Pathway to Japanese Literature

A Night of Raining Stones

The morning in Furuichi began with the sounds of boat oars and carts. Before long came the shouts of outcasts and the cries of infants. And as the sun rose higher, the market's clamor intensified until soon the usual daily bustle and dust began to fill the surrounding area. “Still not back?” “……They’re not coming back.” From a room with plank walls in the detached residence, Hino Toshimoto stared fixedly outside. Since last night, Ishikawa no Toyomaro—who had been keeping vigil—had not slept a wink.

“A mere released prisoner—those two would never fail to eliminate him, I should think.”

Toyomaro, too, was burdened by self-reproach. The plan to hide Toshimoto here, lure the persistent Hachirōbō out to the Kōya Highway, and have Yoriharu and Kikuō eliminate him—this strategy was something he himself had proposed, believing it to be a brilliant scheme. “Though it may be uncomfortable, would Lord Ben please wait here a while longer?” “Where are you going?” “As a precaution, I ordered my subordinates to spread out around the Kōya Highway, but strangely, not a single one of them has returned yet. I myself shall go to Ishikawa and ascertain the situation.”

Toyomaro left.

No—this was no leisurely departure. The figure darting away as if flying revealed all the earnest sincerity of a youth weighed by self-reproach. However.—That very Toyomaro did not return either. It was already past noon. He finally returned, but his appearance was even more covered in dust and fatigue than it had been that morning.

“What happened, Toyomaro?”

“I truly cannot make sense of it. There are no signs that Hachirōbō was killed, and I don’t know whether Yoriharu and Kikuō are safe or not.” “So—it was unsuccessful?” “However, according to my subordinates’ investigation, several corpses of fake yamabushi exiles—not Hachirōbō—were found near Amami, and they all reportedly bore arrow wounds.”

“Now that’s odd.” “Those two shouldn’t have had bows.” “Furthermore, if there were many more fake yamabushi of the same kind elsewhere, some sort of mix-up must have occurred.” “Therefore, it seems the released prisoners have somehow detected that Lord Ben is hiding here, and even the local spies who’ve been stationed here daily have all mobilized to keep watch around this detached residence.” “What? Even here?”

Toshimoto was aghast.

He couldn’t help thinking—had everything collapsed? The packet of poison he always carried deep within his robes now surged into consciousness, sending silent resolve prickling through his pores—invisible to all. This was a man who had once been imprisoned in Kamakura. Whenever he judged a situation desperate, he had resolved to burn the imperial decree he protected to ashes and swallow the poison himself. Yet—was this what they meant by a court noble? To outward appearances, he remained as composed as ever.

Soon. Evening had fallen, with flickering lights visible in the plank huts of the Sanjo people and beneath the thatched roofs of their moored boats. Then, from the town to the outside of the detached residence’s long earthen wall, “A fight! A fight!” A sudden whirlwind of voices surged up. Fights could be called the Sanjo district’s specialty.

But tonight’s was no ordinary affair. It was one that had arisen between the Rokuhara arresting officers surrounding the detached residence and the Sanjo people.

At noon, a group had come charging into Furuichi from the direction of the Yodo River. With local released prisoners—apparently lying in wait for them—at the forefront, they thoroughly surveyed the terrain up to the moat entrance and back gate of the detached residence, and eventually,

“Now!”

Under the arresting officer commander’s chin signal,

“We have received reports that a suspected individual is lurking within here.” “Those who resist shall be hauled to Rokuhara without mercy.” “Do not obstruct us!”

With that, they tried to force their way into the detached residence all at once. On this day, the miscellaneous workers of the detached residence—already seething with murderous intent under Toyomaro’s orders— “There’s no such person here!” “Go ask elsewhere!”

“Without my father—the Sanjo leader’s—permission, you shall not take a single step.”

With clubs, spears, greatswords, hunting bows, and the like in hand, they stood blocking the way. The storehouse guards, accountants, boatmen, cart leaders, and others performing various duties at the detached residence were mostly unregistered, stipend-less masterless samurai.

The lifestyles of those ronin and their everyday talk were quite intriguing. “My ancestors were kin to Lord Komatsu of the Taira clan until seven or eight generations back, but we’ve fallen on hard times since Dan-no-ura,” some would say. “Our family rose to the capital with Lord Kiso and once flourished in this region,” others would boast, while still others spoke of how their great-grandfathers had fought during the Mongol invasions. In the Jōkyū Rebellion, having sided with the imperial loyalists, they lost their family names and thereafter became half-farmers as you see them now—all of them were fellows who took no pride in their present selves, merely reminiscing about the past.

And just when you might think they were content to spend their days wallowing in indolence—gambling and drinking—it turned out that wasn’t the case at all. “If the right time came，even I wouldn’t be like this，” and so on. Behind such bold proclamations as “The world’s corrupt—if a proper reformation were carried out，men like us could regain our footing，” they had actually been contemplating raising a banner of rebellion，with figures like Ishikawa’s Sanjo leader serving as their stalwart shelter—eventually forming a faction.

Not only here—such ronin, now that court nobles served as landlords and the land divisions under the warrior-class's jitō system had been firmly established, could no longer engage in their former practices of seizing land through banditry. Thus they naturally proliferated throughout society, and even within the sacred precincts of Mount Hiei's temples, a considerable number of these ronin were said to have infiltrated the ranks of the temple followers. In any case, given that over a hundred such fellows were present in this detached residence, even Rokuhara's arresting officers could not easily—

“Crush them!” Even so, they could not break through. That said, they were not ones to idly let Hino Toshimoto—whom they were convinced lay within—escape. The back-and-forth ended after just a few words. “What a nuisance.” “Scale the earthen wall.” “Leap in from anywhere and drag out that wicked court noble!”

A melee erupted. The arresting officers numbered some seventy or eighty. But since not only the ronin inside but all the miscellaneous people of the Sanjo district were allies of the detached residence, they found themselves suddenly surrounded and beaten on all sides.

Night fell. A large moon rose over the Sanjo district of Ishigawara. It made the commotion below all the more eerie. “This is practically an uprising!” The arresting officer commander muttered.

The once-disbanded arresting officers, hearing that reinforcements from Rokuhara had just arrived, began rallying their forces anew. Yet to the ronin of the detached residence confronting them, the Sanjo people's reinforcements kept swelling with each passing moment,

“Don’t let a single one of them inside!” It took on the appearance of a minor skirmish.

The issue was no longer about whether to hand over Hino Toshimoto or not. It was a clash between the bare populace and authority. Not just today—whenever this kind of confrontation arose, it would not subside until blood was spilled. Therefore, even the jitō of neighboring provinces and Rokuhara— Sanjo Uprising When it came to the Sanjo Uprising, they had to either steel themselves for a prolonged conflict or withdraw their forces entirely. There had never been a single instance where legal resolution could be applied.

Indeed, tonight’s aspect closely resembled that—

To compound matters, the Rokuhara soldiers who had rushed from Dōmyōji River were likely men directly ordered by the Rokuhara Tandai. Unlike the half-heartedness of regular arresting officers and bailiffs, they swarmed in without hesitation— “You lowlifes! Do you have no regard for your lives?” They suddenly unleashed a barrage of arrows. “No mercy,” “Reduce them all to insect mounds!” With a momentum akin to charging into battle, they first set about scattering the vanguard of the Sanjo people. A ghastly scream echoed. Countless shadows crumbled and fell. However, even those who scattered like spiderlings would immediately regroup to strike at the pursuers’ rear, while from nowhere, a rain of stones poured down, keeping the enemy from raising their heads.

“Toyomaro.” “Lord Ben.”

The two shared something beyond words through their eyes.

That was the administrative office of the detached residence. With no lamp, only the pale moonlight filtering in evoked the image of a deathbed. “...It’s no use anymore, I suppose.” “That’s not true. Steel your resolve, and entrust yourself to this Toyomaro, I beseech you!” “I trust your resolve, but...” Even as they spoke, a clattering rain of stones began pelting the roof here. Naturally, this already indicated that Rokuhara’s forces had infiltrated the grounds of the detached residence.

