and many secretly came to resent Lord Sagami for his excessive harshness.
Lord Wada Saemon no Jō Yoshimori, having suffered the unexpected outcome of his clan’s petition on the Ninth Day and thereby lost face as their elder statesman, withdrew from official duties that very day and remained gloomily secluded. Yet here arose another matter—a conflict with Lord Sagami as fierce as erupting fire—until finally the situation took an ominous turn toward inevitable strife, beyond all remedy.
The residence of Lord Wada Heita Tanenaga stood directly opposite Ebara’s sacred shrine. Following Tanenaga’s exile, it had been confiscated—a plot of land exceedingly convenient for attending court due to its proximity to the shogunal compound. Though many privately coveted this estate, Lord Saemon no Jō Yoshimori now made it his final wish: through Lady Gojō of Fifth Ward, he secretly petitioned His Excellency the Shogun to grant him possession of the property.
At that moment, His Excellency the Shogun did not hear Lady Gojō’s words to their end; he nodded hurriedly two or three times in succession, promptly carried out the procedures to grant approval, then—appearing to ponder some entirely different matter—remained silent with bowed head for some time.
To witness His Excellency the Shogun in such a powerless state was, for me, truly the first occurrence since entering his service.
He bore that very "sullen face" as the vulgar would say—as if he had already lost interest in all things.

Four or five days later, Lord Sagami appeared before His Excellency wearing a peculiar half-smile.

"I have just received word regarding the residence of the prisoner Tanenaga—" he began, when—

"That...to the Wada..."

His Excellency murmured low, still bowing his head.

Lord Sagami's expression turned grave.

"I implore you to rescind this grant alone."
"It would set a most perilous precedent."
"To bestow a rebel's lands upon his own clan—" he declared with uncharacteristic force, tilting his head briefly before abruptly softening his tone. "No—this alone cannot be permitted."

“The Wada seem to be rejoicing.”

His Excellency the Shogun still spoke in a feeble tone.

“I can well perceive your heart’s intent, but there are future matters to consider.”
“I shall not belabor the point.”
“Please harden your heart.”

“I don’t think it’s such a significant matter.”

“It is critical.”
“The handling of traitorous elements is critical.”
“It concerns the very stability of the shogunate.”
“I shall take temporary custody of Tanenaga’s residence.”
“If entrusted to another, that person will again incur petty grudges from the Wada clan.”
“I will be the one who is resented.”
“It shall be made a matter with no connection to Your Excellency the Shogun.”
“I do not speak out of personal obstinacy.”
“For the sake of the shogunate’s thousand-year peace.”
“I shall not belabor the point.”

His Excellency the Shogun kept his head bowed and did not utter a single word.

Lord Tanenaga’s residence was then confiscated from Commissioner Yoshimori and placed under Lord Sagami’s custody. When Lord Sagami’s retainers forcibly drove out the Wada clan members who had moved into that estate, Commissioner Yoshimori shed tears of bitter indignation, declaring, “I have no desire to live long.” He had previously petitioned repeatedly for appointment as Governor of Kazusa Province, cautiously awaiting good news after receiving private assurances from His Excellency to “wait awhile.” Yet after waiting one year, then two, then three without word, he had finally abandoned hope. In the winter of the year before last, he had Shirobee no Jō request the Senior Councilor to return his petition—only to receive an unexpected rebuke from His Excellency through the Councilor: “Though We intended to arrange matters favorably in due course, this sudden demand to withdraw the petition is willful conduct.” Reflecting back, since that time every action Commissioner Yoshimori undertook had gone awry. After ninety-eight clan members suffered unprecedented humiliation in the southern garden of the shogunal compound—enduring the unendurable—they had at least regained some honor through immediately securing approval for Tanenaga’s residence. But just as they sighed in relief, this fresh outrage occurred. All agreed: with Lord Sagami and Grand Steward Hiromoto—those twin serpents—entrenched in the shogunate, we vassals tread thin ice over an abyss despite His Excellency’s fair intentions. Lord Sagami’s tyranny went without saying; even Hiromoto had abetted every misdeed of former Regent Tokimasa while letting father and son bear society’s scorn, all while playing the benign sage to elevate his own house. His cunning intellect made him a villain matching Lord Sagami. That all shogunal vassals secretly nodded to eliminating both had long been known. Now our clan’s youths gnashed their teeth—their fury could no longer be restrained. Thus did Commissioner Yoshimori resolve with tragic resolve—terrible in its fixity—to rouse his aged frame and purge these traitors from the regime: such became the later talk.

Same year.
Same month.
On the seventh day (Doyin), a banquet was held at the shogunate with female attendants gathered. At that time, Yamauchi Saemonnojō and Chikugo Shirōbeinojō were patrolling near the middle gate of the screen enclosure. His Excellency the Shogun observed them from behind the blinds, summoned both men to the veranda before him, and bestowed them with ceremonial wine. During this, he declared: "Both of you shall soon lose your lives—one as an enemy, the other remaining in service to this court." Each man showed an air of dread, pocketed their cups, and hastily withdrew.
On the twentieth day (Xinmao), at the Fifteen Great Temples of Nankyo, a memorial service was held for monks and alms distributed to non-people—this being His Excellency the Shogun’s longstanding aspiration. Today it was proclaimed to vassals within the Kyoto capital region.
On the twenty-seventh day (Doyin), clear weather: Kunimune, Palace Guards Lieutenant, headed to Wada Saemonnojō Yoshimori’s residence as His Excellency’s envoy—this being due to reports of Yoshimori’s preparations requiring verification of their truth. In evening’s light, Gyōbushō Tadatoshi was further dispatched as envoy to Yoshimori with [the message] that “you should govern the realm”—a report which particularly astonished [the Shogun]. [They conveyed] he must first cease uprising and await merciful judgment.
On the twenty-ninth day (Kanoe-Tatsu), clear weather: Sagami Jirō Tomotoki arrived from Suruga Province. Due to His Excellency’s displeasure and severed relations with strict court protocols, he had been confined there; during this cautious period, [the Shogun] summoned him via courier.

Same year.
Fifth Month (29 days).
On the second day, under a cloudy sky, Chikugo Saemonnojo Tomoshige—stationed near Yoshimori’s residence—observed soldiers gathering at Yoshimori’s estate. Hearing their clamor and witnessing their preparations, he donned battle attire and dispatched a messenger to inform the former Grand Steward. At that moment, the Grand Steward was entertaining guests while deep in wine. Upon receiving the news, the host abruptly rose and rushed to the shogun’s palace. Meanwhile, Miura Hairoku Saemonnojo Yoshimura and his younger brother Kuroemonnojo Taneyoshi—who had initially pledged allegiance to Yoshimori to guard the northern gates through written oaths—later reconsidered. Resolving to renounce their prior commitment, they reported Yoshimori’s plot. Regretful, they hurried to the regent’s residence and informed him of Yoshimori’s mobilization. The regent—engaged in a game of Go—remained unshaken. Calmly finishing his calculations, he changed his folded eboshi hat to an upright one, donned a suikan robe, and proceeded to the shogunate. Though the palace lacked guards, upon the brothers’ warning, the nun-dowager and other ladies evacuated through the northern gate to Takagamine’s temple.

Third Day (Gui-Mao), Light Rain—With Yoshimori’s supply lines severed and his mounts exhausted at the Hour of the Tiger [3–5 AM], Yokoyama Umajō Tokikane led Hatano Saburō, Yokoyama Gorō, and several dozen retainers rushing to Koshigoe Bay amid ongoing battle. Their faction discarded raincloaks and hats there—the piled gear forming hills—before rejoining Yoshimori’s ranks. Awaiting Tokikane’s reinforcements, Yoshimori readied fresh horses for his three thousand troops who continued pursuing shogunal vassals. Though planning another palace assault, he found Takuma and Bushū defending Wakamiya Ōji while Kazusa Saburō Yoshihisa held Machi Ōji, Namekoshi’s Ōmi no Kami Yorimoto guarded Namekoshi, and Ōkura’s Sasaki Gorō Yoshikiyo with Yūki Saemonnojō Tomomitsu blocked all routes. Combat thus shifted to Yuigahama and Wakamiya Ōji, raging uninterrupted from yesterday through midday as warriors exhausted all tactics. At the Hour of the Rooster [5–7 PM], Wada Shirō Saemonnojō Yorinobu fell to Iguma Tarō Morishige’s blade. His father Yoshimori lamented bitterly—having long doted on Yorinobu and sought rewards for him—now deeming further battle futile. Wailing aloud in disarray, Yoshimori was ultimately cut down by Edo Saemonnojō Yoshinori’s retainers. Yorinobu’s sons—Gorōbyōe Yoshishige, Rokurōbyōe Yoshinobu, and Shichirō Hidemori—with seven ringleaders were executed. Asaina Saburō Yoshihide fled by ship to Awa Province with five hundred horsemen across six vessels while Shin Saemonnojō Tsunemori and five other commanders deserted the field. With all rebels defeated, peace returned. Later, Lord Sagami ordered Yukiiye and Tadaiye to inspect corpses at a makeshift hut on Yuigahama’s shore where Yoshimori’s head was collected among others. As darkness fell, torches were lit. Lord Sagami further dispatched couriers to Kyoto per the Senior Councilor’s directive.

The course of momentum appeared truly inexorable.
On the evening of the second day of the Fifth Month, Lord Wada Saemon no Jō Yoshimori raised the banner of revolt with one hundred fifty clan retainers at his back—thus did Kamakura witness its first great uprising in the thirty years since the Late Lord Minister of the Right had founded his shogunate here.
Though one might find it puzzling—nay, suspect—that a lord of Lord Wada’s stature commanded a mere one hundred fifty horsemen, rumors of his rebellion had spread unchecked since Lord Tanenaga’s exile in the Third Month and the Ebara estate disturbances in the Fourth Month, permeating both the shogunate’s inner circles and Kamakura’s villages. For all their martial prowess as the Kantō’s foremost warrior clan, the Wada had lacked subtlety in covert scheming: they openly prepared arms, conducted victory prayers, and in doing so left irrefutable traces of sedition—evidence methodically uncovered by the shogunate’s envoys until, driven to desperation, they rallied whatever troops lay at hand and rashly lit their signal fires—such had been the course of events.
Betrayed by the Miura clan—their last hope—the Wada forces were joined at dawn by over three thousand horsemen under Lord Yokoyama Umajō Tokikane at Koshigoe Bay, as prearranged. Yet by then, His Excellency the Shogun’s decree branding the Wada as traitors had circulated widely. Commanders who had hitherto wavered—clasping hands in indecisive observation—now flocked one after another to the Hōjō ranks, culminating in the tragic annihilation of the entire Wada lineage.
Approximately one month before that rebellion, on the seventh day of the Fourth Month, His Excellency the Shogun—without any particular reason—had gathered his ladies-in-waiting to host a splendid banquet. He drank copiously, more than ever before, and even directed lighthearted jests at the attendants,

Though misshapen melons twine round my humble dwelling's vines,

Having composed such a waka verse to gently amuse the gathering, His Excellency the Shogun suddenly glanced toward the front garden. Noticing Commissioners Yamauchi Saemonnojō and Chikugo Shirōbeinojō pacing near the gate on guard duty, he summoned them to the veranda. When they drew near, he bestowed ceremonial wine upon them. Beaming while tilting his head slightly, he studied their faces intently before declaring with casual ease—as if jesting—this unexpected prophecy: “Both shall soon lose your lives; one as foe, the other as ally.” He remained utterly composed.

Indeed, one month later, Lord Yamauchi joined the Wada forces while Lord Chikugo fought for our side—both perishing in battle. This brings to mind another matter.

Long ago, Prince Shōtoku at twenty-one famously prophesied Minister Umako’s misdeeds. Merely recalling the affairs of Ise Grand Shrine’s divine lineage—eternal as heaven and earth—fills us with awe. Yet His Excellency had worshipped Prince Shōtoku since youth. Though we understood little of that Seventeen-Article Constitution beginning “Harmony is most precious”—a radiant edict for ten thousand generations—he often declared it should be known even beyond the seas. Daily he yearned to grasp even the hem of those brocade sleeves. Perhaps this explains why—though surely our delusion—we sensed a shadow of kinship between them.

These prophecies were no random guesses. They held meticulous discernment of inevitable truths. Yet ordinary folk clutch self-evident facts but hesitate—“Perhaps I err,” or “Winds may shift”—dithering as they glance about. But figures like Prince Shōtoku or our Late Lord Minister declare with unflinching clarity, never missing their mark. Thus we deem this divine inspiration rather than mere insight.

Though we speak of resonance, an absolute chasm separates them—all such notions being childish dreams. Prince Shōtoku governed from youth; thus our Lord Minister admired him all the more. Both revered Buddhism deeply. Yet as Soga no Umako shadowed that prince, Lord Sagami loomed over our Lord Minister—this Yoshitoki who, like Umako, committed unparalleled atrocities since Japan’s dawn. His political cunning defied removal. We know these parallels are coincidence, yet beg indulgence: let this faint whiff of kinship serve as wildflowers for our pitiable Lord Minister.

Prince Shōtoku’s affairs blind like staring at the sun—beyond analysis. Yet regarding our Lord Minister: though he showed fierce loyalty to Kyoto and administrative brilliance, why could he not guide Lord Sagami before the Jōkyū atrocities? This stems from our greed, yet remains our sole regret.

In administrative affairs too, previously—be it Lord Sagami or anyone else—if something was amiss, he would harshly reject it. Yet from around the time of this Wada incident, even His Excellency the Shogun began occasionally showing an unmistakably weary demeanor.

"Kantō was the Minamoto clan's appointed territory," he murmured, "but for the Hōjō clan, Kantō was their ancestral homeland for generations."
My heart stiffens.

There were even instances where he let slip such cryptic words to those of us in attendance. From that time onward, his sake consumption markedly increased.

Regarding this year's Fifth Month rebellion—though I had previously mentioned His Excellency had discerned it three years prior through a dream on Jōgen 4's twenty-first day of the eleventh month—it is thought that vision merely foretold battle without revealing the instigator's name.

As years passed, His Excellency—ever perceptive—began apprehending that the aging Wada clan might act rashly in obstinacy. Though this alone could hardly explain it, from Kenpō 1 onward he conspicuously favored them—particularly keeping the battle-hardened Commissioner Yoshimori constantly at his side with marked affection. When Izumi Kojiro Chikahira's conspiracy emerged in Kenpō 1's Second Month with Wada members implicated, His Excellency seemed to have already determined "This is the end." From then, his administrative fervor waned; he'd whimsically pardon rebels while laughing one moment, then abruptly slump exhausted the next—appearing utterly drained as he cast aside whatever conviction he'd clung to until then.

Even during the ninety-eight Wada petitioners' appeals and Lord Tanenaga's residence disposition, His Excellency—displaying unprecedented listlessness—yielded entirely to Lord Sagami's decisions. Though impertinent presumption for lowly ones like us, we could not help speculating some crucial turning point had occurred in his state of mind.

As mentioned earlier, while the Wada excelled martially, they lacked conspiratorial cunning. Their rebellion had been rumored for months—palace retainers secretly arming themselves, keeping sleepless vigil in extraordinary tension—yet His Excellency hosted frivolous banquets. On the Fourth Month's seventh day, he summoned security officers Yamauchi Saemonnojō and Chikugo Shirōbeinojō to deliver an uncanny prophecy. Both men paled, stowed their ceremonial cups inside robes, and hastily withdrew—all while His Excellency serenely smiled at their departure.

Floating and sinking—all must end as bubbles;
the rapids' rocky waves cast my body adrift.

He composed this waka poem as though idly scribbling it onto a folded paper, then drank sake once more.
On the fifteenth day that followed, His Excellency the Shogun hosted a poetry gathering to honor the harvest moon. By this time, members of the Wada clan had grown scarce in their attendance at court. That night, however, Lord Wada Shinbee no Jō Asamori—Commissioner Yoshimori's eldest grandson—unexpectedly appeared at the gathering. His Excellency showed great delight, for Lord Asamori had long been a favorite. Thereupon, he personally inscribed multiple land steward positions upon a single sheet of paper and directly bestowed them upon him,

Though you go and return to see the moon lodged in the aged village—forget me not.

His Excellency composed even this poem and presented it to Lord Asamori, who withdrew in tears of gratitude. That night—it was later heard—Lord Asamori took monastic vows. He left behind a missive for his forebears: “Abandon your rebellion. I cannot draw bow against our liege with the clan, nor remain at court to oppose my kin. Thus I reluctantly renounce the world.” He departed for Kyoto under darkness. When his grandfather Lord Yoshimori read this letter the next day, he raged and immediately sent pursuers to retrieve him. Yet His Excellency showed no alarm at the commotion. Even when the retrieved Lord Asamori came apologizing on the eighteenth day—still clad in ink-dyed monastic robes—His Excellency neither questioned him nor remarked on his transformed appearance, maintaining composure as though he had foreseen everything from the beginning.

Lamenting, I know not how to dwell in this world—even Yoshino’s depths, they say, offer no refuge.

He bestowed this waka poem and simply continued smiling quietly.
By the way, even Lord Shinbee no Jō Asamori—who had been most favored by His Excellency the Shogun—joined the Wada clan during this Fifth Month rebellion and stormed the palace in the guise of a black-robed monk.
Now, though the surrounding atmosphere grew increasingly tense by the hour, His Excellency the Shogun alone remained unperturbed. On the twentieth day, he ordered alms distributed to non-people—a longstanding aspiration of his—and on the twenty-seventh day, as if suddenly recalling something, dispatched an envoy to Lord Wada Saemon no Jō’s residence with belated instructions: “It seems Wada has been scheming of late. Go see what they are doing.” When the envoy returned and explicitly reported, “Rebellious activity is indeed apparent,” His Excellency showed no change in countenance. “Such trifles are not worth pursuing. Tell them to desist,” he stated, sending another envoy without the slightest urgency. To us attendants watching nearby, it proved exasperating—truly akin to “spring breezes idly stirring,” as they say—for he seemed disengaged from all matters. With all due respect, he merely sat dazed, perpetually wine-flushed, not a trace visible of those piercingly decisive judgments that once roused him to wakefulness.
Lord Sagami, for some reason, pretended not to notice His Excellency the Shogun’s neglect of governance during that period—no—rather, he made efforts to avoid even meeting with His Excellency.
Then on the second day of the Fifth Month, as evening fell, Grand Steward Hiromoto came tumbling into His Excellency’s presence to report the Wada clan’s uprising.
At that very moment, Grand Steward Hiromoto had been hosting guests at his residence and had just begun a banquet when news arrived of soldiers gathering at Commissioner Yoshimori’s estate. Abandoning both guests and decorum without even changing his robes, the monk-lord raced to the shogunal palace. Soon after, Lord Sagami also arrived at the palace, calmly stating he had learned of the Wada uprising through secret reports from the Miura clan—though it was well known the Miura had originally joined the Wada rebellion out of clan solidarity, even exchanging written oaths, only to abruptly betray them that day by sneaking off to inform Lord Sagami of the imminent revolt. Had this Miura betrayal not occurred, the battle might have ended in Wada victory and Hōjō annihilation—such was its critical juncture. Yet when Commissioner Yoshimura arrived at Lord Sagami’s residence mid-Go game to deliver this triumphant report, the regent merely glanced over his shoulder, gave a slight nod of acknowledgment without uttering thanks, then quietly rose while keeping his eyes fixed on the board. After slowly calculating the match’s outcome—muttering “It seems I’ve won by two stones”—he apologized to his guest, swiftly changed into formal attire, replaced his folded eboshi with an upright one, and galloped to the palace. Compared to Hiromoto’s undignified panic, this composure—extraordinary even for a seasoned warrior—became legendary in later accounts.
Amidst this chaos, the Wada forces surged toward the palace. By sunset, rebel troops had already surrounded them on all sides, and when someone set fire to the compound, flames instantly spread fiercely in every direction. His Excellency the Shogun retreated to the Lotus Sutra Chapel of the Late Lord Minister of the Right, accompanied by Lord Sagami, Monk Hiromoto, and several of us attendants. Though he showed no signs of having drunk sake, his face glowed red as if intoxicated, and he smiled cheerfully without pause. At times he would stop to gaze curiously at the battlefires encircling them—leaving us attendants frantic at the thought of rebels storming even this refuge.

The Shogun was, in the end, but a mortal. Prince Shōtoku had never been swayed by sycophantic retainers.

It was during this time that he uttered those words and laughed so violently alone that he choked. He who had always kept Prince Shōtoku's governance close to heart—who for years had striven to emulate even a ten-thousandth part of that distant sage's legacy—now saw his own unworthiness laid bare through the Wada clan's betrayal. That laughter of his held an eerily bizarre beauty, more dreadful than pitiable, which made men suspect momentary madness in His Excellency—a chilling splendor that set spines trembling unwittingly.

Amidst this chaos, armies clashed around the palace grounds. Most fearsome stood Lord Asaina Saburō Yoshihide—third son of Yoshimori—who swung a nine-foot iron club with Asura-like fury, cutting through foes like the reincarnated Minamoto no Tametomo. Meanwhile, Lord Tomotoki—second son of the Lord of Sagami, who had been confined to Suruga after licentious disgrace—rushed back seeking redemption by grappling Yoshihide from behind. Struck down instantly by the iron club yet surviving grievously, Tomotoki earned sycophants' praise for this "noble feat"—thus salvaging minimal honor.

By the Hour of the Tiger on the third day, Wada reinforcements—three thousand horsemen under Lord Yokoyama Umajō Tokikane—arrived at Koshigoe Bay, plunging loyalists into peril. The sagacious Lord of Sagami swiftly issued His Excellency's edict across provinces, compelling indecisive regional armies to rally en masse—decisively shifting the tide. Yet when requesting the Shogun's seal on this edict in the Lotus Sutra Chapel, His Excellency skimmed its text and burst into laughter—

“Whose composition is this?”

His Excellency the Shogun widened his eyes as if astonished and inquired of Lord Sagami.
At that moment, we attendants too saw it—a text dreadfully clumsy in phrasing yet oddly crude in its cunning artifice. We found it only natural that His Excellency laughed with such guileless mirth.
Even now do I hazily recall the wording of that document—it was a shogunal edict roughly along these lines.

Notify those near the court of this matter and have them summoned forth. Though Wada Saemon, Tsuchiya Hyōe, and the Yokoyama faction have raised rebellion under pretext of serving you, their guilt stands beyond doubt. Now that these enemies lie scattered, make haste to cut them down and present their heads.

Third Day of the Fifth Month, Hour of the Snake: Daizen Daibu

Lord of Sagami

But Lord Sagami did not so much as smile,

“In the heat of battle, this crude work suffices.”

“Your Excellency the Shogun cannot comprehend the hearts of warriors!” declared Lord Sagami—who had never once shown a visage flushed with anger—now bellowing as if shouting at full volume.
When battle comes, warriors indeed undergo an abrupt transformation from their usual demeanor, becoming fearsome and raging.
His Excellency the Shogun indeed showed an expression of displeasure, said nothing, and promptly affixed his seal,

Lord Sagami does not yet seem inclined to die.

Afterwards, he muttered to himself, addressing no one in particular.
That His Excellency the Shogun and Lord Sagami had engaged in what resembled a dispute occurred but once, with neither precedent nor recurrence. The notion of their perpetual clashes—rumors masquerading as plausible accounts—were rootless fabrications from inception. While His Excellency's magnanimity and peerless dignity required no elaboration, Lord Sagami himself stood preeminent among statesmen of his era. Such men would never openly conflict; as I believe previously noted, they had always swiftly discerned each other's intentions, exchanged instantaneous nods of assent, and parted with laughter. Yet on this singular occasion—perhaps owing to Lord Sagami's battle-induced agitation—an unquiet tension lingered. Though Lord Sagami, then past fifty amidst the Hōjō clan's life-or-death struggle, might have dismissed this episode as trivial, for the young Shogun—who since birth had never endured loud rebukes even from his parents—it must have left an indelible impression. So acutely did I perceive this that day, a seventeen-year-old retainer stationed in the dim chapel corner, my chest constricted with vicarious anguish.

Same year.

Same month.
On the fourth day, Kinoe-Tatsu: light rain fell. The Furugōri Saemonnojō brothers committed suicide at Niki in Higashikaseishō, Bandōyama Hakari of Kai Province. Wada Shinzaemonnojō Tsunemori and Yokoyama Umajō Tokikane, among others, committed suicide at Betsusho in Bandōyama Tsuguhara. Tokikane was the eldest son of Yokoyama Gonnokami Tokihiro; his aunt had become Yoshimori’s wife, and his sister had married Tsunemori—hence their participation in this rebellion. The heads of these two men arrived today. Approximately 234 heads were displayed along the Kosase riverbank. During the Hour of the Dragon, His Excellency the Shogun proceeded from Hokke-dō chapel to the Eastern Palace. Later, at the Western Gate, he gathered military personnel wounded during the two-day battle to conduct an inspection. Yamashiro no Kami Yukimura oversaw proceedings, assisted by Yukichika and Tadaie. The number of wounded totaled approximately 988.
On the Fifth Day, Wood Snake: Clear skies. The stewardships of Mimasaka, Awaji, and other provinces—territories held by Yoshimori, Tokikane, and their rebel faction, including domains under Yokoyama Manor—were first confiscated to be allocated as military rewards. Lord Sagami, through the Senior Councilor’s decree, ordered this action. Subsequently, the matter of the Military Steward position—vacated by Yoshimori—was commanded to be assumed by Lord Sagami.
On the Sixth Day, Wood Horse Day: Clear skies. At the Hour of the Monkey, His Excellency the Shogun took residence at the estate of former Grand Steward Ōe no Hiromoto Ason—this due to the palace having burned down on the second day of the month. Lady Masako proceeded from the South Hall to that residence, while the Nun Shogun returned to her original quarters.
On the Ninth Day, Wood Rooster: Clear skies. Ōe no Hiromoto Ason, acting as magistrate, dispatched a shogunal edict to Kyoto-based retainers. The Lord of Sagami and Senior Councilor co-signed it, with the shogunal seal affixed thereafter. The edict stated: "Warriors in the capital shall not present themselves [to Kamakura]. Peace has been fully restored in the Kantō region. Swiftly guard the Retired Emperor’s Residence. Furthermore, reports exist of rebel factions circulating in the Western Sea; preparations must be made." Primary orders were issued to Sasaki Saemonnojō Hirotsuna. Separately, Wada Heita Tanenaga was executed at the southern edge of Kagaminuma Pond in Iwase District, Mutsu Province—his place of exile.

On the third day of the Fifth Month at the Hour of the Rooster, Lord Wada Shirō Saemonnojō Yoshinao met his end in battle. His aged father Yoshimori—who had cherished this fourth son beyond all measure—heard this grievous news and was so shocked he nearly fell from his horse, trembling uncontrollably and wailing without regard for appearances. "If he’s dead, nothing matters anymore—I can’t bear this battle," he cried, wandering the battlefield weeping like a fretful infant until finally cut down by retainers of Edo Saemonnojō Yoshinori. Thus concluded the Heaven-shaking Wada Rebellion of Kamakura, its remaining clan members meeting their ends in battle or fleeing into exile. That night, a temporary shelter was erected on Yuigahama’s shore where, to the sound of waves and under hundreds of torchlights, heads including Commissioner Yoshimori’s were inspected. His Excellency the Shogun abstained from the head inspection, secluding himself in the chapel with us attendants. Though he partook of some sake, even he refrained from lighthearted jests that night, remaining deep in contemplation with bowed head.

In flames alone, seeing the void—Avīci Hell with no path forward; how pitiful even to speak of it.

In this world where only this exists and nothing else—shall I call it sorrow? Or perhaps lament?

Are gods and buddhas but things beyond the hearts of people in this world?

It was that very night when those waka poems came to be composed—the rains of early summer fell without cease, and from somewhere unbeknownst, the stench of corpses crept even into the depths of that chapel. Now, over twenty years having passed, I still see the desolate state of the chapel that night so vividly in my dreams.

On the following fourth day, His Excellency the Shogun relocated from the Lotus Sutra Chapel to Lady Masako’s fire-damaged residence. Soon after, curtains were hung at the West Gate to prepare his seating area for a military review of wounded soldiers. Nine hundred eighty-eight injured warriors gathered before him in succession, including Lord Tomotoki—carried on the back of his elder brother Lord Yasutoki. The effects of Lord Yoshihide’s massive iron club appeared severe indeed; Tomotoki’s groans rose so shrilly, his face contorted so exaggeratedly—as if feigning greater agony than he bore—that stifled laughter arose from various corners of the garden. Yet His Excellency maintained solemn composure throughout, gravely nodding at each presentation.

His Excellency then inquired about those who had displayed exceptional military merit during this battle. The retainers unanimously nominated Yoshihide from the enemy forces and Lord Yasutoki from our side. Lord Yasutoki was promptly summoned before His Excellency to receive words of praise. At that moment, Lord Yasutoki wore an abashed smile as if embarrassed by propriety. "Merit? Far from it! In truth, this battle saw me commit nothing but blunders," he began, sweat beading on his forehead as he made his report with profound humility. "On the first night, I foolishly drank to excess. By the second day, I suffered such a wretched hangover that even when hearing of the Wada uprising, I moved through a haze—groping blindly to don my armor and mount my horse. Directionless and confused, I cursed my drunkenness: 'This will never do! I'm useless like this! Henceforth I swear off drink!' Yet even in my daze, when encountering enemy forces after several engagements, my throat grew parched beyond endurance. I ordered my soldiers to bring water, but some quick-witted knave filled a flask with sake instead. Though I recognized it upon first sip, a drunkard's stubborn pride made me loath to waste it—thus breaking my fresh vow as I gulped it down in one go. 'Now begins true temperance!' I told myself—yet last night I again found excuses to toast our victory with a few cups. Such weak-willed conduct shames me utterly. I remain unworthy of praise or reward. Henceforth I shall strive earnestly to abstain from heavy drinking. I humbly beg Your Excellency's forgiveness for these failings." All present—from His Excellency to the assembled retainers—appeared equally moved by Lord Yasutoki's noble refusal to claim glory for himself.