“...Kikuō and Yoriharu still haven’t returned, and the arresting officers won’t withdraw from here until they’ve captured me. Well then, what should I do?” “No, no—Ishikawa’s father, the Sanjo leader, would never sit idly by in this dire situation.”

“It’s an age where stones fall from the moonlit sky. The hearts of men remain ever uncertain.” “Do you doubt my father—the Sanjo leader—as one with divided loyalties?” “No—but I am troubled by this imperial decree I bear.” “Let my fate be what it may—should this decree fall into Rokuhara’s hands, this time it will not end with mere turmoil like that Shōchū Incident redux.” “Ah! This place too—”

Toyomaro suddenly took his hand and went outside. And amidst the chaotic sound of running footsteps, they ran to one of the distant storehouses. After hiding Toshimoto inside, he himself stood outside the storehouse, gripping the hilt of his long sword.

So this was a miso storehouse. The darkness, thick with the pungent scent of salt mold, clung heavily to the skin.

Toshimoto sat down on an unknown object. In this situation, he could only entrust his fate to heaven.

"...Truly, I must say I’ve led quite a fate-tossed life." Born into the court nobility, one who had served in the imperial chambers—what had I sought to drive myself into such a wretched strait? Yet even as such thoughts arose, at this critical hour I remained not one for regrets. What swelled within was rather faith in convictions diametrically opposed. A loyalist’s fervor. Even into this miso storehouse’s darkness, death’s hand now drew near with each passing moment.

However, his departed soul would surely witness the fall of the Hojo shogunate—as this thought arose, the elegy within his chest mingled with laughter. And his own death too now glimmered before him as a solemn sacrifice for the majestic realm.

“Lord Ben.” From the gap in the door, Toyomaro outside whispered in a low voice.

“Please do not concern yourself. Those fire sounds are decoys the Sanjo people deliberately set in two or three places to mislead the pursuers. The flames are far off.” Being told this, he noticed.

Toshimoto looked up, and red firelight flickered through gaps in the ridgepole and holes in the roof. Though Toyomaro had said they were far, he could even hear the crackling sound of the fire.

Before long. “Ah!” Every hair on his body stood on end. Suddenly, chaotic footsteps clattered near the storehouse. He instinctively lunged toward the exit— “Toyomaro!”

He called out twice, but there was no response from Toyomaro at that time.

“So they’ve come at last.”

His hand was unconsciously touching the packet of poison inside his robe. Even if the arresting officers stormed in here, they couldn't capture a living Toshimoto. They would simply stare in bewilderment at the corpse that had swallowed poison—while envisioning that scene, Toshimoto forced a sneer into his heart. Yet again, in that instant, he found himself suddenly perplexed about how to dispose of the imperial decree. "There's no lamp here. No fire to burn it to ashes?"

At that very moment, the storehouse door flew open with a loud clang. Against the crimson darkness outside, several shadows appeared there. Toshimoto’s right hand—already gripping his long sword’s hilt—blindly swung toward them in a sudden strike. “It’s me!”

One of those who had leaped back shouted.

“Lord Ben—it is Kikuō.” “Ah! You’ve returned?” “Circumstances delayed me.” “I beg your forgiveness.” “And Yoriharu?” “Regrettably, Lord Yoriharu was captured moments ago.” “He deliberately mimicked your likeness, Lord Ben, and surrendered himself to them.”

“Did he become Toshimoto’s substitute?” “To temporarily lift the siege here.” “Though for now…the enemy will soon realize that is not you, Lord Ben.”

“Now is the moment.”

Toyomaro also hurried along.

“Quickly escape from here, hide in the bottom of the cargo boat, and please proceed down from the moat’s water gate to River Crossing! Hurry!” “Not a moment’s delay—you must hurry!” There was no time now for questions or replies.

Urged onward, Toshimoto left the storehouse and ran toward the moat.

There was a cargo boat. Kikuō jumped aboard first, then Toshimoto, taken by the hand, concealed himself under the matting—. Seven or eight masterless samurai from the detached residence stood with their backs turned, their eyes scanning all directions.

Toyomaro threw the mooring rope. “Then, may you proceed with caution wherever you go and successfully fulfill your mission.” “Aye, farewell.” Toshimoto returned a hurried farewell from under the matting.

“Don’t worry anymore. If my martial fortune allows me to survive here, then even in future endeavors, the outcome will be favorable. Toyomaro, once we return to the capital, good tidings shall come from the city.” Kikuō took the pole and immediately pushed off from the shore. Having thrown on a straw rain skirt that was lying nearby, his appearance as a Sanjo boatman seemed convincing. In an instant they had cleared Detached Residence’s water gate; now their craft was gliding into a lone river channel. No—this area was a network of water’s veins and arteries. Countless rivers of varying sizes converged across the Kawachi Plain. Ishikawa’s main stream, the Ega River, Dōmyōji River, Onchi River, and others formed what was called “River Crossing,” while beyond the deltas and reeds lining both banks, the roofs of Sanjo settlements could be glimpsed—apart from a single large moon, everything lay shrouded in mist.

“Kikuō.”

“Yes?”

“A full moon tonight—ill-timed,” Toshimoto warned. “Keep us from drifting midstream. Even at distance, we’d stand out.” “Then how shall we slip through?” Kikuō pressed. “This is River Crossing. West leads to Suminoe in Settsu. North would bring us to the Yodo River, but—” “The water route won’t serve for Kōya. Expect checkpoints along the channels too. Moor somewhere until midnight, then take to land stealthily.” Toshimoto’s voice tightened. “No alternative remains.”

The boat changed direction. Threading between reeds, they searched for calmer waters in the river’s bosom. Poor village huts came into view along the shore. However, there were no lights, nor any signs of commotion. Kikuō tied the mooring rope to a stake. “…Xunyang River’s edge. Truly, this mirrors ‘The Song of the Pipa Player.’” Toshimoto thought to himself. Having finally regained their composure, the lord and his retainer hid beneath matting that even moonlight could not penetrate, whispering together at length about something. Kikuō must have been recounting every detail since yesterday. He must have also described how Yoriharu—upon seeing today’s crisis at the detached residence they had returned to—surrendered himself to arresting officers as if proclaiming “This is where I meet my end,” letting himself be taken away.

“However, not every matter ends in regret.” “In Kagata’s mountain depths, I met a hermit who may yet aid the Imperial cause.” “That man—” It was precisely as he began fervently recounting the discovery of one Mōri Tokichika that Toshimoto abruptly silenced him—

“Shh…”

He peered out from under the matting. There was another thatched boat moored at a nearby stake. It seemed there was no one around, but a small light flickered on. And then a feeble infant’s voice pierced shrilly across the water. The baby’s cries soon ceased, and the night returned once more to a watery stillness—no rustle of reeds, no sound but silence.

“Well now… Thank goodness it was just a baby.” Kikuō heaved a sigh of relief.

Kikuō heaved a sigh of relief.

“They must be a boat-dwelling couple or something.” “There’s no immediate danger.”

He continued his story.

Mōri Tokichika. This concerned Mōri Tokichika. While Kikuō seemed deeply drawn to the hermit Tokichika—even considering him a significant ally for the Imperial faction—Hino Toshimoto did not share that view. Generally, knowledgeable people first gauge the extent of others' knowledge through imagination alone. Though Toshimoto was not so frivolous, even he took pride in his expertise in Neo-Confucianism—matching that of any young court noble, nay, even considering himself something of a pioneer.

“I see… So he’s just some provincial scholar.” “No, not at all.” Kikuō retorted with even greater fervor toward his master’s brutal conclusion. “I did not perceive him to be such a mediocre person.” “Wouldn’t you say he carries the air of what one might call a noble scholar?” “You’re quite enamored, aren’t you?” “Even looking at how the honorable brothers of the Kusunoki family—Lords Masashige and Masatsura—have studied under him, and how he is revered as a teacher by the young local youths of Oku-Kawachi as well…”

“If one lives in a mountain dwelling and decks it out with slightly pretentious-looking books, country warriors would surely find it quite novel.” “Those pretenders who put on airs of being hermits while decrying worldly fame and gain—such frauds are all too common in this world.”