The following day, Lord Yasutoki was granted Tōda District in Mutsu Province for his exceptional military merit, yet he firmly declined this reward. He reportedly stated: “This rebellion was not an act of treason against His Excellency by Commissioner Yoshimori—rather, it arose solely from their intent to overthrow Lord Sagami. As Lord Sagami’s son, I merely repelled my father’s enemies. Moreover, though my blunders cost many of His Excellency’s officers their lives—a crime worthy of ten thousand deaths—I performed no meritorious service as a shogunal retainer.” This only elevated Lord Yasutoki’s renown further, and for a time, his name dominated all conversations wherever one went.

Now, at the gathering of wounded soldiers held on the fourth day—when Lord Yasutoki’s failed attempt at abstinence was disclosed—the traitorous Lord Yoshimura once again resorted to cowardly conduct, drawing profound disdain from discerning warriors; such turmoil seems inevitable in a battle’s aftermath.

When Lord Tadatsuna claimed to have spearheaded the vanguard in both Komachi and the Administrative Headquarters, Lord Yoshimura stepped forward to object: “I cannot speak to Komachi’s vanguard, but at the Administrative Headquarters, it was I who led the charge.” This instantly sparked an unseemly quarrel before the assembly. Lord Sagami then drew Tadatsuna aside behind the curtains—as I later heard recounted—and advised: “Would it not be prudent to reconsider? This rebellion’s peaceful resolution owes much to the Miura clan’s loyal intelligence. Since Komachi’s vanguard is indisputably yours, why not endure with that single merit and graciously cede the Administrative Headquarters claim to them? Compromise now may yield future advantages.” Tadatsuna sneered at this: “Do not jest! A warrior’s sole purpose on the battlefield is to strive for first assault—no greater honor exists for men of arms. As heir to my ancestors’ martial legacy, I would seize ten or twenty vanguards without hesitation to burnish our name across ten thousand generations! To suggest I surrender even one—are you truly a samurai? I desire no rewards—only the glory of precedence!” Stunned into silence, Lord Sagami had no rebuttal. Thus Tadatsuna and Yoshimura were brought before the Fujigtsubo chamber for confrontation, attended only by His Excellency, we few attendants, Lord Sagami, Monk Hiromoto, and Minister Yukimitsu—all others dismissed—where His Excellency himself rendered judgment.

Lord Tadatsuna and Lord Yoshimura sat upon round cushions on the garden's bamboo veranda. First, Lord Yoshimura—with an air of earnestness—stated that at the moment of Wada Saemonnojō Yoshimori's assault on the Administrative Headquarters, he himself had galloped to the southern front of the compound and loosed the first arrows against enemy forces, yet not a single foe had crossed his line of sight.
Lord Tadatsuna pressed urgently: "No—no! Tadatsuna alone—Tadatsuna alone advanced as vanguard! There was no southern or northern flank—I charged straight ahead! My own sons Tsunetomo and Tomosada followed behind! The Miura clan must have been trailing even further back! At such distance, naturally not a speck of dust would be visible! Unless—perchance—the Miura are truly blind? Blind men make poor witnesses! I implore you—summon the soldiers present that day and interrogate them!" His face flushed crimson as he stammered these words, but his language grew too vulgar. Lord Sagami raised a hand to silence him, then flicked a meaningful glance toward His Excellency the Shogun.
Lord Sagami directed a meaningful glance toward His Excellency suggesting he reprimand Lord Tadatsuna, yet His Excellency appeared thoroughly disinclined toward such judicial proceedings—having glanced away intermittently since earlier—maintaining an air of profound listlessness that showed no response whatsoever to Lord Sagami's signals.

“Search for the soldiers then,” he stated dismissively, maintaining perfect composure.

Three soldiers soon emerged trembling from a garden corner. One stepped forward and testified: “A warrior in red-laced armor astride a dapple-gray horse led the vanguard with striking valor.” Lord Yoshimura immediately prostrated himself while Lord Tadatsuna surveyed the scene triumphantly.

The red-laced armor indisputably belonged to Lord Tadatsuna, and the dapple-gray horse was none other than Katabuchi—the prized steed Lord Sagami had bestowed upon him. With all dispute rendered moot, His Excellency the Shogun rose wordlessly from his seat, his expression one of disillusioned detachment.

Yet Lord Yoshimura—having committed the great merit of betrayal—faced no censure through Lord Sagami and Monk Hiromoto’s arrangements. Instead, he received Natori District in Mutsu Province, while Lord Tadatsuna gained no reward despite twice leading charges—his slanderous insults toward Yoshimura’s noble house being deemed inexcusable. Ah! When one considered how Commissioner Yoshimura had betrayed his own Wada kin while coveting others’ military glory—such squalid conduct!—it stood in stark contrast to Lord Yasutoki’s humility. Thus did Lord Yasutoki’s renown ascend as Yoshimura’s disgrace within the shogunate reached its apex.

Same year.
June (30-day month).

On the 26th day (Wood Sheep), clear skies. The Lord of Sagami, Lord of Musashi, Senior Councilor, and others convened to deliberate extensively on reconstructing the shogunal palace—which had been destroyed during the battle of the previous Fifth Month.

Same year.
July (29-day month).
Seventh Day, Wood Horse: Clear skies. That day saw a waka poetry gathering convened at the shogunal palace, with Lord Sagami, Shuri no Suke, Taira no Shigetane, and others in attendance.
Ninth Day, Earth Monkey: Overcast. Deliberations concerning the Shogunal Palace's reconstruction were reopened.
Twentieth Day, Earth Sheep: The wife of the late Wada Saemonnojō Yoshimori was granted clemency. As daughter of Watai no Yasutaka—negi priest of Toyouke Daijingu's Seven Shrines—her lands had been seized and person imprisoned following her husband's treasonous acts. However, since these territories comprised shrine-administered domains under the Grand Shrine's authority, detailed petitions from the priests resulted not only in their restoration to the main sanctuary but also her pardon—an exceptional mercy born of profound divine reverence.

Twenty-third Day, Water Dog (Jinjutsu): Matters concerning the new Shogunal Palace were deliberated. Today, before His Excellency, certain sections of the architectural plans underwent minor revisions. It was determined that on this occasion, the middle gate would be erected.

Same year.

August (29-day month).

Third Day (Xinwei), Clear skies, calm winds. Today at the Hour of the Monkey (3–5 PM), the ridgepole-raising ceremony for the Shogunal Palace was conducted. Lord Sagami and all officials gathered.
On the sixth day, Kōjutsu (Wood Dog): The aesthetic of the painted designs on the sliding doors of the newly constructed Shogunal Palace did not align with His Excellency’s previous artistic preferences.
On the seventeenth day, Wood Rooster: Kyōgoku Jijū Sanmi had Nijō Chūjō Masatsune Ason present waka poetry documents and related materials to His Excellency the Shogun; it was said there existed nothing beyond His Excellency’s poetic engagement.

On the eighteenth day, Hinoe-Inu [Fire Dog], clear skies. At the Midnight Hour, His Excellency the Shogun appeared at the southern face of the palace. By then, lamps had been extinguished and people settled into stillness—utter silence reigned, with only moonlight and cricket-song deepening sorrowful thoughts. He composed several poems in solitary recitation. When the Hour of the Ox approached, a pale woman dashed across the front courtyard as though in a dream. Though urgently questioned, she never identified herself. Just as she reached beyond the gate, a luminous object abruptly appeared—its radiance resembling torchlight.
On the Twentieth Day, Tsuchinoe-Ne [Earth Rat]: Clear skies and calm winds. His Excellency the Shogun relocated to the new palace. As the ox-drawn carriage from Kyoto arrived belatedly, a palanquin was employed instead. At the Hour of the Rooster [6 PM], he proceeded from former Grand Steward Ōe no Hiromoto Ason's residence to enter the new palace, with Ōsuga Tarō Michinobu leading a yellow ox.
Twenty-second Day, Kanoe-Tora: Clear skies. During the Hour of the Sheep, yellow butterflies—large and small—gathered at Tsurugaoka Hachimangū's treasure hall. People found this strange.

Same year.
September (30-day month).
On the twenty-second day, Tsuchinoe-Uma: His Excellency the Shogun deigned to stroll along Hitotorisawa’s edge—this to view autumn flowers in their splendor. The Governor of Musashi, Shuri no Suke, Governor of Izumo, Miura Saemonnojō, Yūki Saemonnojō, Naitō Uma-no-jō, and others attended upon him; all being individuals engaged in the way of poetry.

Same year.
October (30-day month).
On the third day, Kinoe-I: Through an imperial missive, matters were commanded to Lord Ōmiya Dainagon—extraordinary levies being imposed by the Kyoto court upon western domains under shogunal jurisdiction. Though even Ōe no Hiromoto Ason argued these matters should not be subject to official proceedings, His Excellency proclaimed: "Complete suspension of these impositions shall not be permitted."
Thirteenth Day, Kinoe-Tori: Clear skies. At nightfall, thunder rumbled; simultaneously in the Shogunal Palace’s southern garden, foxes cried time and again—so it is recorded.

Same year.
November (30-day month).
On the 23rd Day, Jichou: Clear skies. Kyōgoku Jijū Sanmi presented a privately transmitted copy of the *Man'yōshū* to His Excellency the Shogun. His Excellency devoted himself solely to its appreciation, proclaiming: "No treasure could surpass this"—or so it is recorded.

Same year.
December (30-day month).
On the Third Day (Kinoe-I), His Excellency the Shogun visited Jufuku-ji Temple and had Buddhist rites performed—this said to be for the liberation of fallen soldiers under Commissioner Yoshimori and others.
Seventh Day, Guimao: The order to cease hawking was issued to provincial governors and others. Though repeated strict commands had been given, [the decree] came thus upon hearing that reckless individuals frequently violated [them]. However, regarding shrine tributes within their jurisdictions, it was stated these shall not be restricted.

On the sixth day of the Fifth Month, His Excellency the Shogun relocated to Monk Hiromoto’s residence, temporarily designating it as the provisional palace. Subsequently, Lady Masako also took up residence there. Yet the hearts and minds of those near Kamakura showed no signs of settling—throughout the Fifth and Sixth Months, for two full months, something restless stirred both within and around the palace. All its inhabitants remained unsettled, their spirits ill at ease.
Lord Sagami alone—from dawn until late night—appeared intensely occupied, rushing about every corner of the palace, while His Excellency the Shogun remained as ever in vacant abstraction, sometimes spending entire days in the inner chambers perusing manuscripts.
Around that time, His Excellency appeared to have lost nearly all interest even in rendering decisions on governmental affairs, seeming to entrust all matters entirely to Lord Sagami and Monk Hiromoto.
Nevertheless, His Excellency the Shogun's loyalty toward the imperial court alone remained unclouded in all circumstances. Even on the ninth day immediately following this battle, he had Monk Hiromoto draft and dispatch a shogunal edict to Kamakura retainers in Kyoto: "As Kantō has already returned to tranquility, none need hasten to Kamakura. Rather, given rumors that rebel remnants have fled westward, devote yourselves entirely to guarding the Cloistered Emperor's palace." Furthermore, when on the third day of the Tenth Month that year, the Kyoto palace imposed extraordinary levies upon the shogunate—which having recently suffered wartime calamities and undertaken palace reconstruction faced considerable financial strain—Monk Hiromoto attempted outright refusal from concern for shogunal interests, declaring "Preposterous! We cannot possibly comply!" and began preparing rebuttal documents through unilateral procedures. Upon hearing this, His Excellency transformed with the severity of one abruptly roused from slumber. Summoning Hiromoto, he rebuked: "To hesitate in obeying imperial collection orders constitutes grave disloyalty! In all circumstances, we must respond promptly—now and hereafter!" The intensity of his tone left Monk Hiromoto floundering through procedural revisions.
Truly, his unwavering sincerity toward the Kyoto court and profound reverence for deities and devotion to Buddhism appeared as constants that remained unwavering throughout his life.
Though it is said His Excellency gradually grew neglectful of governmental affairs from that period onward, when matters pertained to the imperial court—much like awakening from slumber—he would invariably and proactively render independent judgments regarding deities as well.
On the twentieth day of the Seventh Month of that year, when the wife of the late Commissioner Yoshimori of the Left Guards Division had her domains confiscated and was imprisoned, she was granted pardon and even had her lands restored—a doubly generous benevolence. This was naturally due in part to His Excellency the Shogun’s longstanding compassion toward the Wada clan, but more crucially, because shrine priests petitioned that she was the daughter of a priest serving Toyouke Daijingu’s Seven Shrines, and that her territories—integral to managing those shrines—would render their maintenance untenable if seized. Thus without deliberation, His Excellency commanded the lands’ restitution and, in tandem, ordered her release from confinement.
Moreover, His Excellency the Shogun detested the cruel sport of hawking to an extreme degree, having issued orders for its prohibition in August of Kenryaku 2 (1212) and repeatedly thereafter. On the Seventh Day of the Twelfth Month of this year, he further decreed a strict cessation of hawking to provincial governors nationwide. However, out of reverence for shrine rituals and consideration for facilitating tax collection, he specially established an exemption permitting shrines across the land to conduct hawking for tribute purposes without hindrance.

In this manner, His Excellency would awaken from slumber when matters concerned the Kyoto court or provincial shrines and temples, but thereafter entrusted everything entirely to Lord Sagami and Monk Hiromoto, while he himself spent his days in leisurely diversion.
After the shogunal palace had burned completely in the Fifth Month’s battle, His Excellency spent June, July, and August wholly absorbed in designing its replacement. He frequently visited construction sites, devising endless modifications—declaring “This won’t do” or “Adjust that”—even ordering nearly completed gates rebuilt from scratch. His fastidiousness extended to the fusuma paintings; dissatisfied with local artisans’ work, he dispatched envoys to Kyoto to meticulously study capital-style designs. Lord Sagami no longer opposed any of this, instead rigorously overseeing construction per His Excellency’s plans while observing the Kyoto-inspired architecture with bemused novelty.
Lord Sagami too—having succeeded the late Commissioner Yoshimori’s position while concurrently assuming the role of Military Steward—saw his influence swell to towering heights, yet never openly displayed arrogance. Rather, he lowered his head deferentially, dispensed flawless courtesy even to us lowly retainers, and offered salutations to His Excellency with formality so exaggerated it verged on unnaturalness. His Excellency in turn responded with reserved gentleness unknown before. To superficial observers, their rapport appeared smoother than ever—a mutual display of consideration. When the year’s first poetry gathering since the battle was held at the provisional palace on the Seventh Day of the Seventh Month, Lord Sagami made a rare appearance. There he composed two or three perfunctory verses—something about pine winds resembling water’s murmur—which impressed no one. Yet His Excellency alone singled out each poem for praise, declaring in a tone too earnest to be wholly sarcastic: “Truly, a man of accomplishment crafts even poetry with resolve.” Reconsidered under such appraisal, Lord Sagami’s verses—whether likening pine winds to water or lamenting quails crying beneath a waning moon—transmuted mundane scenes into strangely chilling visions through his recitation. Truly, Lord Sagami was a man of uncanny disposition.
It was around this year that His Excellency’s poetic compositions reached their most earnest zenith; yet from the following year onward, he grew neglectful of the art itself, producing only playful verses for banquet diversions—so that his serious contemplative works dwindled to a mere two or three per year.

It all takes ten years.
As for what follows, you may call it the remainder of my life.

During that period, he engaged himself diligently—perhaps in matters of governance—but in the realm of poetry as well, by around the Kenpō 1 era (1213), hadn’t His Excellency the Shogun’s dedication to waka poetry neared a decade?
From earliest youth, His Excellency had cultivated waka poetry, gradually mastering its formal techniques through fragments of ancient manuscripts until—by age fourteen—he composed verses so exquisite they left those around him wide-eyed in astonishment. That same year, Lord Tomochika, Hyōe no Jō of Naitō, presented him with a volume of *Shin Kokin Wakashū* brought from Kyoto as a gift—a work that included poems by his late father, Lord Yoritomo. Deeply moved, he redoubled his devotion to the art, convening poetry gatherings of Kamakura’s cultured elites where even a vassal who once incurred his displeasure earned instant pardon by submitting a worthy verse. As previously recounted, in Jōgen 2 (1208), at seventeen, he received a treasured heirloom copy of *Kokin Wakashū* from Lord Kiyotsuna—a joy meant to endure for generations. The following year, guided by a divine dream, he dedicated twenty poems to Sumiyoshi Shrine and sent thirty selections from his early works to Lord Teika, Middle Captain of Kyōgoku, who soon returned them annotated with critical marks. Henceforth adhering to Teika’s teachings—“Cherish archaic diction, seek novel sentiments, aspire to sublime form even beyond reach”—he composed in July two years later his majestic verse: *“When rains outlast their season / And people’s lamentations rise— / O Eight Great Dragon Kings / Stay these deluges!”* Thus did he reveal himself as a peerless poet beyond dispute. That October, upon meeting Monk Chōmei of Kamo, he grasped waka’s deepest mysteries with lightning-flash intuition—every subsequent poem a flawless gem. Now twenty-two, he seemed to recognize this year as his creative zenith: verses poured forth in such abundance that he often labored past midnight into the Hour of the Ox, his face pallid and body ethereal as some unearthly spirit—as though spectral beings summoned their kin. Once, during such agonized composition, a pale woman materialized like a dream before him—I too saw her clearly—only to vanish arrow-swift before she could speak. Though my flesh prickled with dread, I reasoned thus: when heaven-gifted poets strain at creation, such wonders need not startle us.

At year’s end, His Excellency personally compiled that peerlessly beautiful poetry anthology—later known as *Kamakura Udaijin Kashū* or *Kinkai Wakashū*—with his own hands. His mentor Lord Teika had provided extraordinary assistance during this period: in the Ninth Month of Kenryaku 2 the previous year [1212], he entrusted Lord Yoritoki, Former Governor of Chikugo, to deliver missives and poetic treatises; further, in this year [1213], he presented numerous documents in both the Eighth and Eleventh Months. Most notably, the Eleventh Month’s offering was a privately transmitted copy of the *Man'yōshū*, which elicited even deeper joy than when Lord Kiyotsuna had presented the heirloom *Kokin Wakashū* in Jōgen 2 [1208]. For His Excellency—though he had long possessed incomplete copies of both anthologies and composed verses rivaling the *Man'yōshū*’s lofty tones since youth—the Wada Rebellion of the Fifth Month had destroyed most texts in the palace library. Thus when Lord Teika’s *Man'yōshū* arrived during this desolate hour, one could well fathom the profundity of his delight.

With the new palace completed through His Excellency the Shogun's efforts, he entered it amid grand ceremonies on the twentieth day of the Eighth Month. Just as his architectural fervor seemed to wane, an extraordinary final obsession with waka poetry took hold. Governance remained fully delegated as he devoted himself day and night to verse—summoning ladies-in-waiting for poetic competitions only to dismiss them with "Women cannot grasp poetry," then leading cultured warriors like the Lord of Musashi, Shuri no Suke, Governor of Izumo, Miura Saemonnojō, Yūki Saemonnojō, and Naitō Uma-no-jō to admire autumn grasses along Hitotorisawa. While Lord Sagami maintained silent composure, some vassals disapproved of His Excellency's conduct—culminating on the twenty-sixth day of the Ninth Month when the impetuous Naganuma Gorō Munemasa openly insulted His Excellency within the palace, creating profound awkwardness.

Word arrived on the nineteenth day of the Ninth Month that Ajari Shigehiro—youngest son of the late Hatakeyama Jirō Shigetada—had gathered vagrants at Mount Nikkō's base to plot rebellion. That very day, Naganuma Gorō Munemasa received orders to suppress them. Departing immediately for Shimotsuke Province, Munemasa returned triumphantly on the twenty-sixth bearing Shigehiro's head.

His Excellency had been slightly intoxicated when news of Munemasa's return reached him. Furrowing his brows at the severed head's presentation, he commanded Lord Nakakane with uncharacteristic severity: "Who authorized this execution? Like Wada Saemonnojō in recent events, Hatakeyama Shigetada was a loyal shogunal vassal unjustly condemned! That his youngest son plotted rebellion from resentment warrants capturing him alive for interrogation before judgment! This reckless slaughter invites divine wrath—suspend Lord Munemasa's duties!" When Nakakane relayed this rebuke verbatim, Munemasa glared fiercely and retorted: "Respectfully—absurdity! Capturing that monk alive would've been simple, but his guilt stood manifest! Had I brought him here, simpering ladies and nuns would've begged mercy with their 'noble' airs—and His Excellency, ever swayed by 'compassion,' would've pardoned him! Thus treason becomes no grave crime, endangering our shogunate! Reprimanding divine punishment—preposterous! If this continues, none will risk their lives for loyalty! Our Shogun bears no resemblance to his austere father who valued martial readiness! Flower viewings! Moon gazings! Surrounded by women! Drunk on flattery while boasting poetry—a farce! Confiscated lands go not to deserving warriors but beauties—Hazuya Shigetomo's holdings to Lady Gojō, Nakayama Shigemasa's to Lady Shimosa—shameful! Soon true warriors will vanish beneath effete dilettantes!" Having vented years of pent-up fury, he stormed out with a derisive shrug. Though separated by chambers, his booming voice must have reached His Excellency's ears—we attendants sat rigid with dread—yet His Excellency's magnanimity proved extraordinary indeed.

“A warrior is fine as that.”

He declared with a solemn countenance, then calmly lifted his sake cup as though nothing had transpired.
Before long, Lord Munemasa’s official duties were reinstated. Yet His Excellency remained unchanged from before, still engrossed in poetry and music, utterly indifferent to Munemasa’s life-risking rebuke. Only when matters concerned the imperial court or deities did he abruptly adopt a different bearing—rigorous and solemn. Moreover, memories of the Wada clan’s retainers, cut down one after another on that rainy season day, seemed never to leave his thoughts whether waking or sleeping. When the Third Day of the Twelfth Month arrived, His Excellency himself finally visited Jufuku-ji Temple to pray for the repose of Commissioner Yoshimori and all his fallen kin.

Kenpō 2, Wood Dog.
February (30-day month).
First Day, Hinoe-Saru: Clear skies. At the Hour of the Boar, an earthquake occurred.
Fourth Day, Earth Pig: Clear skies. His Excellency the Shogun suffered mild illness, prompting all to rush about—though nothing grave transpired. This was perhaps due to lingering effects from His Excellency's deep intoxication the previous night. At that moment, Zen Master Eisai was performing invocations when, hearing of this matter, he presented a bowl of tea from the main temple under pretense of fine medicine, accompanied by a scroll extolling tea's virtues. His Excellency the Shogun was said to have been profoundly gratified.

Seventh Day (Mizunoe-Tora), Clear skies. At the Hour of the Tiger (3–5 AM), a major earthquake occurred.
Fourteenth Day, Kinoe-Tori (Wood Rooster), clear skies. His Excellency the Shogun, stirred by poetic inspiration for mist and haze, deigned to proceed to Hitotorisawa Cove. As dusk deepened, he awaited the bright moon’s glow, then poled a lone boat back from Yuigahama—so it is recorded.

Same year.
March (29-day month).
On the ninth day, Kinoe-Tatsu [Wood Dragon], clear skies. As evening approached, His Excellency the Shogun abruptly proceeded to Eifuku-ji Temple for the purpose of viewing cherry blossoms.

Same year.

April (30-day month).
Third Day, Hinoto-Tori (Fire Rooster): Clear skies. At the Hour of the Boar (9–11 PM), a major earthquake occurred.

Same year.

June (30-day month).
Third Day, Hinoe-Saru (Fire Monkey): Clear skies. Various provinces lamented severe droughts. Thereupon, His Excellency the Shogun observed the Eight Precepts and performed a recitation of the Lotus Sutra to pray for rain.
On the fifth day, Tsuchinoe-Inu (Earth Dog): Timely rain fell—was this solely due to His Excellency the Shogun’s earnest prayers?

Thirteenth Day, Hinoe-Uma (丙午): It was proclaimed that regarding tribute from various shogunal domains in Kantō, two-thirds would be exempted starting next autumn—with the stipulation that each year, one domain at a time should gradually undergo this exemption in rotation.

Same year.
August (29-day month).
7th Day (Kinoe-I): Torrential rains and flooding.
29th Day (Kanoto-Tori), cloudy. On the past 16th day, Lord Masatsune, Middle Captain of Nijō, transcribed and presented autumn ten-poem contest entries from the Retired Emperor's court. His Excellency the Shogun particularly deigned to appreciate them—or so it was recorded.

Same year.

September (30-day month).
22nd Day (Kinoe-Hitsuji), Clear skies. At the Hour of the Ox (1–3 AM), a major earthquake occurred.

Same year.
October (29-day month).
Sixth Day, Hinoto-Tori (Fire Rooster): Clear skies. At the Hour of the Boar (9–11 PM), a major earthquake occurred.
10th Day, Kanoto-Ushi (Metal Ox): Clear skies. At the Hour of the Monkey (3–5 PM), torrential rain and thunder occurred.

Same year.
November (30-day month).
25th Day, Kinoto-Tori (Wood Rooster): Clear skies. A Rokuhara courier arrived and reported: Remnants of Wada Saemonnojō Yoshimori and Daigaku-no-suke Yoshikiyo had been residing in Kyoto, appointing the late Konoe Shogun’s son as their general to plot rebellion. Upon hearing this report, on the past 13th Day, retainers in the capital of the former Daizen-no-daibu attacked the aforementioned inn. The Zen master immediately committed suicide, while his accomplices fled—so it was stated.

Same year.
December (30-day month).

Fourth Day, Kinoe-Uma (Wood Horse): Clear skies. At the Hour of the Boar (9–11 PM), Yuigahama's shore burned down. During the fierce south wind's course, [the fire] spread several chō along Wakamiya Ōji Avenue; all residences in between met with disaster.

Kenpō 3, Wood Pig (乙亥).
First Month (29-day month).
Eighth Day, Tsuchinoe-Tatsu (戊辰): Clear skies. A messenger urgently arrived from Izu Province and reported: On the past Sixth Day, at the Hour of the Dog (7–9 PM), Lay Monk Tōtōmi-no-kami Tokimasa passed away in Hōjō District, having suffered from a tumor in recent days—so it was stated.
Eleventh Day, Kanoto-Hitsuji (Metal Sheep): Clear skies. The houses of Wakamiya-tsuji burned down; between the Hours of the Rooster (5–7 PM) and Dog (7–9 PM), over twenty blocks were entirely reduced to ashes.

Same year.

February (30-day month).
24th Day, Mizunoto-Ushi (Water Ox): Clear skies. At the Hour of the Dog (7–9 PM), thunder and lightning sounded several times.

Same year.
March (30-day month).
Fifth Day, Kinoe-Ne (Wood Rat): Clear skies. His Excellency the Shogun proceeded to Miura's Yokosuka to view flowers.
Twentieth Day, Wood Rabbit: Today His Excellency the Shogun commanded that concerning the Kyoto-bound tribute horses, the officials should prepare three exceptional horses through prior arrangements and present them for inspection; as for selecting and determining [the final choice], it was stated that this would be subject to [His Excellency's] judgment.

Same year.
June (29-day month).

Twentieth Day, Wood Tiger: This night at the Hour of the Rat (11 PM–1 AM), the Goryō Shrine rumbled, occurring two or three times—so it is recorded.

Same year.

July (30-day month).
Sixth Day, Mizunoto-Mi (Water Snake): Clear skies. Lord Bōmon presented to His Excellency the Shogun a volume from the Retired Emperor’s poetry contest held on the Second Day of the Sixth Month; this was said to have been done in accordance with a secret imperial decree.

Same year.
August (29-day month).
18th Day, Wood Snake: Torrential rain. At the Hour of the Horse (11 AM–1 PM), fierce winds arose. The torii gate of Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine collapsed.
19th Day, Hinoe-Uma [Fire Horse], cloudy. An earthquake occurred.
21st Day, Boshin [Earth Monkey], clear skies. At the Hour of the Snake (9–11 AM), egrets gathered above the western samurai quarters of the Shogunal Palace. At the Hour of the Sheep (1–3 PM), an earthquake occurred—so it was reported.
Twenty-second day, Kanoe-Tori [Earth Rooster]: Clear skies. An earthquake occurred. Regarding the strange matter of the egrets, when a divination was performed, [the diviners] reported it signified further calamity. Thereupon, [His Excellency] departed the Shogunal Palace and took residence at the Lord of Sagami’s villa, while the villa’s owner relocated elsewhere—so it was recorded.

Same year.
September (29-day month).

Sixth Day, Mizunoe-Inu (Water Dog): Clear skies. At the Hour of the Ox (1–3 AM), a major earthquake occurred.
Eighth Day, Kinoe-Ne (Wood Rat): Cloudy skies. At the Hour of the Tiger (3–5 AM), a major earthquake occurred.
Eleventh Day, Hinoto-U (Fire Rabbit): Clear skies. At the Hour of the Tiger (3–5 AM), a major earthquake occurred; at the Hour of the Sheep (1–3 PM), it shook slightly again.
Thirteenth Day, Kinoe-Mi [Wood Snake], clear skies. At the Hour of the Sheep (1–3 PM), an earthquake occurred.
Fourteenth Day, Kanoe-Uma (庚午): Clear skies. At the Hour of the Rooster (5–7 PM), an earthquake occurred; at the Hour of the Dog (7–9 PM), an earthquake occurred, with thunder resounding simultaneously.

Sixteenth Day, Mizunoe-Saru (壬申): Clear skies. At the Hour of the Rabbit (5–7 AM), an earthquake occurred.
Seventeenth Day, Mizunoto-Tori (癸酉): Clear skies. At the Hour of the Dog (7–9 PM), three earthquakes occurred.
21st Day (Dingchou), clear skies. Due to the successive earthquakes, ritual prayers were conducted.
26th Day (Mizunoe-Uma): At the Hour of the Boar (9–11 PM), thunderclaps sounded several times, and hailstones as large as plums fell.

Same year.
October (30-day month).
Second Day, Hinoto-I (Fire Boar): Clear skies. At the Hour of the Tiger (3–5 AM), an earthquake occurred.

Same year.
November (29-day month).
Eighth Day, Mizunoto-I (Water Boar): Clear skies. His Excellency the Shogun returned to the Shogunal Palace from the Lord of Sagami’s villa, his temporary lodging having spanned seventy-five days due to the strange occurrence of the egrets.
25th Day, Kanoe-Tatsu (Metal Dragon): At the shogunate headquarters, Buddhist rites were suddenly conducted. The officiating priest was said to be Preceptor Gyōyū—this being done because His Excellency the Shogun had experienced a dream the previous night in which deceased retainers led by Yoshimori appeared before him in multitude.