Toshimoto’s words were harsh. To be sure, through the eyes of a patriot like him—one who prioritized action above all—such recluses affecting intellectual airs while remaining aloof from the era’s turmoil must have seemed nothing but contemptible cowards. Rather than such men, Toshimoto this night must have felt tears beyond measure for Funaki Yoriharu—the man who, he’d heard, had been taken captive in his stead.

And then—at the lull in their conversation—from the thatched boat moored at a nearby stake came those same shrill infant cries once more, echoing across the water. “Tch. They sure make it wail.”

Kikuō clicked his tongue. "My lord, if you don’t take this chance to doze off awhile—resting your head on your arm or such—your fatigue will never ease." "A crying child can’t be helped." "Especially someone else’s."

“Shall we move the mooring rope somewhere else?”

“That’s fine—but are you sure it’s safe? What about our surroundings?” “There must be other deserted banks besides this one.” “…Ah! It’s having another fit—those convulsive shrieks.” “This won’t do!”

Crawling out to the stern, Kikuō untied the mooring rope. And then, as he poled the boat forward, gentle ripples slightly disturbed the dim lantern of the neighboring thatched boat, and from its edge— “Excuse me…” A young man called out toward them in a pleading voice. “To strangers I’ve never met, this is a most presumptuous request, but circumstances compel me—leaving behind a sick person and an infant—to make a quick trip into town.” “I deeply apologize for the imposition, but might I trouble you to keep watch over this thatch in my absence?” “I shall return shortly.”

“Well…?” “……” was all Kikuō could manage—a half-hearted reply.

Even after that, there was only—

“That must be quite troubling for you, but—”

Kikuō muttered only that, then turned a questioning gaze toward Toshimoto under the thatch. From there, Toshimoto was intently watching the figure of the young man in the neighboring boat amidst the moonlit ripples. The man wore a light yellow triangular cloth hood and a showy, albeit frayed, sleeveless jacket, his ceremonial wide-legged trousers completing an outfit that immediately marked him as a performer. However, his features were not those of a commoner; if anything, he didn’t resemble a robust man past thirty, appearing somewhat nervous instead. Yet one could surmise that even this might stem from the hardships of a boat performer with meager earnings supporting a sick person and struggling to make ends meet.

“Kikuō.”

“Yes.” “How pitiable… Well, if it’s only briefly, tell him he may attend to his errand without concern.” “Shall I do so?” With that, Kikuō addressed the man in the neighboring boat. “The master has granted permission.” “Yet we too are no anchored vessel.” “Return swiftly lest we face difficulties.” “Yes, yes… My deepest thanks.” “Then I shall hasten back without delay.” “What takes you to town?”

“That’s just it.” The man ducked into the thatch and crouched at his wife’s bedside. He seemed to be giving some instructions to the patient. Then he reappeared at the boat’s edge. “You see, since my wife’s breast milk hasn’t come in, I’ve been feeding the infant with arrowroot and rice flour boiled in water—but this evening, every Sanjo district around here has been thrown into utter chaos.” “Hoh… So there was such a commotion, eh?”

Kikuō feigned ignorance. "So that's why you couldn't even handle official errands." "Flames are visible everywhere—Rokuhara troops have moved in, some say it's combat, others say arrests—and even the local Sanjo folk are all coming out carrying broken staves." "I couldn't possibly venture into town for provisions." "You see, I'd been staring helplessly at the city skyline when the infant began shrieking with hunger—those piercing cries—and to compound matters, my wife's state took a grave turn tonight beyond her usual illness. I found myself utterly at a loss."

“So, is there no one else on the boat?” “There’s just a newborn infant and my wife lying here.” “I need to go into town to buy arrowroot powder and medicine for them… Just now, when I explained the situation to my wife at her bedside, she nodded in understanding, looking relieved.” “I apologize for the imposition, but I’ll make a quick trip into town, so even if it’s troublesome, please just keep watch over here in my absence.” The man, after entrusting the rest, went ashore with a mind as empty as the sky and ran off to nowhere.

After Kikuō saw him off, “How pitiable…”

And then, he muttered to himself again. “Though he may be a humble boat performer, he seems like a kind man devoted to his wife. They say Sanjo people are rough, but seeing such a couple makes one wonder if that’s truly so.”

Then, under the thatch,

“Kikuō.” Toshimoto was calling again. Could it be that he too had recalled the wife he had left at home—Kouukyou?

“Why don’t you take a peek at the neighboring boat? The infant suddenly stopped crying—inside the thatch, there’s an odd lack of movement.” “Ah, if you say so?” Kikuō had apparently been concerned as well. Quietly, he crawled over to the neighboring boat.

In the depths of the dark thatch, a pungent odor resembling sickness hung heavily. A small oil lamp hung from a crossbeam. On the straw mat lay a thin, rag-like futon. …The patient immediately sensed through her body the boat’s sway from tilting slightly under Kikuō’s weight, suddenly lifting her face from the wooden pillow.

Half-hidden by black hair, the woman's face could not be seen, but its pallor might have been compared to moonlight caught in willow tendrils. Her eyes—seeming almost fearful—struck Kikuō so startlingly that he felt the guilt of one who has glimpsed forbidden things. “……” As quietly as possible, he returned to Toshimoto’s side. “There is no cause for concern. The infant appears to have cried itself to exhaustion and fallen asleep peacefully in the patient’s arms.”

“The woman—” “She startled and seemed to move her face on the wooden pillow, but—” “Is that all?” “Yes.” “She’s in such a state she can’t even speak.” “And she’s still such a young wife besides.”

“When I think of it, how pitiable,” he reflected. “Today’s turmoil too—it all began with me. Even seeing this, the affairs of men are like one wave spawning ten thousand others. There’s no telling what calamities might spread to whom.” “If you were to agonize over every last ripple of karmic consequence,” he told Kikuō, “you’d never accomplish anything for the realm.” “True enough,” Toshimoto conceded. “Having parted with my dear Kouukyou and forsaken a courtier’s glory, I’ve learned to shut my eyes to such things—but still, nothing pains me more than innocent commoners caught unaware... Ah! I’ve some traveler’s medicine here.” He produced a small vial. “Mitsumasa—the court physician—called this a precious remedy infused with musk. Take it with a few coins and comfort that woman.”

“Oh? To that couple we’ve no connection with?”

“No—it’s a river’s bond.”

“They must be overjoyed.” “Her husband will return soon—before that, let me inform her of your kindness and ease her current fears.”

Kikuō took that and once again visited the neighboring thatch. And he returned immediately, but to Toshimoto he reported only “She… was crying tears of joy,” offering no further details, and sank into a pensive expression.

“Kikuō, why are you so downcast?” “No, I’m not downcast—but no matter how much I think, I simply cannot recall.”

“About what?” “The boat performer’s wife I just saw—” “What of it?” “Indeed, she is a wife I have surely seen somewhere before.” “But that flash of recognition lasted only a moment—now I find myself uncertain whether it was truly her.” “You and your pointless doubts.” Just then, her husband appeared breathlessly on the bank above. As soon as he returned to the neighboring boat, he bowed repeatedly in thanks.

“Oh! That was quick. Did you manage to get the kudzu powder for the baby?” “Thanks to you.”

With that, the man bowed his head politely once more. Even among street performers—fellow boat performers as they were—did their inherent artistry naturally manifest itself? The lines of his figure, slightly bent at the waist along the narrow boat edge, were truly exquisite. Precisely because he had equated them with the local Sanjo people, he found himself suddenly struck by this. Hmm? Kikuō once again tried connecting the man’s ailing wife to his memories. But still, he couldn’t recall. Yet given their circumstances, lingering all night in boat chatter wasn’t an option. Immediately taking up the pole, he moved away from his boat while—

“Living on a boat must be difficult indeed.” “Take good care of them.” “Both the baby and your wife.” “Thank you very much.” “Thanks to you, I can now prepare kudzu powder for the little one straightaway.” “Though I know not where your journey leads, please take care, your lordships.”