Same year.

December (30-day month).
15th Day, Kinoto-I (Wood Boar): Clear skies. At the Hour of the Boar (9–11 PM), an earthquake occurred.
16th Day, Kanoe-Ne (Metal Rat): Clear skies. Fierce winds persisted throughout the day. Regarding the successive celestial anomalies and other such events, it was stated that these constituted a disturbance requiring His Excellency the Shogun to observe particular restraint.

Kenpō 4, Hinoe-Ne (丙子).
First Month (29-day month).
Seventeenth Day, Kanoto-Hitsuji (Metal Sheep): Clear skies. The principal image for His Excellency the Shogun's private Buddhist chapel, crafted by Unkei, was conveyed from Kyoto. An eye-opening ceremony was to be held, with Shinanokami Yukimitsu appointed as overseeing official to manage preparations.
28th Day, Mizunoe-Uma (Water Horse): Clear skies. For the first time, the principal image was enshrined in the private Buddhist chapel, whereupon a consecration ceremony was conducted.

Same year.

March (30-day month).
Seventh Day, Kanoe-Saru (Metal Monkey): The seawater changed color, becoming as red as soaked crimson—so it was recorded.
25th Day, Tsuchinoe-Ne (Earth Rat): Due to the passing of Her Ladyship Gokō, His Excellency proceeded to Shinanokami Yukimitsu’s mountain villa; it was said to be a secret ceremony.

Same year.

April (29-day month).
On the Ninth Day, Jinshin (壬辰), at the southern front of the regular Shogunal Palace, [His Excellency the Shogun] spent the entire day listening to and adjudicating the grievances of various individuals; [they] waited at the Fujinomiya Hall and presented the details of their cases.

Same year.
May (30-day month).
Twenty-fourth Day, Hinoe-Ne [Fire Rat]: His Excellency the Shogun was made to tour the mountain interior; during this unexpected interval, various people hurried forth to attend—so it was recorded.

Same year.
June (30-day month).

Eighth Day, Kanoe-Ne [Metal Rat]: Clear skies. Chen Heqing arrived; he was a Song Chinese artisan who had cast the Great Buddha of Tōdai-ji. On the day of that temple’s consecration, after His Excellency the Late Shogun [Yoritomo] formed karmic bonds [with the Buddha], they had repeatedly ordered that [Chen] be granted an audience. However, Chen stated: “As Your Lordship has caused many lives to be taken, the weight of karmic burden is profound; meeting [you] would incur apprehension.” Thus, he ultimately declined to pay homage. Yet regarding His Excellency the Shogun [Sanetomo], [Chen] declared him to be the reincarnation of a manifested Buddha and professed his intent to visit solely to behold [Sanetomo’s] gracious countenance. Upon this report, [Sanetomo] designated the residence of Chikugo no Saemonnojō Tomoshige as Chen’s lodging and first commanded Lord Hiromoto to inquire into the particulars.

Fifteenth Day, Hinoto-Tori [Fire Rooster]: Clear skies. Chen Heqing was summoned to the Shogunal Palace for an audience. Chen prostrated three times in reverence and wept bitterly. As His Excellency the Shogun appeared discomfited by this display of deference, Chen stated: “Your Lordship was once the abbot of Mount Iō in Song China, and I was counted among your disciples at that time.” This matter pertained to an event on the Third Day of the Sixth Month of Kenryaku 1 [1211], during His Excellency’s slumber at the Hour of the Ox [1–3 AM], when a high-ranking monk had entered His Excellency’s dream and revealed this very truth. Though His Excellency had never spoken of this visionary matter, after six years had elapsed, it suddenly aligned with Chen’s account. Thus, it was declared that there remained no doubt but to place faith in this revelation.

Same year.
Intercalary Sixth Month (29-day month).
On the 14th Day, Hinoe-Tora [Wood Tiger], Lord Hiromoto had changed to the Ōe clan name on the first day of this month.

Same year.

September (29-day month).
18th Day, Tsuchinoe-Inu [Earth Dog]: The Lord of Sagami summoned Ōe no Hiromoto and commanded him thus: "Regarding the matter of appointing His Excellency the Shogun as Great General—this has been privately contemplated." His Excellency the Late Shogun had persistently declined each imperial appointment of rank, intending to preserve auspicious fortune for his descendants. Yet now, though His Excellency's current age had not reached full maturity, this promotion during his prime adulthood appeared exceedingly premature. Moreover, for shogunal vassals not stationed in Kyoto to each receive appointments to prominent official positions would be deemed profoundly excessive—a most lamentable circumstance. "Though this humble official, through foolish shortsightedness, might venture to propose such measures, I would instead incur blame for them. Why have you not raised these concerns?" To this, Ōe no Hiromoto responded: "Though I have agonized over this matter daily, during His Excellency the Late Shogun's reign, consultations were held on such affairs. As no such practice exists now, I resolved privately against voicing trivial opinions. To partake in this confidential discussion now is indeed most fortunate. The fundamental teaching states: 'Ministers should accept posts commensurate with their worth.' His Excellency currently inherits his predecessor's legacy alone. In this present age, he lacks specific military achievements. Yet not only does he govern the provinces, but he ascends to Middle Counselor and Lieutenant General—a rank unattainable by commoners unless born to Regent-Chancellors. How shall he escape the twin chapters of infantile harm and accumulated karma? Let me swiftly convey these humble thoughts through an official envoy."

20th Day, Tsuchinoto-I [Earth Boar], clear skies. Ōe no Hiromoto visited the Shogunal Palace and, under the pretext of being an envoy from the Lord of Sagami, offered remonstrance regarding the matter of promotion: “If one truly wishes to beseech prosperity for Your descendants, you should resign your current offices and only assume the role of Great General upon reaching venerable age, having first served solely as Seii Taishōgun.” His Excellency commanded in response: “Though the intent of your remonstrance is most reasonable, the Minamoto lineage now contracts to this moment. No descendant shall dare inherit it. Therefore, I desire to retain my offices to the fullest extent and elevate our house’s renown.” Ōe no Hiromoto found himself unable to further debate the matter. He promptly withdrew and reported these circumstances to the Lord of Sagami—so it was recorded.

Same year.
October (30-day month).
Fifth Day, Kinoe-Tora (Wood Tiger): His Excellency the Shogun had various petitioners present their appeals in the courtyard.

Same year.

November (29-day month).

24th Day, Kinoe-U (Water Hare): Clear skies. As His Excellency the Shogun had resolved to dispatch [envoys] across to Tang China to pay homage at his teacher's residence on Mount Iō, he commanded Chen Heqing of Song to repair a Tang-bound ship. Furthermore, over sixty attendants were appointed, with Asamitsu overseeing this matter. Though the Lord of Sagami and Mutsu Province strenuously advised against it, their counsel found no acceptance from His Excellency, and thus shipbuilding preparations proceeded—so it was recorded.

Same year.
December (30-day month).
First Day, Tsuchinoto-Tori (己酉): Upon hearing that grievances from various people had accumulated, His Excellency the Shogun commanded the administrative officials to resolve them within the year—so it was recorded.

To speak of indulgence—if one imagines His Excellency collapsing drunk like base men who lose their senses, bellowing absurdities, or seizing women and children for licentious ends—this would be a grave misunderstanding. Though His Excellency the Shogun had indeed increased his wine consumption during this period, he never drank beyond a mild flush, maintaining perfect posture even then. Even when gathering ladies-in-waiting for jesting, it amounted merely to refined jests that enlivened the company with laughter—far from vulgar revelry. Yet when the Great General of the Subjugation of Barbarians, scion of the paramount house of martial lineage, neglected martial arts to fixate on poetry, hosted frivolous banquets, and dallied with women, his station made such conduct glaringly conspicuous. Thus did it inevitably come to be called indulgence. We attendants never wavered in our trust and devotion to His Excellency—yet still, at times found ourselves gripped by inexplicable unease.

In the New Year of Kenpō 2 [1214], His Excellency departed for the annual pilgrimage to the twin shrines, with all of us attendants accompanying him. On the Third Day of the Second Month, the procession returned safely to Kamakura. That night, every last attendant gathered at His Excellency’s quarters to receive ritual sake. Exquisite dishes emerged in endless succession, and as night deepened, the revelry escalated into a raucous chorus of drinking and song. His Excellency too kept company with everyone until nearly dawn—and for once appeared so profoundly intoxicated that even maintaining formal seated posture seemed beyond him.

The following day found His Excellency bedridden with severe discomfort. A great number of retainers rushed to pay their respects, filling his chambers with palpable unease. Yet Abbot Eisai—who had been attending to perform healing rites—discerned this condition stemmed merely from hangover. The abbot procured a certain "miracle drug" from his temple and presented a cup; instantly His Excellency’s suffering subsided, granting Eisai considerable credit. This so-called miracle drug proved to be plain tea—a rarity in Kamakura at that time—whereupon Eisai disclosed its true nature while presenting a scroll extolling tea’s virtues.

Some tilted their heads quizzically at this offering—wondering whether it contained writings from zazen sessions or some rare composition.

Abbot Eisai, as you know, had grown dissatisfied with how Tendai Buddhism (founded by Saichō) and Shingon Buddhism (originating from Kūkai)—the two dominant sects since Tenpyō era—had strayed from their founders’ visions into vulgar traditions fixated on exorcisms. After returning from his second Song China pilgrimage, he sought to establish Zen Buddhism while Pure Land sect emerged through Kurodani’s holy man. Both movements drew envy from Nara’s temples and Mount Hiei’s monasteries despite gaining followers across social strata—persecutions ultimately driving Eisai to Kamakura where he founded Jufuku-ji Temple until his death from dysentery in June Kenpō 3 [1215]. The fiery vigor he once displayed in doctrinal debates had vanished completely in later years; perhaps through profound enlightenment he abandoned sectarian attachments—readily performing exorcisms while composing eccentric works like tea-virtue scrolls during leisure hours—appearing to us attendants as a shrewd yet detached prelate.

Now upon recovering through this "virtue of tea," His Excellency immediately resumed cultural diversions—gathering refined warriors for boat excursions and cherry-blossom viewings while occasionally slipping away alone to wander hillsides, necessitating frantic searches afterward. From Kenpō 2 through Kenpō 3 [1214-1215], near-daily earthquakes struck alongside fires and gales—droughts yielding to floods while terrifying thunderclaps resounded under ominous eclipses that left Kantō’s populace anxious. Critics condemned these refined pursuits amidst calamity; some diviners declared disasters divine warnings demanding penitence while others interpreted egret swarms on palace roofs as catastrophe omens. Urged by Lord Yoshitoki then did His Excellency reside cramped within Yoshitoki’s estate for seventy-five days—though no disaster materialized—before returning amidst bewildering uproar we attendants perceived as arising from intense scrutiny over his artistic indulgences.

Yet even amid what seemed like senile diversions, there remained feats achievable only through His Excellency the Shogun’s authority. During the great drought from May to June of Kenpō 2 [1214], multitudes of monks conducted daily rain prayers at Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine—yet only faint clouds drifted and distant thunder murmured without a single drop falling. But when His Excellency observed ritual purity and devotedly recited the Lotus Sutra on the Third Day of the Sixth Month, gentle rain began pattering down by dawn. Long ago, when Empress Kōgyoku’s realm suffered drought, Minister Soga no Emishi himself had lifted incense burners in prayer to no avail—the skies stayed pitilessly clear. Ashamed, he begged Her Imperial Majesty to intercede. She processed to the riverbank, bowed to the four directions, and torrents fell at once, restoring fertility. Though a mere vassal’s deeds could never compare to such imperial virtue, it seemed a pure-hearted plea could pierce heaven—a feat beyond corrupt monks or Emishi. Thus, even while immersed in aesthetic revelry, His Excellency’s noble character shone through, abruptly rehabilitating his reputation. On the thirteenth of that same month, foreseeing crop failures from Kantō’s ceaseless disasters, he ordered tax relief—earning fresh praise for magnanimity. At times he’d emerge unexpectedly to the front courtyard, listening all day in silence to commoners’ petitions. Yet soon he’d resume planning new amusements. Though once taciturn, he grew slightly more voluble; his face even appeared younger than before.
When one of the attendants remarked one day, “It seems Your Excellency has grown noticeably stouter of late,”

"A man grows stout through suffering.
“It is women’s suffering that causes them to waste away.”"

Though His Excellency had spoken in jest, perhaps beneath that cheerful exterior lay profound sorrows he kept hidden from all—matters beyond our capacity to surmise.

"There was nothing to be done."

There were also times when His Excellency would remark with a faint smile:

"Why not establish something called the Capital Office, equivalent to the Mandokoro and Samurai-dokoro? As for the Capital Office Chief alone, appointing one would suffice."

At banquets, he would utter these words to no one in particular before bursting into solitary laughter. Though this might have been self-mockery—deriding his own suitability as Capital Office Chief while satirizing those who slavishly imitated Kyoto's gaudy fashions—our daily observations revealed deeper implications. Even in solemn contexts, one sensed this hypothetical Chief might indeed have found reasons to nod in assent.

Truly, during this period, diplomatic relations with the imperial court appeared sustained solely through His Excellency's efforts. In July of Kenpō 3 [1215], a poetry anthology from the Cloistered Sovereign arrived via secret decree from the Retired Emperor's Palace. That same year, when selecting prized horses for Kyoto's imperial stables, His Excellency personally inspected each mount like a humble horse-tamer, peering into their mouths himself while ordering officials to procure three exceptional steeds per contributor. During the Retired Emperor's illness from July to August of Kenpō 5 [1217], he immediately dispatched envoys bearing three hundred thirty unbroken horses and commissioned Buddhist rites for imperial recovery—acts of deference that became exemplars for all subjects.

When assuming titles of Left General and Minister of Right, all ceremonial regalia—from robes to carriages—were sent from the Retired Emperor's Palace to Kamakura, an imperial favor beyond measure. Yet base officials whispered slanderous rumors, foolishly suspecting the Retired Emperor intended *kan’uchi*—the stratagem of accelerating promotions to destroy unworthy recipients through their ranks' weight—though none dared voice these anxieties openly. Such ignorance blinded them to the luminous bond between sovereign and vassal that flowed between palace and shogunate—both being peerless poets.

After His Excellency met his tragic end in Jōkyū 1's First Month [1219], the Retired Emperor dispatched Lord Tadatsuna, Master of the Imperial Storehouse, bearing profound lamentations to Kamakura. That rebellions erupted immediately upon his death reveals—to discerning minds—how this lord who seemed absorbed in aesthetics had in truth labored as Kamakura's great mediator, ceaselessly bridging court and shogunate with fractured heart. What clearer proof that he alone had been the Capital's unseen steward?

However, at that time, misunderstandings surrounding His Excellency the Shogun ran deep both within and beyond his court. In September of Kenpō 4 [1216], Monk-dono Hiromoto attempted what appeared to be earnest remonstrance toward His Excellency, only to end up greatly humiliating himself—such incidents occurred.

On the eighteenth day of the Ninth Month, Lord Sagami secretly summoned Monk-dono Hiromoto to his residence and began: "This troubles me—regarding His Excellency the Shogun. Having grown weary of poetic diversions, he now fixates on court promotions, even demanding immediate delivery of imperial appointment decrees from Kyoto. It’s utterly unseemly—the Kyoto nobles must be aghast. For shogunal prestige, this proves intolerable. His Late Excellency [Yoritomo], in his wisdom, always declined imperial honors to preserve fortune for descendants. Between us—what need have we shogunate officials for Senior Second Rank or Great Counselor titles? Substance over names! The Great General title alone suffices. Yet His Excellency now craves Kyoto’s favor beyond reason—grasping at every imperial trifle until our weakness invites contempt. This indulgence bodes ill. Though I could admonish him directly, being blunt-tempered risks provoking useless anger." Here Lord Sagami stared unblinking at Hiromoto. "Thus I rely on your refined circumlocutions."

Two days later, Monk-dono came before His Excellency as Lord Sagami’s envoy and eloquently articulated the impropriety of vainly pursuing court ranks.

Contrary to his usual ambiguous manner, Monk-dono commenced with uncharacteristic grandeur: beginning with how His Late Excellency the Great General had refrained from seeking court ranks despite monumental achievements—preserving fortune for descendants by contenting himself with the title of Great General of the Subjugation of Barbarians. He contrasted this with His Excellency’s current position as Middle Counselor and Lieutenant General attained without commensurate merit—a rank permissible only for Regent-Chancellors’ sons. Should such overreach persist, calamity might follow. If desiring prosperity for posterity, Monk-dono urged resignation of offices to emulate his father’s example—deferring honors until advanced age. Though he remonstrated flawlessly, His Excellency merely smiled serenely.

“There may be other reasons why seeking court ranks is unwise,” he remarked. “To invoke descendants is abrupt.” Then with prophetic finality: “My descendants will not exist anywhere.”

His Excellency delivered this in his usual jesting manner, leaving Monk-dono Hiromoto visibly deflated. The old advisor gazed vacantly at the Shogun’s face, offered no reply, then bowed quietly and withdrew with unceremonious abruptness.

Yet that declaration—“I shall have no descendants”—ought not to have unsettled us. His Excellency had no children, and it seemed merely a quip at Hiromoto’s expense. Nevertheless, those words resonated strangely in our hearts like some baseless yet ill-omened prophecy. Though we dismissed it as foolish fancy, when catastrophe struck three New Years hence, we found ourselves compelled to count even this utterance among the inexplicable mysteries.

The Song voyage decree came that same year—a whim born of Chen Heqing’s arrival in Kamakura. For us lowly retainers, constructing a great ship seemed unimaginable, but for Kantō’s paramount lord? Hardly unnatural. Had not Prince Shōtoku—whom His Excellency revered—engaged with Sui China six centuries past? Even Jufuku-ji’s abbot had twice sailed to Song. This differed utterly from peasant dreams of Cathay—His Excellency’s broad learning surely deemed such travel feasible. Thus I perceived his casual planning.

Yet to the shogunate’s parochial minds, this verged on madness. Fierce opposition erupted: some claimed he sought to flee Hōjō oppression through maritime exile; others insisted he plotted to transport imperial forces against the regents; still others alleged financial sabotage as final loyalty to the throne. “Nonsense!” countered apologists. “This pilgrimage to Mount Iō fulfills spiritual yearning—nothing more!” The council’s clamor grew so tumultuous, one might think Kamakura faced imminent war.

Yet Lord Sagami, Monk-dono Hiromoto, and Her Ladyship Masako opposed through prudent concern—not base suspicion. True to motherhood, Masako first cited health risks: “Abandon this scheme.” His Excellency dismissed her with a wave: “I’ll return within a year—even Prince Shōtoku traveled freely!” His face showed no inclination to yield as Lord Sagami and Hiromoto jointly remonstrated...

“Even if only for a single year, His Excellency the Shogun leaving the shogunate unattended would be an unprecedented act that cannot be considered prudent.”

“If merely keeping watch for a single year lies beyond your capability,” His Excellency countered, “then you senior vassals prove your worthlessness.”

“Under what authority does Your Excellency undertake this voyage to Song?”

“As a traveler of Japan.”

“Having Chen Heqing as our guide is concerning.”

“I am aware.” The Shogun’s voice carried wry amusement. “The foreigner cannot be relied upon—I merely intend to glean some knowledge from him.”

At a complete loss, Lord Sagami and Monk-dono Hiromoto could only exchange glances and sigh in unison.

His Excellency the Shogun was but twenty-five years of age—as previously stated—and by no means ill-advised for one so young to journey abroad. Neither Lord Sagami nor Monk-dono lacked capacity to maintain guardianship for six months or a full year. Indeed, this venture promised greater security for the shogunate than were His Excellency to reside in Kyoto for years harmonizing with courtiers. Though Lord Sagami’s faction regarded this expedition more favorably than the rank-seeking indulgences, their utter distrust of Chen Heqing proved insurmountable—should that man guide them, they resolved to oppose the plan without compromise.

This Chen Heqing was an exceedingly peculiar figure—foreigner’s hearts being inscrutable to us—who had abruptly appeared in Kamakura in June of Kenpō 4 [1216], spreading strange claims of His Excellency being Buddha reborn. When this reached the Shogun’s ears—coupled with his reverence for Prince Shōtoku’s divine legacy—it piqued his interest enough to summon Heqing on the fifteenth day.

Though fallen into dire straits, Chen had once been renowned—twenty years prior during Kenkyū 6 [1195], when His Late Excellency Yoritomo inspected Tōdai-ji’s Great Buddha that Chen had overseen casting. The masterpiece prompted Yoritomo to dispatch Abbot Shunjō with lavish gifts—armor from Ōshū campaigns, steeds, gold—all of which Chen disdained, melting armor into temple nails and returning the rest. This once-proud artisan now wandered destitute—by Kenpō 4 reduced to begging entry to Kamakura while proclaiming Sanetomo divine reincarnation.

Though foreigners might shed tears freely even without profound sorrow, the sight of this gaunt, unsightly old man writhing and wailing bore an air of the extraordinary. His Excellency the Shogun frowned at this spectacle, appearing utterly confounded, until Chen Heqing—weeping as he spoke—declared: "Your Excellency was in a prior incarnation the abbot of Song Dynasty's Mount Iō. At that time, I served as your humble disciple within the order—how this stirs my nostalgia."

“That is something I saw in a dream.”

His Excellency the Shogun responded immediately without showing the slightest surprise.
Six years prior, on the third day of the sixth month of Kenryaku 1 during the hour of the Ox, as His Excellency slept, a venerable monk had appeared in his dream and declared: “You were once the abbot of Mount Iō in Song”—or so it was recounted.

"I had not told anyone, but how intriguing that it aligns with your tale," he remarked, shaking his head in evident amusement. Chen Heqing likely never anticipated matters would unfold so smoothly. Having gained His Excellency's trust, he found himself frequently summoned to the shogunal residence to expound on Song Dynasty affairs. Yet His Excellency soon grew dissatisfied with mere discourse, ultimately conceiving his own voyage plan—commanding Chen to construct a Chinese-style vessel and formally appointing him as navigator.

Overriding all opposition, by the twenty-fourth day of the Eleventh Month that year, His Excellency had selected over sixty cultured warriors as his retinue—myself included among their number—though these chosen men, all formidable figures in their own right, seemed to regard the enterprise as little more than an elaborate maritime excursion. Placing absolute faith in His Excellency's leadership, they idly speculated about Song beauties while eagerly awaiting departure, leaving naught but completion of Heqing's ship pending.

His Excellency moved with restless energy, diligently resolving governmental affairs neglected before his intended departure—a backlog of provincial lawsuits he now ordered cleared by year's end through vigorous official efforts. This uncharacteristic urgency made me wonder what truly drove him—not Mount Iō's pilgrimage nor ignorance of Chen's base motives, for he surely saw through the foreigner's ploys while exploiting them temporarily. His true aim lay not in Song itself but in escaping Kamakura's soil for mere months—an impulse perhaps rooted in that Kenpō 3 Eleventh Month's end when spectral figures of Wada Yoshimori and fallen warriors had massed at his bedside.

Though grand Buddhist rites followed at dawn, no rite could cleanse a lord's heart after unwittingly slaughtering his favored vassals' kin—a desolation beyond our reckoning that I could not help but deem foundational to this frenzy.

Kenpō 5, Fire Ox (1217).

Third Month, 29 days.
On the tenth day (*Jingai*), clear skies. In the evening, His Excellency the Shogun departed for Eifuku-ji Temple to view cherry blossoms, accompanied in the same carriage by Her Ladyship the Shogun’s Consort. First, they paid respects at the Buddha hall; next, they strolled beneath the flowering grove. Thereafter, they entered the residence of Magistrate Yukimura, where a poetry gathering was held. The event continued until the fourth hour of the Boar [~10 PM], after which they returned by moonlight.

Same year.

Fourth Month, 30 days.
Seventeenth Day, Kinoe-Ne (Wood Rat), clear. Chen Heqing, the Song artisan, completed construction of the Chinese-style ship. That day, hundreds of laborers were summoned from various vassal households to attempt launching the vessel at Yuigahama. His Excellency the Minister of the Right (Sanetomo) personally oversaw the proceedings. Shinanokami Yukimitsu directed operations; following Heqing’s instructions, all exerted their strength to haul the vessel from the Hour of the Horse [noon] until late in the Hour of the Monkey [~3 PM]. Yet Yuigahama’s geography proved ill-suited for Chinese vessels—its waters could not float the ship. The party returned to Kamakura, leaving the craft to rot uselessly upon the sands.

Same year.
Fifth Month, 30 days.
On the 11th Day (Tsuchinoe-Ne), clear skies. During the Hour of the Monkey [3-5 PM], Jōgyō - Third Rank and Sōzu, Chief Priest of Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine - entered nirvana after suffering from an abscess.
27th Day (*Kinoe-Tatsu*): It was proclaimed today to those who had received the lands of Yoshimori and others who perished in the Fifth Month of Kenpō 1 [1213] that their former domains—including shrine and temple affairs—should be administered according to the precedents of their original owners.

Same year.
Sixth Month, 29 days.
On the 20th Day (*Hinoe-Tora*), clear skies. Acharya Kugyō arrived from Onjō-ji Temple, having been ordered by the Nun Shogun to fill the vacancy of Chief Priest at Tsurugaoka [Hachimangū]. For the past year or two, he had resided at Myōō-in Temple as a disciple of Bishop Kōin, devoting himself to Buddhist studies.

Same year.
Seventh Month, 30 days.
On the twenty-fourth day (Kanoe-I), clear skies. Envoys from Kyoto arrived and reported that since the tenth day, the Retired Emperor had been suffering daily bouts of malaria; despite prayers conducted both within and without, no sign of efficacy had been observed.
On the twenty-sixth day, Xin Chou, clear skies. Yamashiro no Daibu Hōgan Yukimura departed for the capital as an envoy, due to the Retired Emperor’s affliction.

Same year.
Ninth Month, 30 days.
On the 13th day (*Hinoto-I*, Fire Pig), His Excellency the Shogun made an imperial excursion to Miura to view the moonlit seashore. Saemon no Jo Yoshimura made particularly elaborate arrangements for this occasion.
On the thirtieth day (Kinoe-Tatsu), the first Shari-e (Buddhist relic ceremony) was conducted at Eifuku-ji Temple. Her Ladyship the Nun Shogun [Hōjō Masako], His Excellency the Shogun [Minamoto no Sanetomo], and Her Ladyship the Consort attended. The ceremonial proceedings—from dance and music onward—were executed with utmost beauty and virtue.

Same year.

Tenth Month, 30 days.
On the 11th Day (Kinoto-U), clear skies. After Acharya Kugyō was appointed to the position of Chief Priest of Tsurugaoka Hachimangū, he conducted his first worship of the deity. Furthermore, in accordance with a longstanding vow, it was declared that from this day forth, he would enter into a 1,000-day retreat at the shrine temple.

Kenpō 6, Earth Tiger (1218).
Second Month, 29 days.

On the 4th Day (Hinoe-Uma), clear skies. The Nun Shogun departed for the capital.

Same year.
Fourth Month, 29 days.
On the twenty-ninth day, Kanoe-Uma, clear skies, Hour of the Monkey [3-5 PM]. The Nun Shogun returned to Kamakura. On the past fourteenth day, an imperial decree had been issued to appoint her to Junior Third Rank. Middle Counselor Saneyori Ason delivered the corresponding rank certificate to her residence at Third Rank Hall. On the fifteenth day, though an order came from the Retired Emperor's Palace for an audience, she declared it improper for a rustic old nun to approach the imperial visage, abandoned her plans for temple pilgrimages, and immediately departed back [to Kamakura], it is said.

Same year.
June, 29 days.
Twentieth Day, Kōshin [57th day], clear skies. Uchikuranokami Tadatsuna Ason descended [to Kamakura] as imperial envoy. First, two imperial carriages and below—various inaugural ceremony regalia—were carried. Dozens of laborers formed processional rows.
On the twenty-first day (*Shinyū*), clear skies, Hour of the Horse [11 AM–1 PM]. Uchikuranokami Tadatsuna Ason had the aforementioned regalia transported to the shogunal palace: two carriages, a bow carved with the Nine Adornments, ceremonial robes, attendants’ attire, transfer saddles, and more—all prepared and sent from the Retired Emperor’s Palace. His Excellency the Shogun summoned Tadatsuna Ason behind the blinds for an audience, graciously acknowledging the imperial court’s exceptional favor. Owing to this inaugural ceremony, attendees already numbered in the dozens. All vassals were ordered to devote themselves daily to preparations, gifts, and floral arrangements of utmost splendor—yet none of this could but burden the commoners’ coffers.
On the 27th Day (Hinoto-U), clear and overcast; His Excellency the Shogun visited Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine to conduct his inaugural ceremony, having been appointed as General. In the early morning, Yukimura, serving as messenger, informed the visiting envoys of the impending ceremony; the event took place in the late afternoon.

Same year.
Seventh Month, 30 days.
On the 8th Day (*Hinoto-Ushi*), clear skies. His Excellency the Left General began wearing informal court attire. Consequently, he visited Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine, departing during the Hour of the Horse [noon]. The vanguard, retinue guards, and below employed the same ceremonial attendants from the 27th day of the previous month.

Same year.

Eighth Month, 30 days.
On the fifteenth day (Mizunoto-Ushi), clear skies. At Tsurugaoka Hachimangū’s Hōjō-e Ceremony, His Excellency the Shogun visited the shrine. The retinue’s attire surpassed all previous splendor, and a betel palm-adorned imperial carriage was employed.
Sixteenth Day, Kōin (Wood Tiger), clear skies. His Excellency the Shogun departed as on the previous day; the horseback archery was conducted with particular splendor.

Same year.
Ninth Month, 29 days.
On the thirteenth day, Hinoto-Mi [60th day], the sky alternated between clear and cloudy until the Hour of the Rooster [6 PM], when it cleared completely. Under a bright moonlit night, a poetry gathering was held at the shogunal palace.