“Ah, the night mist has thickened.” “The moon’s grown hazy too.”

“At the sandbars ahead here, even river folk often pry up boat bottoms.” “Please take care.”

“Oh ho! Farewell.”

In the white mist creeping across the river’s surface, the shapes of two boats had blurred into hazy outlines. For some time, Kikuō’s pole probed and probed at the water’s flow as he wandered along the deserted shore through the haze.

Going ashore and transitioning to a midnight infiltration still felt too early. However, the river’s center had a swift current, the shore offered no respite from danger, and his nerves were stretched taut.

Then, in the haze, the sound of oars could be heard, followed by— “Travelers…… Wait. “The travelers from earlier.” And then, the voice of the man they had just parted from moments ago drew near.

The shape of the boat came into view at once. The man, with one hand on the oar handle, “Please wait a moment. I must apologize for the discourtesy of stopping you repeatedly.”

“Still—something else you need?” “A grave oversight on my part.” “After we parted… my bedridden wife tearfully told me she’d received such precious medicine and money from your hands.”

“So, you chased after us to give thanks?” “Nay—’twas because you spoke of Ichikawa no En that we gave it to your pitiful wife.” “Such profuse gratitude may yet bring trouble upon my lord.”

“Yes.” “I cannot help but be aware of the trouble I’ve caused your lordships.” “...However, that package of medicine you gave my wife—I believe it’s not meant to be used except by the Court Physician Bureau of the imperial household.” “And actually, suddenly—”

“Huh?” Kikuō’s water-seasoned pole quivered in the water. Had there been even a hint of something concealed beneath the man’s words, with a single spray of water droplets, the pole might have sent him tumbling into the river. “Don’t be absurd. That’s medicine you received from others. Unnecessary deductions—” “But regardless—how would someone of your Sanjo outcast bearing notice such minute details?” “Please do not take offense. Under normal circumstances, I would not have given it a second thought. But when I went to town earlier, I happened to hear an alarming rumor before returning—”

“Wh-what?…… Because you heard a frightening rumor in town?” “Yes.”

“About us?” “It might be so, I believe.” “Wh-what manner of gossip?” Though night obscured vision, Kikuō’s tone carried weight beyond mere expression. Yet the man spoke with unshakable faith in his own goodwill—as if trusting others would receive it with equal benevolence.

“Well… “Regarding that matter.” “Should we part ways here without ceremony, or would it be more proper to plainly disclose what we know? My wife and I found ourselves agonizing over such matters regarding your circumstances.” “………” “Yet if we were to overlook this fleeting connection and you were to meet some irreparable calamity at your destination, we husband and wife would carry lifelong regret in the depths of our hearts… As my wife has stated thus, and as this humble one has resolved himself, I abruptly took up the oar and pursued your wake—such is the circumstance.”

“Hmm.”

For what purpose? And what does he know?

It was no longer within Kikuō’s sole discretion, nor could he formulate a proper response or reach a decision. His ambiguous groan was but a temporary measure while awaiting Toshimoto’s will—the latter likely listening from beneath the boat’s hull.

“…Kikuō.” “Understood.” “He does not seem to be a malicious one.”

“That is also what I believe—” “This night will pass. “Loud voices exchanged between boats reveal thoughtless minds. “At any rate—invite that man into this reed shelter here and sit knee-to-knee to hear his full account.”

Then, from the man’s boat,

“In that case, won’t you please come up to that river shoal over there? Tie your boat to the bridge pile for a while.”

With that, he paddled ahead, guiding them toward the shade of the reeds. On the river shoal island stood what appeared to be a sweetfish fishing hut.

When Toshimoto sat down there, Kikuō—perhaps wary of contingencies—silently dropped to one knee near his master’s side. And he did not forget to assume a stance with his left hand poised at the mouth of his tachi’s scabbard.

“Well.” “What are you trying to tell me? Out with it.” “Speak up.”

“Yes.” “I must not detain you any longer.” “Therefore, I shall speak plainly—the one before us must be Lord Ben, Hino Toshimoto Ason, is it not?” “Urk!” Kikuō could not simply remain kneeling. He involuntarily straightened up. “Knave. What proof?” “What proof?” “Ah, please….” “Please do not conceal it.” “The town rumors and the precious medicine my wife received.” “Putting the two together, I came to realize what must be the case.” “Moreover, now that I have met you in such close quarters—”

“Kikuō, stay down.”

Toshimoto restrained him and, facing the man, said.

“I shall not dissemble. Indeed, I am Hino Ushōben—but what truth do you seek to impart?” “Yes. According to what I heard in town about the Rokuhara forces’ movements, they will soon be scouring every stretch of the river. Moreover, checkpoints have been set up all along the Kōya Road. I implore you—please alter your route and depart this place with all haste.”

Toshimoto did not doubt the man’s warning. If he had been driven by greed, he would have secretly informed [the authorities] and led Rokuhara soldiers here. If that were not the case—he must have felt gratitude for this one’s shred of compassion. “I am in your debt.”

“I am in your debt,” he said from the heart. The man grew flustered at his courteous gratitude. “No, no—if there are thanks to be given, it is this humble one who has countless words of gratitude left unspoken. Rather than that, please decide on a plan to depart from here with all haste.”

“Are you of this place?” “As you see, I am a boat performer. To begin with, the Sanjo residents here are much the same.” “If you know this area’s geography so well—yet with Koya Road blocked and waterways unusable—how can a trapped rat find a path to slip away?” “Is it not absolutely necessary for you to go to Koya?” “To be frank, I carry an imperial mission—first to Kishū Kōya, then to Hōki’s Daisenji and Echizen’s Heisenji in succession—and must soon hasten to return to the capital.”

“Then your change of clothes remains insufficient.” “Without encountering river checkpoints or passing through the local steward’s territory, to reach Kōya there is only one narrow path—from here cross the rear peak of Amanosan Kongōji Temple, then emerge from Katsuragi to Kokawa—though it is...” “Ah—I’ll take that.” “That said, even in this river shoal where we can’t tell west from east—how are we to slip past the arresting officers’ gaze?” “I shall guide you until we reach a place of safety, but in your current appearance...”

With that, the man peered into the ayu hut and brought out a tattered sedge hat, a waist straw raincoat, and the like. “With these, please conceal yourself for the time being.” “...But you—what will become of your sick wife and infant during that time?” “Please do not concern yourself. “The infant has fallen soundly asleep, and I will now explain the details to my wife.” The man returned to his boat and immediately came back up from under the reed cover. The sandbar formed an island-like shape, but the man waded across the shallows at the forefront, then pushed through a pathless reed plain until he soon reached the shore of a Sanjo settlement.

It was already late at night, yet the three of them walked on without uttering a word. The man skillfully wove through the back of the settlement, soon hurried across a highway, and after that there was nothing but an unbroken country path. That too came to an end, and upon seeing the mountain at the edge of the fields,

“Then I shall take my leave... That mountain yonder is Iwamuro. Soon you will reach Kokubun Pass west of Kongōji Temple. From there, continue southward—all the way to Kokawa, it’s nothing but mountains.” “May no harm come to you.”

Kikuō had now swept away his doubts and thanked the man sincerely for his kindness. At the same time, fearing they might miss this opportunity, “Wait a moment,” “To part like this seems...” He sat down on a stone in the field path with Toshimoto. Then he broached the matter of Uroji’s wife—something he had long meant to ask about.