Same year.
Tenth Month, 30 days.
On the 26th Day (Kinoto-Ushi), clear skies. Envoys from Kyoto arrived and reported that on the past thirteenth day, Zenjō Sanpin Masako had been promoted to Junior Second Rank, it was said.

Same year.
Twelfth Month, 29 days.
On the 5th Day (*Mizunoto-U*), clear skies. Kugyō, Chief Priest of Tsurugaoka Hachimangū, entered retreat at the shrine temple and did not emerge thereafter; he conducted several prayer services yet performed no tonsure ceremony—a fact that drew public bewilderment. Furthermore, authorities dispatched Shirakawa Saemon no Jo Yoshinori to present offerings at the Grand Shrine [Ise Jingū], while envoys were also sent to various other shrines—all of which was announced throughout the palace today.
Twentieth Day, Tsuchinoe-Uma (Earth Horse), clear skies. On the past second day, His Excellency the Shogun was appointed as Minister of the Right.
Twenty-First Day, Tsuchinoto-Hitsuji (Earth Sheep), clear skies. As His Excellency the Shogun would visit Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine in the first month of the coming year for his ministerial inaugural ceremony, ceremonial robes, carriages, and other regalia arrived today from the Retired Emperor’s Palace. It was also announced that attending court nobles including Bōmon Asho would make their appearance.

In June of Kenpō 5 [1217], Acharya Kugyō returned from Kyoto and was appointed Chief Priest of Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine through Her Ladyship the Nun Shogun’s design.
The previous Chief Priest, Venerable Bishop Jōgyō, had already succumbed to an abscess that Fifth Month.
Though Acharya Kugyō had devoted years to scholarly pursuits in Kyoto, Her Ladyship—fearing rebel factions might elevate him as their figurehead and repeat Venerable Shōjitsu’s tragic fate—commanded his forced return to Kamakura and installation at Tsurugaoka Hachimangū. This act sowed the seeds of calamity that would soon convulse not merely Kantō but all Japan.
By June’s end, Acharya Kugyō paid respects at His Excellency’s residence—now eighteen years old and robustly built.
He towered over His Excellency, his fair complexion and noble features befitting a Minamoto heir apparent. Yet that same effeminate smile from childhood remained—a blend of timidity and coquetry—while his ruddy lips and glinting eyes bore an unsettling licentiousness. Compared to His Excellency’s serene composure, we perceived an abysmal disparity in their innate dignities.
That day too, Acharya Kugyō performed absurdly elaborate bows to inner chamber attendants before turning to His Excellency with a smile so ingratiating it pained observers—greetings met only with silent nods. Though His Excellency typically delighted in Kyoto tales from new arrivals, he now asked nothing of Kugyō-sama, his countenance darkening perceptibly.
Suddenly it struck me—might His Excellency loathe this acharya’s feigned smiles? Though he rarely showed aversion, treating all with uniform benevolence, Kugyō-sama alone provoked visible displeasure: sullenness during his tonsure visit six years prior; abrupt departures when his name arose; now deepening gloom as Kugyō-sama fidgeted awkwardly—all suggesting longstanding antipathy. At twenty-one, brash and presumptuous, I dared entertain such impertinent thoughts.
After Kugyō-sama withdrew, His Excellency sat long in silence before suddenly addressing us: “He must be lonely without companions—visit him occasionally.” Yet even before this command, I’d pitied the acharya’s nervous deference and resolved to call upon him someday—thus ten days later in early Seventh Month, on my day off, I visited Tsurugaoka Monastery driven by something like righteous indignation.
Having heard daylight hours were consumed by sutra recitations and ascetic practices, I came at nightfall—yet Acharya Kugyō-sama received me with unpretentious ease before declaring the chamber stifling: “Let us view the coast,” he urged, leading me outside.

There was neither moon nor stars; it was a truly dark night.
Acharya Kugyō-sama walked briskly ahead without uttering a word, his pace so swift I nearly had to run to keep up.
At Yuigahama Beach, not a soul could be seen—only the colossal form of that Chinese-style ship, abandoned on the shore since April of that year, loomed ominously like the shadow of some sinister demon, pitch-black and towering in utter stillness. To recount what I had earlier omitted: this vessel had been completed in April under Chen Heqing’s design. On the seventeenth day, when they attempted to launch it into the sea, hundreds of laborers had strained their utmost from the Hour of the Horse onward under Heqing’s direction. Yet moving such an enormous ship proved no easy task, and Heqing’s instructions seemed riddled with negligence. By sunset, they had barely managed to drag its prow to the water’s edge. Moreover, skeptics now pointed out what should have been obvious—that this shallow bay could never accommodate such a large ship. Though one might assume Heqing had some ingenious scheme to float it here with certainty when he undertook this project, when they tried to question him about his original plans, they discovered Chen Heqing had already absconded. His Excellency the Shogun—who had arrived early at Yuigahama that day in eager anticipation of seeing his great ship launched—now withdrew with visible disillusionment upon hearing of this desertion. Those who had fiercely opposed His Excellency’s Song voyage likely patted themselves in secret triumph, while unrest persisted among the cultured warriors selected as escorts. “What a waste to abandon such a magnificent ship!” some proposed. “Let us try hauling it out ourselves!” Yet when prudent voices retorted that a vessel built by fools ignorant of tides would capsize even if dragged offshore, they conceded and withdrew. Thus His Excellency’s grand plan to reach Song China—which had stirred all Kamakura—came to naught here with anticlimactic finality. The ship remained discarded on Yuigahama’s shore, left to rot pointlessly away.
For His Excellency the Shogun—a man of magnanimous disposition—there was of course no lingering resentment over the foundering of his grand plans; nor did he show the slightest anger toward that silver-tongued schemer Chen Heqing,

"It seems things did not go as smoothly as Mount Iō."

With a gracious smile that suggested he understood everything perfectly, His Excellency had even remarked, "It seems things did not go as smoothly as Mount Iō." After that incident, he never again expressed any hope of crossing to Song China.

As for that Chen Heqing, his survival remained unknown thereafter. No accounts were heard of him improbably retiring to a hermitage at Hino Sotoyama to compose *The Hōjōki*; ultimately, he seems to have been nothing more than a foolish old craftsman who recklessly employed cunning stratagems driven by naked ambition in his attempts to ingratiate himself with the powerful.

“With this ship,” Reverend Kugyō said, stopping to gaze up at the ungainly Chinese vessel, “did His Excellency truly mean to sail for Song China?”

“Well... Regardless—it seemed His Excellency wished to escape Kamakura, if only briefly.”
“Tonight, I had resolved to speak with complete honesty.”

“But surely he believed that business about being the abbot of Mount Iō?”

“No, His Excellency merely found amusement in the coincidental alignment [of claims]. Though truthfully, anyone would wish to know their past incarnations. Even if one doesn’t believe it, there’s no harm in having such an illustrious identity as Mount Iō’s abbot fortuitously match one’s own—I imagine he saw no ill in it.”

“Well put.”
Reverend Kugyō laughed and said, “Let’s sit here. The beach feels cooler after all.”
“I’ve been coming here nearly every night lately—catching crabs and roasting them to eat.”

“Crabs.”

“Even monks eat meat.
“I like crabs. Though I doubt there’s another monk as crude as me.”

“No—far from crude—if anything, your disposition strikes us as excessively timid.”

“That’s different when I’m before His Excellency the Shogun,” he said. “It’s only then that I’m completely at a loss.” My own body appears utterly filthy—I can’t bear it. Somehow, I’ve always been uncomfortable with that person. That person seems to detest me terribly.

I could not offer any reply.

“To those people, a man like me—who’s moved from place to place since childhood and endured life’s hardships—must appear pathetically grubby beyond redemption.”
I feel immeasurably despised by him.
Those people, who have grown up without ever knowing the world’s hardships since birth, possess a strange kind of strength.
“However, Uncle has changed.”

“Have you changed?”

“I’ve changed.”
I’ve become a fool.
Well, enough of that.
“Shall I catch some crabs?” He groaned “Hmm,” rose to his feet, and continued: “Under that Chinese-style ship—you’d be surprised how many crabs gather there.”
“Chen Heqing also went to great pains to create a crab habitat for Kugyō, it’s almost as if.”
“But he’s a fool too.”

The Reverend splashed into the sea to search beneath the hull of the Chinese-style ship, so I followed him into the water and probed the hull as he did. True enough, crabs were gathered there. With practiced hands, he dragged out one large crab and immediately slammed it against the ship’s planks before flinging it onto the sand. At such cruelty, I involuntarily averted my face.

“That is cruel of you.”
“If you would stop, how about that?”

I found myself withdrawing back to the beach.

“I won’t feed those who don’t catch any.”
He said this nonchalantly while continuing to probe the ship’s hull, dragging out another crab and slamming it against the planks before flinging it onto the sand. “Crabs don’t feel pain.”

When five had been caught, Reverend Kugyō came up onto the beach with a low laugh and began gathering the crabs with shattered shells.

“What? Tonight’s catch is all females?”
“Female crabs have little meat and aren’t worth eating.”
“Let’s build a fire.”
“Give me a hand here.”

We gathered small branches and dried seaweed. Burying five crabs shallowly in the sand and piling small branches and seaweed atop them, we lit a fire. When the firewood had nearly burned out, the crabs were retrieved from the sand,

“Eat.”

“No, I couldn’t possibly.”

“Then I’ll eat alone.”
“I like crabs.”
“I don’t know why, but I truly love them.”
While skillfully shelling the crabs and munching away—appearing utterly engrossed in them—he abruptly said, “I’ve been thinking of dying.”

“What?”

Startled, I peered into Reverend Kugyō’s face in the darkness. However, this time he crunched into a crab leg with a crisp sound, mindlessly digging out the white meat inside with his finger, appearing now to think of nothing but the crab—and then, after a while, suddenly—

“I’ve been thinking of dying.”
“I’m going to die.”
Then, with another crisp crunch on the crab leg, he said, “Coming to Kamakura was a mistake.”
“This time, it is undoubtedly Grandmother’s fault.”
“I should have spent my whole life in Kyoto.”

“Do you love Kyoto so much?”

“It seems you still do not grasp my feelings.”
“Kyoto is a detestable place.”
“They’re all show-offs.”
“Liars.”
“All talk, devoid of self-reflection or responsibility.”
“That’s precisely why it’s the perfect place for someone like me to live.”
“For frivolous opportunists, no land welcomes them more than Kyoto.”

“There’s no need to demean yourself so much, Reverend.”

“Though Honorable Uncle longs for Kyoto so deeply, why has he never once gone there? Do you know the reason?”

“That has been the policy since the time of the late Minister of the Right—to maintain distance from Kyoto. Even the late Minister himself made only two visits to the capital, and—”

“Yet when His Excellency resolves upon something, he’d even attempt to cross over to Song China.”

“There may be those who would obstruct him—”

“That too,” he said. “There are those taking strange precautions against Honorable Uncle’s journey to the capital. But that alone isn’t all—Honorable Uncle loathes Kyoto.”

“Surely not! When he holds it in such regard—”

“No—he loathes it.” Reverend Kugyō crunched another crab leg. “Kyoto’s people are frivolous vipers. Remember Lord Kiso’s humiliation? Though His Excellency bears a grand title, he fumbles even basic court etiquette—a stocky rustic with his Kantō drawl. And those pockmarks! They’ll brand him ‘Pockmarked Shogun’ before long.”

“Please stop your words.”
“His Excellency the Shogun does not care about such matters in the slightest.”
“Excuse my impertinence, but His Excellency is different from you, Reverend.”

“Is that so?”
“Even if His Excellency doesn’t care about them, to others, pockmarks are pockmarks.”
“Even His Late Grandfather the Minister of the Right—due to his obstinate nature—was immediately dubbed ‘Big-Headed Shogun’ upon arriving in Kyoto, treated dismissively even by lowly figures like Wakei, having his gifts brusquely returned and suffering utter humiliation.”
“Kyoto is such a detestable place.”
“However, the Minister of the Right is still great.”
“Whether mocked by Kyoto people or subjected to whatever else they might do, he doesn’t care in the slightest.”
“He believed in the Kantō magnate’s true power and remained composed.”
“However—if I may be blunt—His Excellency the Shogun is not like that.”
“He cannot possibly remain composed.”
“Being called a country bumpkin seems more painful than death to him, which creates quite a predicament.”
“It seems that the more uncouth one is, the more one yearns for delicate and refined things, but observing his daily life, I see that all his efforts are solely to avoid being laughed at by the people of Kyoto—nothing more.”
“To him, Kyoto is so loathsome he can’t bear it.”
“It’s too dazzling.”
“He yearns to go to Kyoto only after becoming someone who won’t be laughed at by its people, even if he were to go.”
“That is undoubtedly true.”
“That’s also why he so desperately seeks promotions in court rank.”
“He does not want to be looked down upon by the people of Kyoto.”

“He probably wanted to go to Kyoto after putting on grand airs, but such efforts were utterly futile.”
“All of it—useless.”
“At best—well—it would result in nothing more than a preposterous-looking courtier, like some country bumpkin noble with a monkey’s crown forced upon him.”
“There was nothing as absurdly comical as a country bumpkin mimicking the gestures of capital people.”
“The people of the capital regarded such individuals as barely human.”
When I first went to Kyoto, I had been utterly at a loss.
There had been times I cried bitter tears.
But my innate frivolous and pretentious blood seemed to have harmonized well with Kyoto’s waters—to the extent I’d even come to think my true place to settle might not be Kyoto after all.
I was a charlatan.
Charlatans could never survive in the countryside.
Country people never forgave charlatans.
Country people had no sense of humor whatsoever; they were stingy and utterly rigid.
But that too was just as it should be.
Yet among those who lived quietly in the countryside, I felt that truly great people might be found.
What was unacceptable were country people who, despite being country people, vied for elegance with capital folk while putting on airs of odd refinement—and then charlatans like me who had fallen to the countryside.
I would never wail and sob before His Excellency the Shogun like Chen Heqing did, yet somehow I still ended up forcing these servile smiles—disgusting myself more and more until it became unbearable. No good, no good.
This couldn’t go on like this.
I would die.
“I will die.”
Peeling another crab shell and munching noisily, he said, “Honorable Uncle sees through my charlatanry.

“He considers me to be of the same ilk as Chen Heqing.”
I was detested.
And even I thought that country bumpkin looked as comical as a crowned monkey.
“Ahaha! How amusing that we utterly despise each other.”
“The Minamoto clan has always had wretched relations between parents and children—brothers too.”
“By the way—isn’t it said His Excellency the Shogun has truly gone mad of late?”
“You must have some notion why.”

I flinched.

“Who—no—who would dare speak such insolence—”

“Everyone is saying it.”
“Lord Sagami said it too.”
“Since His Excellency the Shogun has gone mad, Lord Sagami taught me to never oppose whatever he says—just reply ‘Yes, yes’ to everything.”
“Grandmother said it too.”
“Grandmother said, ‘That child was born an idiot.’”

“Even the Grand Nun Shogun...”