“Certainly, she is a woman I’ve seen somewhere without doubt, yet I cannot readily recall where.” “Moreover, given your demeanor—surely you and your wife cannot truly be boat performers by origin?” “You overestimate me…”

The man, questioned by Kikuō, abruptly assumed a bashful expression. “I have ever been naught but a humble boat performer.” “A Sanjo outcast without lineage.” “And my wife shares this lowly station.”

It was less an appearance of being troubled and more a demeanor of refusal. "Well, if it causes you inconvenience, we shall cease these impertinent questions." "However, might I at least ask about your stage name?"

Then, Toshimoto took over the questioning. “Oh—I neglected to mention that.” “...Ah, I must apologize for my discourtesy.” “This humble one is called Uroji of Suginomoto—though I name myself a Sarugaku performer, I am but a mere street artist.” “Uroji?”

“Yes.” “Is Suginomoto your birthplace?” “That it is.” “Then Iga... In Iga’s Ichinomiya, they say the Yamada Sarugaku troupe has existed since antiquity. Do you trace your lineage to them?” “N-No such thing!” Uroji grew terribly flustered as Toshimoto’s knowledge probed so deeply. “As I said before—a mere street performer eking out a living—I’m not fit to be counted among even the lowest ranks of Yamada Sarugaku.”

Again, Kikuō pressed from nearby, “And your wife’s name?” probing his evasiveness. Whether Uroji had no intention of concealing his wife’s name or found himself unable to fabricate a lie on the spot, he answered with the name he used daily, “My wife is called Unoki,” he replied.

“Lady Unoki?” Repeatedly, Kikuō muttered.

“...Lady Unoki.” “That name too—I feel I’ve heard it somewhere before?” “...Well, digging up roots and leaves any further would be a nuisance.” “Having asked this much, there’s no reason fate won’t grant us another meeting someday.” “Well then, Master Uroji or whatever you call yourself—keep well.” “I am deeply grateful.” “Should our paths cross again...” “Farewell.” Uroji turned and walked briskly back alone along the path he had come.

After parting from him, the master and servant crossed Iwamuro and slept in a hall of the next Hachigamine Temple near dawn. “...Huh?” At that moment, as Toshimoto was undoing his travel clothes and let out an unusual cry, Kikuō found himself startled for no apparent reason. “Blast it all!”

he repeated. “Kikuō, what are we to do? Though done unknowingly—last evening, was my very mind unhinged?” “…It seems I confused the poison I always carry on my person with the packet of travel medicine and had you deliver it through your hands to that Uroji’s wife.”

“What?!” “The travel medicine from the court physician’s office remains here, but the poison I secretly kept upon my person is gone.”

“Then… that was poison?” “Y-You’ve been carrying such a thing all this time?” Kikuō was aghast. She was Uroji’s wife, who had been shedding tears of joy to such an extent. By now, she must have taken it. When her husband Uroji returned, how bitterly he would resent this. The two men shuddered, but there was nothing they could do. Struck suddenly by the sound of Hachigamine Temple’s bell ringing in their ears, both pressed their pale faces to the ground toward where the bell had sounded. Their cold sweat, through the Buddha’s sacred name, offered contrition in that moment for sins committed unwittingly.

Butterfly Parent

“It must be about that time again… when the baby gets hungry and starts crying for milk…” Such thoughts lingered ceaselessly in the heart of the man hastening along the wild path. It was Uroji the sarugaku performer who—after escorting Lord Toshimoto and his retainer partway—raced across Kawachi Field under cover of darkness to return to his own reed-thatched boat. Before long, the Eigawa River widened its flow, and the still-slumbering Sanjo settlement came into view.

Earlier, he splashed through the shallows he had crossed and pressed onward. And when he returned to the former river island, there for the first time, “Ah,” he murmured as if released from an abnormal tension.—Wringing water from the hem of his hakama, he remained gazing up at the sky for some time. The full moon of last night had left no trace. The moon, the figures of Lord Toshimoto and Kikuō—all of it felt like a fleeting dream from a single night.

Somewhere along the eastern mountain ridges, dawn must have already been breaking. Only the water's surface around Kawatsuji shone stark white. Within the faintly dark reeds, the chirping of wagtail chicks and larks had already begun... He did not know. He remained utterly unaware of the fate awaiting him mere moments away. Yet Toshimoto, who had parted from him, was at this very hour in a hall of Hachigamine Temple—realizing last night's unintended error and standing frozen in horror.

He had only realized this morning that he’d mistaken his carried poison for different travel medicine and given it to his wife, but it was unlikely he would come rushing back there solely to inform them of that. Moreover, the fact that Uroji had received no premonition made it all the more inevitable.

“...Unoki”

When he saw his reed-thatched boat from the shore, he was already calling his wife’s name.—In that voice overflowed their daily marital bond—each ever waiting upon and being waited for by the other—transcending mere words despite their brief parting. “I’m back now. …You must have been so anxious.” “Has the baby not woken since then? …Wait, wait—I’ll boil kudzu starch right away.”

He stepped onto the boat’s edge. And then, as he circled halfway around the reed-thatched covering—had he glimpsed some change in the state of things? He frantically crouched down as if crawling, “Unoki” he called again. But—there was no response. The lamp inside was extinguished, and no sign showed of his sharp-eyed wife stirring in her sleep. Uroji stumbled inside as though falling. Then in the pitch darkness, he madly groped about the wooden pillows and bedding—

“She’s gone!” “Wh-where…?” Under his toes, the container shattered, and the moment his convulsing body violently rocked the boat. “Unoki!” “Unoki…”

He went outside again, pacing restlessly around the reed-thatched boat, and shouted hoarsely toward the water. In the end, even that voice dissolved into nothing but a great sob as he blindly scrambled up the riverbank.

Then, as if they had been waiting, a group of figures lurking in the shadow of the ayu fishing hut swarmed forth and immediately engulfed his form. Needless to say, they were Rokuhara’s men. Giving him no chance to speak, they swarmed over him, pinned Uroji down, took ropes, and pressed toward the clamoring mob— "What are you doing?!" And his own state too had fallen into disarray.

In such moments, even the emergence of one’s essential self becomes unavoidable. Unlike his usual self until now, he employed a footwork technique against two or three arresting officers and in an instant leapt back from under their oppressive weight. “Don’t mistake me for someone else. I’m just a boat performer from these parts. A sarugaku performer named Uroji. For what crime are you trying to drag me away?” “Bullshit.”

A jeering voice rang out. That must be their commander.

“Hey, Uroji or whatever you call yourself.” “You’re a samurai, aren’t you?” “That move you just made isn’t some boat performer’s trick.” “No—we’ll question you about that later.” “Anyway, you’ll come to the outpost.” “What outpost?” “It’s obvious.” “The gathering place for our forces who rushed here from Rokuhara and set up base at Fujiidera.” “There’s no reason I should be dragged there.” “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“If you’ve an explanation, give it at the outpost.” “Why would an innocent man moor at this sandbar and hide since last night?” “A boat-home drifts like waterfowl.” “No shore claims our nightly rest.” “Then what’s that empty craft at the same stake?” “…Who rode its hull?”

“I don’t know. It must just be some ownerless drifting boat or something.”

“I won’t accept ‘I don’t know.’ That is the cargo boat from the detached residence. There’s also a brand mark visible on the bow. That fugitive who escaped from the water gate of the detached residence—you must have piloted him and moored it here. …And after guiding him from there to some other place, you must have returned here. We were lying in wait for your return. If you fear the ropes, state here and now where Hino Toshimoto has gone.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Uroji snapped without even listening. “I’ve never heard of Hino Toshimoto. Go ask someone else.”

and forced a derisive sneer.

The arresting officer commander loudly jeered back at him. "I see. If you won't talk, I'll get it from your wife's mouth instead.... Foolish husband." "If you'd just come clean here and now, your sick wife wouldn't suffer—she'd be sent home from the outpost right away." "Gh—" "Then—" he exclaimed in shock. "What about your wife Unoki?" "She was already dragged off to the outpost a while ago." "And yet you still squirm?" "Still planning to put up a fight?"

“Y-you… heartless—”

“What do you mean ‘heartless’?” “If you pity your wife, stop feigning ignorance.” “Enough! No more talk—bind him now!” At his command, the subordinates roared and forced Uroji’s body back against the earth. Uroji offered no further resistance.

Night had ended, and at Kawano Tsuji, the daily sounds of oars resounded today no differently than usual.

Even a mere hundred soldiers could transform a garden of profound serenity into a battlefield crossroads overnight when an army took station. Temples of authority would never permit such intrusions, but Fujiidera had lain in ruins since floods of yore. The principal image of Ishikawa Kannon found meager protection in a thatched hall alone—and since yesterday, with their cooking fires and horse dung, the Rokuhara soldiers and spies had brought the place to utter ruin.

“Tch, shut that brat up!”

It was a man with a tiger-like beard who appeared to be the commander there. He sat on the hall’s rain-dampened veranda and barked: “How long will you let that brat wail and scream? An infant’s voice stirs up cursed homesickness. Enough—tear them apart and drag only the woman here!”

One of the soldiers ran up and replied to that.

“It’s because of hunger, they say.” “The woman says she’s asking for rice flour or arrowroot starch.”

“Can’t she produce milk?” “She suffers from postpartum illness—so frail she can’t walk without clinging to something.” “Troublesome prisoners.” “Well, can’t be helped.” “Tell the hall keeper out back to give that mother and child some gruel broth.” The commander was Honjō Oniroku—a Captain of the Gate Guards and general of the Rokuhara Kendansho. He had ample cause for arrogance.

“Hey.” Then, he immediately jerked his chin toward the soldiers beside him. “During this lull, tell one of the informer group to come here.”

Before long, a large-eyed man with an owl-like face emerged from the informers’ gathering place and crouched before him. “I am Gonzo of the informers.” “Are you the group leader?” “That is correct.” “What’s the matter? Since the day before yesterday, your informer group has achieved nothing at all.”

“My deepest apologies.” “You see, ever since Chief Shinobi no Ōkura disappeared two days ago…” “Still no sign of the corpse?” “We have not found any trace.” “That’s absurd.” “The bastard who’s supposed to be Chief of the informers—” “We were certain he’d been tricked by Funaki Yoriharu and met some fate near Ama-mi, so we’ve been torturing Yoriharu since last night—but he won’t talk.” “That wretch is a samurai of some standing.” “He’d never crack under informer interrogations.” “We’ll break him proper at the Rokuhara Office’s Shirasu chamber soon enough.” “Until then—keep watch day and night.”

However―― When word came that Funaki Yoriharu had just bitten off his tongue and committed suicide inside the temple storehouse being used as a temporary prison, Honjō Oniroku was stunned and immediately rushed to the scene.

……but he had already passed away. Oniroku, having lost the sole living evidence, berated the guards and stamped the ground in frustration as he returned to his original position.

And then, suddenly.

He saw a single straw mat spread out before the hall’s wet veranda where he had been sitting earlier. On the straw mat lay a young wife, her black hair like waterweed swiftly tied back, lying face down as though unable to endure the morning light. “……That’s right—now Hino Toshimoto’s whereabouts are known only to these living witnesses: this woman and her husband.” "We must keep them alive carefully and interrogate them thoroughly."

Oniroku, gazing at the black hair, sat back down in his original seat. “...Woman.” “Yes.” “Your name.” “I am called Unoki.”

“What age do you claim?”

“…………” Honjō Oniroku found himself momentarily captivated.

But. When he regained his composure, his voice suddenly transformed into a fierce, booming one at the Rokuhara Kendansho’s Shirasu. “I’m asking how old you are—why won’t you answer?” “If you don’t answer everything truthfully, I’ll show no mercy.” “You wouldn’t want to suffer any pain.”

“I am twenty-six.”

It was a thread-like voice.

Twenty-six—a woman in her prime, Oniroku thought. He had wanted to say "...Raise your head more," but restrained by propriety, even Oniroku couldn't bring himself to voice it. It must have been from lying ill so long in that thatched boat's hold. Her delicacy seemed unfit for a boatman's wife. Skin like pear blossoms. No—dress her in five-layered court robes, crown her with cloud-coiled wigs and jeweled pins... Oniroku found himself caught in a dizzying fantasy. This very strangeness now kindled a perverse interest in his interrogation.

“I hear you’re boat performers who earn your keep through Sarugaku, but you and your husband aren’t mere Sanjo outcasts.” “Where were you born?”

“...Yes.” “That’s not an answer.” “Where? Your birthplace?” “In the capital area.” “That’s right. “A countenance unique to the capital shows itself.” “And your husband’s surname?” “His name is Uroji.” “That’s a stage name.” “State your real name.” “No, no—we have been poor performers from the start among the shack companions at Shichijō Kawara.” “We have no other names.” “So you’re certain, are you?” “……Yes.” “Well.” “We’ll scrub that out later.” “So where did that Uroji go after leaving you—sick as you are—alone on the boat from last night until dawn?” “Don’t even think of saying you don’t know.” “Where did you let the person escape to—the one who was on the other boat moored overnight on the same shoal?” “Come on—out with it.”

“…………” “If you just confess that truthfully, I’ll release you here right away.” “Otherwise—both husband and wife will be taken to Rokuhara Headquarters and subjected to shirasu interrogation!”

“Truly I know nothing... “…I was sleeping in the boat’s hold cradling my infant—as for where my husband went…”

“Fine!” Oniroku’s clicked tongue turned malicious. Suddenly, with glinting eyes, he scanned the surrounding soldiers and muttered. “The remaining men still haven’t dragged Uroji here.” “Once you’ve trussed that bastard up, lay the couple on the mat and make them spew filth.—Meanwhile, take the brat and chain it to Kannon Hall’s back ledge or wherever.”

This morning. As a commander, he might have had other pressing crises elsewhere—no sooner had he issued orders than he led his men from Fujiidera toward the detached residence in Furuichi, spurring his horse onward.

It was shortly after that Uroji was brought to Fujiidera. Of course, he was confined in a different place from Unoki. Again, for some reason, both that day and the next, the couple were not dragged out to the interrogation mat either.

The conflict between Rokuhara soldiers and the Sanjo people showed rains of blood and stones everywhere, both yesterday and today.

The focal issue had already ceased to be relevant. Their daily mutual hatred alone fueled the intensification of their shared madness. Not only in Furuichi but also in areas like Tamade, Kashiwaara, Ega, and Takayasu, the Sanjo people rose up in unison,

“Lift the river blockade!” “We can’t work!” “Do you mean to leave us to starve?” “Remove the crossroads blockade!” “Drive out those bailiffs!” And their solidarity left the soldiers stranded at every turn. In the face of this daily worsening situation, even Honjō Oniroku—dispatched from the judicial office—found himself powerless. If they deployed troops to suppress them, the rebels would only multiply—yet if they tried appeasement, even their Fujiidera encampment risked being surrounded through surprise attacks and envelopment, their supply lines teetering on collapse.

“They’re a troublesome lot.”

He muttered. But he remained utterly unaware that his very presence now appeared to the Sanjo people as the embodiment of authority provoking their violent fury. —On the contrary, he had concluded that Ishikawa no Sanjo Tayu Yoshitoki was the monster pulling the strings behind the rioters, but

“Now then—how should we strike the Furuichi Detached Residence and Ishikawa Castle?” Yet when it came to execution, even he hesitated. Our available troops are few, and even with adequate forces, confronting the Sanjo leader would instantly ignite open warfare. The movements of court nobles and temple collusion—should that occur, everything would grow unpredictable. Moreover, without explicit orders from Rokuhara Tandai, such maneuvers lay beyond our means. “Now all that remains is to await the leadership’s august decision...”

Oniroku waited, seeking Rokuhara’s instructions amidst what seemed like daily foot-stamping. Sooner than expected, the courier returned. Yet, against all expectations—

“Pull back at once.”