“Exactly.
“The Hōjō clan’s people have such idiotic tendencies.
“Words like ‘madman’ or ‘idiot’ aren’t things one should utter carelessly.
“Especially foolish to corner me into saying such things.
“You mustn’t let your guard down.
“I was speaking of the former Shogun—no, never mind that. Anyway, the Hōjō people are country bumpkins through and through—truly troublesome how they genuinely believe His Excellency has gone mad or become an idiot.
“They likely aren’t scheming conspiracies, but once they fixate on calling someone mad or idiotic, they’ll blurt it out without hesitation—that’s how bizarre consequences arise.
“Everyone’s an idiot.
“Nothing but idiots.
“You’re an idiot too.
“Honorable Uncle didn’t send you here for some naive purpose like keeping me company out of loneliness.
“He sent you to spy on me—”

“No, that is incorrect. His Excellency the Shogun is not one who would consider such base matters.”

“Is that so?”
“That’s precisely why you’re an idiot.”
“Whatever.”
“Everyone is an idiot.”
Looking out over all of Kamakura—well, I suppose the only real human around here would be Honorable Uncle’s wife.
Ah, I ate.
I had eaten everything up.
While eating crabs, I became so engrossed that my heart raced wildly, to the point where it felt like I was going mad.
“You may think I’ve only been spouting nonsense, but feel free to go report it to His Excellency the Shogun as if you’ve accomplished something great.”

“You idiot!”
I slashed at him without hesitation.

He nimbly dodged,

“Dangerous, dangerous! It seems madness runs rampant through Kamakura. Honorable Uncle must count himself fortunate to be surrounded by such splendid retainers.” He swiftly departed.

Left alone in the darkness, when I suddenly looked down at my feet, the remnants of devoured crabs scattered everywhere appeared faintly white through the gloom, and that filth akin to a garbage heap seemed to me the very image of that person's heart. The next day, when I attended at His Excellency’s residence and reported having visited the monastery the previous night to keep him company, His Excellency the Shogun merely nodded lightly and did not inquire further about the circumstances of that time; rather, it was I who—

“It seemed His Reverence wished to return to Kyoto once more,” I ventured in what felt like an impertinent overstep, yet His Excellency the Shogun paused in thought before uttering a single phrase:

“No matter where he goes, the same thing may happen.”

Whether it was my imagination or not, His Excellency muttered in a tone that seemed terribly sorrowful.
Indeed, His Excellency the Shogun had insight into everything, and I could only let out a deep sigh.
And so it continued through that year and into the next—Kenpō 6—with His Excellency’s extravagance only intensifying. Banquets for poetry and music grew more frequent than ever before, all-night revelries becoming commonplace. Even when presiding over Tsurugaoka Hachimangū rituals and Buddhist services during this period, His Excellency seemed to have forgotten all humility in divine reverence, focusing solely on lavish ceremonial appearances executed with utmost splendor. The Grand Nun Shogun, Lord Sagami, and Monk-dono now refrained from any intervention—particularly striking in the Grand Nun’s case, for though rumors of her autocratic ways abounded elsewhere, no such domineering traces appeared in her dealings with His Excellency. Surely she could not have believed him an idiot from birth as that reprobate His Reverence claimed—after all, she had been fiercely active during Former Shogun Lord Saemon-no-jō’s reign and throughout His Excellency’s succession. Indeed, it was only after His Excellency’s dreadful unforeseen demise that she abruptly resumed overt political interference, earning her “Nun Shogun” epithet. Yet during this Shogun’s era, as I mentioned earlier, she appeared wholly devoted to protecting Former Lord Saemon-no-jō’s orphaned heir as a gentle grandmother—scarcely intervening directly in governance even after His Excellency came of age. We heard no whispers of her sternly rebuking His Excellency’s Kenpō 5-6 profligacy; rather, she attended his resplendent memorial services alongside Her Ladyship, observed in dignified composure. To us retainers, this could only signify not that she dismissed His Excellency as an idiot, but that her restrained demeanor stemmed from genuine trust—the very trust enabling such understated grace.
In March of Kenpō 6 [1218], His Excellency was appointed to his long-desired position of Left General, and on June 27th he visited Tsurugaoka Hachimangū for his inaugural ceremony. The grandeur of that day’s procession marked Kamakura’s most splendid ritual since its founding. From ten days prior, Kyoto nobles and courtiers streamed into Kamakura for the divine rites. On the 20th, Imperial Messenger Uchikuranokami Tadatsuna-sama arrived bearing regalia from the Retired Emperor’s Palace—two paulownia carriages with latticed sides, ceremonial bows, robes, retinue attire, and saddles in great abundance. His Excellency, overwhelmed anew by imperial favor, tearfully expressed gratitude to Messenger Tadatsuna-sama while hosting mountainous feasts. Dignitaries like Ikezumi Hyōe-no-suke Tamekatsu-sama and Uma-no-gon-no-kami Yorishige-sama received equally lavish hospitality until the ceremony itself, nightly banquets exhausting every floral splendor at staggering cost. The Kantō populace bore these expenses through levies—many secretly resenting His Excellency, as I later heard through whispers.
Yet His Excellency remained wholly unconcerned with finances. After June’s ceremony concluded auspiciously, he conducted July’s Left General Robing Ceremony with equal grandeur at Tsurugaoka Hachimangū—by which time both vassals and commoners neared financial ruin, their distress cries echoing openly everywhere. Nevertheless, on December 2nd he assumed the Minister of the Right position; by month’s end preparations commenced for January’s Right Minister Inaugural Visit requiring even grander regalia from Kyoto—plunging Kamakura into tumult as carriages and robes arrived anew. This ceremony’s scale dwarfed June’s pageantry so profoundly that even palace staff exchanged uneasy glances—seized by mournful premonitions that His Excellency’s fortunes might expire within years like lanterns flaring brightest before extinguishing. Remembering how ten years prior—when I first served at twelve—seventeen-year-old His Excellency would summon biwa monks to hear Dan-no-ura tales murmuring “The Heike were radiant” before asking “But was their radiance truly that of victors?”—these scenes revived vividly before me until some nights found me weeping silently into sleeves.

That defiled chief priest, the apostate monk Kugyō, had around that time been ordered to undertake a thousand-day retreat under the pretext of fulfilling a sacred vow. Secluding himself at Tsurugaoka Hachimangū and severing all contact with the outside world—though reports from within the shrine claimed he grew his hair and beard freely despite being a monk—he secretly dispatched envoys in December of that year to make offerings at the Grand Shrine of Ise and several other shrines. Whatever prayers he petitioned left an indefinable air of foreboding lingering about him. Meanwhile, preparations advanced steadily for Kamakura's most magnificent ceremonial celebration since its founding. On December 26th came the prestigious selection of retinue guards to accompany the inaugural procession—warriors required by decree to embody three virtues: lineage as veteran vassals of the shogunate, mastery of archery and horsemanship, and dignified bearing. These splendid champions selected with utmost care from noble houses celebrated among themselves, embracing one another in jubilation at being chosen for what they deemed an unparalleled honor—the Right Minister Inauguration ceremony come New Year's being hailed as Kantō's grandest spectacle in a millennium, an event their descendants would forever recount as martial glory. Yet in all Kamakura, these warriors alone seemed to rejoice with unclouded hearts, blissfully unaware of looming shadows.

Kenpō 7, Kinoe-U.
April 12th: Renamed Jōkyū 1.
First Month: 30 days.

7th Day, Kinoe-Inu (Jia Xu). Hour of the Dog (7–9 PM). In the vicinity of the shogunal palace, over forty residences including Former Major Controller of the Household Nyūdō Kakua’s villa were destroyed by fire.

On the 15th day, Hinoe-Ne (Bingzi), during the Hour of the Ox (1–3 AM), a fire broke out in the Ōkura area, destroying dozens of residences.

On the 23rd day, Kinoe-Saru: Snow fell in the evening; by nightfall, it reached a shaku in depth.

On the 24th day, Kinoto-Tori, white snow filled the mountains and piled upon the earth.

On the 27th day, Kinoe-Uma: The skies cleared; as night fell, snow began falling, accumulating over two shaku; today His Excellency the Shogun, Minister of the Right, visited Tsurugaoka Hachimangū Shrine for his inaugural ceremony, having departed at the Hour of the Rooster.

Procession

First: Four Ikai Attendants

Next: Four Toneri Attendants

Next: One member

Shōsō Sugano Kagemori Fushō Koma Morimitsu

Shōgen Nakahara Naritomo

Next: Court nobles

Ichijō Chamberlain Yoshiuji — Tōhyōe no Suke Yoritsune

Iyo Lesser General Sanemasa — Provisional Master of the Right Stables Yorishige Ason

Provisional Assistant Master of the Empress's Household Nobuyoshi Ason, Ichiō no Tayū Yoriuji

Ichijō Lesser General Yoshitsugu; Former Governor of Inaba Morinori Ason

Iga Lesser General Takatsune Ason; Literary Scholar Nakako Ason

Next: Umbrella-Bearing Forerunners

Next: Forerunners

Fuji Commissioner Yoritaka; Taira Commissioner Tokimori

Former Governor of Suruga Tokitoki; Sakon no Tayū Asachika

Provisional Governor of Sagami Tsunesada; Master of the Imperial Storehouse Morikuni

Uma no Suke Yukimitsu; Kurōdo no Tayū Kunimasa

Master of the Left Gate Guards Tokihiro; Former Governor of Hōki Chikatoki

Former Governor of Musashi Yoshihisa / Governor of Sagami Tokifusa

Master of the Imperial Storehouse Shigetsuna / Provisional Assistant Master of the Left Stables Noritoshi

Provisional Assistant Master of the Right Stables Munesuke / Master of the Imperial Storehouse Arutoshi

Former Governor of Chikugo Yoritoki / Governor of Musashi Chikahiro

Provisional Master of the Office of Repair Koreyoshi Ason / Provisional Master of the Right Capital Yoshitoki Ason

Next: Court officials

Hata Kanemine / Squad Leader Shimotsuke-no Atsuhide

Next: the imperial carriage, four carriage attendants, and one ox driver.

Next: Retinue Guards

Ogasawara Jirō Nagakiyo (cherry blossom-patterned lacing), Wada Gorō Nobumitsu (black silk-thread lacing)

Izu Saemonnojō Yoritsune (young bamboo-laced armor) / Oki Saemonnojō Motoyuki (crimson-laced armor)

Ōsuga Tarō Michinobu (wisteria-laced) / Shikibu no Tayū Yasutoki (small cherry blossom-laced)

Akita Jōsuke Kagemori (black silk-thread lacing); Miura Kotarō Tokimura (young bamboo-laced armor)

Kawagoe Jirō Shigetoki (crimson-laced armor); Ogino Jirō Kagekazu (wisteria-laced armor)

Each with one helmet bearer and one equipment bearer advanced along the side path.

Next: Twenty Zōshiki Attendants

Next: Kebiishi Officials

Taifu Hōgan Kagekado

Next: Imperial Regalia Officers

Sasaki Gorōzaemon no Jō Yoshikiyo

Next: Lower-ranking Imperial Attendants

Hata Kimiuji Dō Kanemura

Harima Sadafumi Nakatomi Chikayo

Shimotsukeno Atsumitsu Dō Atsushi

Next: Court Nobles

New Major Counselor Tadanobu Master of the Left Gate Guards Sanetomo

Chancellor Middle Counselor Kunimichi — Hachijō Third Rank Mitsumori

Minister of Justice Third Rank Munenaga

Next

Master of the Left Gate Guards Mitsukazu; Governor of Oki Yukimura

Minister of Popular Affairs Hirotsuna; Governor of Iki Kiyoshige
Seki Saemonnojō Masatsuna; Fuse Saemonnojō Yasusada
Onojiro Saemonnojō Hidetada; Iga Saemonnojō Mitsusue
Amano Saemonnojō Masakage; Mutō Saemonnojō Yorishige
Itō Saemonnojō Yukitoki; Adachi Saemonnojō Motoharu
Ichikawa Saemonnojō Sukemitsu; Usami Saemonnojō Sukenaga
Gotō Saemonnojō Mototsuna; Mune Saemonnojō Takachika
Nakajō Saemonnojō Ienaga; Sanuki Saemonnojō Hirotsuna
Date Saemonnojō Tameie; E Saemonnojō Norichika

Ki Saemonnojō Sanetaira; Minamoto Shirō Saemonnojō Tokiuji

Shiokoya Hyōe no Jō Tomonari; Miyauchi Hyōe no Jō Kimiuji

Wakasa Hyōe no Jō Tadatsune; Tsunashima Hyōe no Jō Toshihisa

Higashi Hyōe no Jō Shigetane; Tsuchiya Hyōe no Jō Munenaga

Sakai Hyōe no Jō Tsunehide Kano Shichirō Mitsuhiro

The retinue guards along the route numbered one thousand horsemen.

Now, today’s auspicious ceremony had long been marked by multiple omens. As the time for departure approached, Zen Daizen Daibu Nyūdō Kakua came forth and said: “Since attaining adulthood, this humble monk has never known tears to wet my face. Yet now, as I attend closely upon Your Excellency, I cannot restrain my weeping—this is no ordinary matter. Surely there is grave cause for concern. On the day of Tōdai-ji’s consecration, following the precedent set by the Right General’s attendance, you should wear armor beneath your ceremonial robes.” Monjō Hakase Nakako Ason objected: “No such protocol exists for those ascending to ministerial or general ranks,” and thus the proposal was dismissed. Then, as Hata Kimiuji attended to His Lordship’s sidelocks, Sanetomo himself plucked a single strand from his hair and bestowed it as a memento. Next, gazing upon the plum tree in the garden, he composed a forbidden waka:

Though I depart and this house be left masterless, O plum tree at the eaves - do not fail to herald spring.

(The above from Azuma Kagami)

(The following is based on the Jōkyū Military Tales)

At this time, Hōjō Yoshitoki, Provisional Master of the Right Capital, had been fulfilling the duty of bearing the sacred sword. But as he passed through the shrine gate, he suddenly grew mentally agitated, his vision darkening before and behind. Summoning Monjō Hakase Nakako Ason, he relinquished the sword and withdrew to his residence—an eerie portent indeed. When His Lordship alighted from the carriage, the hilt of his slender sword became lodged in the carriage's handrail without his notice, leading him to order it snapped off—a grievous misstep! Yet Nakako Ason, protesting that such a state could not be tolerated, bound wood to mend it. Long ago, when Prince Linjiang embarked on a distant journey and his carriage shaft broke, he pressed onward without caution only to perish in foreign soil—a precedent meant to caution later generations. That Nakako failed to admonish His Lordship revealed the scholar's fatal oversight. Nor was this all: A black dog darted across the carriage's path; sacred doves cried ceaselessly—all ill omens met with fatal disregard in their negligence. As they approached the stone steps, a handsome monk materialized from nowhere and assailed His Lordship. The first strike was parried with an imperial scepter, but the second blade severed his head. Monjō Hakase Nakako Ason and Zen Inaba no Kami Morinori Ason were likewise cut down. The retinue guards flanking them panicked—"What manner of calamity is this?"—and charged into the shrine compound, yet could not discern their foe. The hour being dusk on the twenty-seventh day of first month compounded the darkness; chaos reigned as cries echoed through upturned order. Meanwhile at Upper Shrine's precincts came word that Acharya Kugyō had proclaimed himself his father's avenger. When troops stormed his Snowfall District quarters only to find him absent, they withdrew empty-handed.

There was nothing but astonishment; even in the capital, shock rippled through the court upon hearing the news. The world seemed as though a flame had been abruptly snuffed out.
(Masukagami)