That was the order from Rokuhara. “By Lord Hojo’s esteemed policy: regarding regional conflicts—no matter their nature—you are ordered not to escalate matters.” “Therefore, you are to cease pursuit of Lord Hino immediately, release all Sanjo people captured here, and promptly withdraw your troops.” To Oniroku, this messenger’s pronouncement was both unexpected and unwelcome. However, during his deployment to Kawachi, the traditionally hardline Rokuhara militant policy had been significantly revised under Kamakura’s directives, and he would eventually hear rumors afterward that a major reshuffle of officials—starting with the tandai—was imminent.

In any case.

In exchange for this, Honjō Oniroku must have felt as though he had been saved from an uncontrollable quagmire. That very day, he lifted the river blockade checkpoints, removed the crossroads barricades, and released all the Sanjo people who had been strung together like prayer beads in Fujiidera’s prisoner pens. “You vermin blessed by fate.” “Had you been sent to Rokuhara, every last one of you would have ended up in a mass grave—yet even this is Lord Kamakura’s mercy.” “Be grateful for this mercy.” And with that, he released them, imposing a debt of gratitude.

Among those released prisoners was the boat performer Uroji, and of course his wife Unoki should have been among them as well. "How awful... They've left it looking exactly like a bandits' den."

The custodian of Fujiidera was angrily venting his frustration alone.

No wonder. On that day, the scene left behind after Honjō Oniroku and his Rokuhara soldiers had abruptly withdrawn was one of utter lawlessness. Even if it was a temple practically abandoned, they had used every railing and fixture they could lay their hands on as firewood, and showed no sign of even attempting to bury the pits used for excrement. “Well… at least they didn’t take out the principal Hakuhō-period statue of Ishikawa Kannon and use it for firewood—that’s something to be thankful for.” The temple custodian, a lone monk, grumbled but soon took up a broom and began cleaning. The good citizens of the age must have all been like this—there was in his figure, as he set to work with such diligence, a look of resignation as though facing a natural disaster.

Silently, with each tsubo he swept, another fragment of peace and stillness returned to the earth through his own hands. It seemed as if he was finding some small comfort in such minor acts of devotion.

“Huh?” Before long, he noticed the ruined temple kitchen and storage shed’s rear and called out reproachfully from afar. “Who’s there?” “The one over there.” “Are you still here?” “Myōtatsu-san?” “It’s me.” “It is I.”

When he saw the man approaching, Myōtatsu, the temple custodian, widened his eyes.

“Oh, it’s you, Uroji-san.” “I’ve been looking all over for you.” “Myōtatsu-san.” “Do you happen to know where my wife might be?” “That’s why I put myself in your wife’s place and worried about you. Since all the other captured comrades were released from this temple gate like scattered garbage, I figured you must’ve left somewhere temporarily too.” “Yes—though I was released like the others—that morning my wife Unoki should have been brought here as a prisoner….” “Since Unoki is nowhere to be found,”

“Ah, so that’s why.”

“I was shoved out of the temple gate with orders to go anywhere—but even temporarily, I had nowhere to go. Since I couldn’t ascertain my wife’s safety either, I thought she might still be somewhere on the temple grounds… so I was sneaking around.” “I see. Then she shouldn’t be found, Mr. Uroji.” “Huh?” Uroji immediately turned pale. “Could something have happened to Unoki?” “No, no—this was my poor way of putting it. There’s no need to be alarmed. When I said she couldn’t be found, it’s because of my arrangement—I’d quietly had her lie inside that thatched Kannon Hall over there some time ago.”

“Ah, so she was made to lie within that sacred door? Myōtatsu-san—I have no words to thank you.” “But… wait now. The more grateful you are, the harder this becomes to say. You spoke of being surprised earlier, but truthfully—there’s one more matter that may shock you.”

Though called Kannon Hall, it was merely a temporary structure with a thatched roof. Narrow, dimly lit—upon the Sumeru altar, even the Holy Kannon’s halo appeared like a golden spider’s web. Unoki had been made to lie beneath this altar here all this time. It was not out of consideration from the Rokuhara soldiers. Since he was acquainted with Myōtatsu, the temple custodian, the opening of the sacred door and the lending of thin nightclothes were all acts of his kindness.

However, while the soldiers were present, even Myōtatsu could not come there as he wished. When he saw the day’s withdrawal, he went straight to her bedside to comfort her and tried to lift her spirits, but Unoki merely kept crying without raising her face. As he pressed further with his questions, it emerged that the infant—who had not lived long after birth—had turned cold in her bosom where no milk flowed. Myōtatsu was startled,

“Then… the child you’re holding—it’s already cold, its breath gone?” And yet, faced with that parental heart still cradling the child as though it were alive, he could not help but be moved to tears. —Having finished relaying all this to her husband Uroji, Myōtatsu... “Well. Hurry and go see her. Poor thing—your wife seems frantic with worry over what’s become of you, her husband.”

After hurriedly urging him on, he left to attend to his own business. Uroji climbed the stairs of the thatched Kannon Hall as if crawling. He lacked the strength to walk. And then, he opened the dark hall’s door. The same sickly figure as when she lay ill in the boat’s bottom met his eyes at once. But the baby’s cries were no longer heard. “Unoki….” “You were here… It’s me—it’s me.” “Oh… you.”

She clung to him without waiting for her husband to sit down. That hand held the desperate strength of one grasping at something in dark waters. A gulp swallowed the rising emotions for just an instant—only afterward did voice and tears burst forth like a broken dam. “…………” The twin Kannon statues upon the Sumeru altar gazed down with smiles upon this manifestation of marital unity—two beings made whole through shared suffering. Against Uroji’s palm lingered the tremors coursing through his wife’s frail back, perceptible through endless moments. Even when he tried to lay her back in her bedding, Unoki refused to release her grip.

“Don’t cry.” “I will not go anywhere again.”

The Rokuhara soldiers had left, and the troubles had passed. “No matter what may come, I shall never leave your side again.” “That gladdens my heart... yet there’s something I must beg forgiveness for.” “I’ve... no excuse to give you—” “The child’s passing?” “...Look upon him.” “...Gaze upon him.” “...See this face—as though he merely slumbers.” “The fault lies with me.” “All of it—this wretched self—” “Nay... I too—”

“No—the chill from childbirth in the boat dwelling, and then this disaster on top of it. But in this cruel world, being born to such helpless parents as us—that child was fated from the start. ...Come now, gather your strength. At least as husband and wife, we’ve no choice but to hold our child’s wake here tonight.”

Evening.

Myōtatsu, the custodian, appeared again at the Kannon Hall with a consoling look.

“The Rokuhara storm has completely passed; there’s no need to mind anyone now.” “Stay here and rest quietly until your wife recovers.”

And then, in the evening, again, “This must be some kind of fate,” “Tonight, I too shall join you in holding the wake for the little Buddha.” And so, he arranged token offerings as well. “……A fortunate child.” The quiet midnight Buddhist prayers eventually made Uroji and his wife feel such thoughts as well. Rather, it was the parents who had to keep living through suffering that bore the deeper karma. As they thought this and looked up at the Sumeru altar, their deceased child appeared to be cradled in the golden hands of Holy Kannon.

The couple involuntarily cried out in their hearts: "...We pray—in the next life, may he not be born to parents burdened with such heavy karma. May he be reborn as a fortunate child." Then Kannon’s smile seemed to respond: "...That is unnecessary fretting. This child was originally my own. No—all beings in this world are indeed my children... Now, I have merely called your child back into my hands"—so Kannon seemed to answer thus.

.

At that moment, outside the hall,

“Might Sarugaku performer Uroji be within that lamplight there? They’re the ones recently dragged here by Rokuhara soldiers.”

came the inquiring voice. For some time now, there had been several samurai wandering through the pitch-dark temple precincts; their shadowy figures seemed to have now located this small light here.

“Who might you be?”

Cautiously, Myōtatsu went out onto the veranda alone. Among the samurai, one was strikingly young.

The young samurai said.

“I am Ishikawa no Toyomaro.”

“What?” “Are you the young master of the Sanjo residence?” “Then no formalities are needed.” “Mr. Uroji is present, but—” “And the one called Unoki?” “Yes.” “His wife as well.” “Had they not perished?” “What do you mean? The deceased was the infant—this very night they were conducting its wake, I should inform you.”

Toyomaro exchanged looks with the retainers he had brought along and appeared relieved. Then one of the retainers took his place and explained the circumstances as follows. Several days earlier, a monk from Kōya carrying news of Hino Toshimoto’s whereabouts had come to Ishikawa Castle to make contact. At one point the message stated: “—I mistakenly gave poison to Uroji’s wife. Though it was an error, my remorse knows no bounds. I beg you find some way to atone for this sin on my behalf.”

But that poison had been kicked and scattered at the feet of the arresting officers who attacked the reed-thatched boat while Uroji was away—Unoki had not even held it in her hand. “Ah, hearing that puts my mind at ease. …I’ll send someone to fetch Uroji properly.” “Lord Hino has also conveyed an earnest decree.” “We will take you both into the Sanjo residence and ensure you live without hardship.” With those words, Toyomaro soon departed.

“Well then. “...Was that poison?”

—After Toyomaro had left.

“Ah, I didn’t know. We mortals—it seems even Lord Hino, who showed us mercy, remained unaware of his own error.” “That… was poison.” The couple shuddered as though comprehending it afresh, and marveled at their strange salvation from death.

Had, at that time— Had Unoki not been abducted by the arresting officers while Uroji was away— …… And had this calamity of being imprisoned for over ten days not occurred either. Without a doubt, Unoki must have believed that to be precious medicine and drunk it. “Unoki. This is no ordinary matter, I tell you! Many times, we grew so weary of living—even that night, we nearly succumbed to death’s allure, whispering of a couple’s suicide… you and I both.”

“Don’t die… Could it be that something is showing us, this couple, such a marvel?” “That’s the only way it seems.” “I can’t help but feel our departed parents—watching from beneath the grasses as we falter in this world—are scolding us to live fiercely.” “Now, now—let us not nurse such feeble thoughts of a lovers’ suicide.” “Unoki won’t yield to illness either.” “Ah, even this humble one—my distaste for warrior ways has narrowed my path, willfully making me weak. Yet facing the road I choose, I mean to achieve anything.” “…And if I fail to bring happiness to you—who sacrificed both lord’s house and family seat for my sake—I’d shame my very manhood.”

“Such things…” “Please… don’t say such things anymore….” “Love is not a sin for either of us.” “I don’t consider love to be any kind of sin.” “Is this not the love we sought?”

“Well said.” “From the start, we never yearned for military advancement or courtly pretensions.” “No matter what hardships come—the only wish has been to live with you.” “But... To do that—”

“You were disowned by your adoptive family and could no longer remain in the capital, and...” “Oh, you…” Once again, Uroji found himself deeply moved. The sacrifices he had made as a man were something he had steeled himself for, yet the guilt of having drastically altered her life as a woman remained a constant weight upon his heart. Whenever he let that slip, Unoki would shake her head—a sight that always tugged at his heart.

That night, through the hands of temple custodian Myōtatsu and the father, the infant's remains were quietly cremated (fire burial) behind Fujiidera Temple.

Several days later.

One evening, Myōtatsu came rushing in.

Then, peering at the two people inside the Kannon Hall, he made an exaggerated face. “Mr. Uroji, they’ve come.” “Huh? What’s that?” “Lord Ishikawa no Toyomaro who came here the other night said it, didn’t he? …That he’d send for you properly another day.” “The welcoming party from the Sanjo residence has arrived, I tell you.” “Huh? Us?” “They’ve probably brought your change of clothes—wardrobe chests, horses, and all that.”

“Th-that’s out of the question! Please refuse them! Refuse them!” “Refuse them!” “Refuse them.” Uroji’s face even changed color as he hurriedly spoke. “Huh? Refuse them?”

Myōtatsu looked dumbfounded. “Mr. Uroji—this may be presumptuous of me—but if you let such fortune slip away, won’t you exhaust even divine favor?” “But for us as a couple, our current circumstances—even if poor—are rather more carefree.” “After all, serving in a mansion isn’t suited to our station, and we aren’t seeking such employment either.” “But you see, those at the Sanjo residence seem to view you two as people of quite distinguished lineage.”

“That’s why it’s even more troubling. Mr. Myōtatsu, please—somehow offer a proper apology and have Lord Ishikawa’s retainers return.” Not only Uroji—Unoki too joined her husband in obstinately refusing.

“I can’t fathom it.”

Having harbored nothing but genuine sympathy for this young couple’s circumstances from the very beginning, Myōtatsu now found himself overcome by something beyond mere understanding—his kindly features hardening into what one might call a well-meaning scowl. “Well, Madam—why don’t you give it some proper thought?” “I don’t know the details, but this Hino Ason fellow—or whatever he’s called—apparently sent a messenger all the way from Koya to request the Sanjo residence to make you folks happy.” “Such luck won’t come twice in a lifetime.”

“Yes.” “Well now, being a sarugaku performer isn’t so bad either.” “Sarugaku performers too range from the pinnacle to the dregs.” “Now, if you were a sarugaku performer holding a seat at Kasuga or other great shrines, that’d be something—but if you keep trudging about as these so-called Sanjo beggar-performers, you’ll spend your whole life caked in street dust, barely scraping by day after day.”

“Thank you for your kindness, but…” “Is it truly so detestable? Absolutely?” “I’m afraid we must decline.” “What a bother. There’s no arguing with refusal like this. Are you selfless or just fools? Even I’m getting angry here!” But there was no alternative. Myōtatsu reluctantly left and gave his reply to the welcoming envoys. Unable to state their true refusal, he returned after making apologies—using Unoki’s illness and Uroji’s excessive humility as flimsy excuses.

“You’ve finally come back. …But listen—the envoys had said something.” “This isn’t limited to tonight—they said they would come again another day. …Well, in the meantime, you two should discuss it properly between yourselves as a couple.” Myōtatsu returned to the priests’ quarters and went to sleep. For him, it felt thoroughly exasperating—an emptiness he seemed unable to endure.

Midnight came.

It was already past mid-April. The first frogs could be heard croaking. The couple seemed not to have slept even after that. Before long, when the whispering voices ceased, they began preparing their attire, and Uroji appeared to have fetched straw sandals for his wife and himself from somewhere.

“Unoki. Did you take that?” “I have it.”

That must have been the small box containing their deceased child's bones. Unoki carried it on her back. With a torn hat in one hand, they stepped out of the Kannon Hall. The couple stood side by side and bowed deeply at the hall before pressing their hands together toward Myōtatsu's sleeping quarters; that night they left Fujiidera behind and vanished without trace.

The next morning.—Myōtatsu the temple keeper, still groggy from sleep.

Outside Fujiidera, someone left horses and attendants behind and entered the temple gate alone. It was Ishikawa no Toyomaro.

“Temple keeper! Temple keeper!” At that voice, Myōtatsu came flying out from within the priests’ quarters. “Well, well,” he said. “The Young Lord of the Sanjo residence.” “Last night—was it you who came to greet the retainers I had sent?” “Yes,” replied Myōtatsu. “It was this humble one.” “Why do Uroji and his wife refuse our invitation? Could it be that even you have misunderstood our intentions?” “Nothing of the sort! I have duly conveyed your generous offer, and the parties themselves should understand it, but…”

“In any case, I shall meet them personally.” “I shall meet them and make them understand properly.” “Summon them.” “The couple.” “Please wait a moment.”

In a fluster, he immediately ran toward the Kannon Hall. But Toyomaro grew tired of waiting.—Then, a warrior who had been standing at the edge of the temple gate observing the situation came over, whispered something to him, and soon they began walking side by side toward the thatched hall.

And there, at the edge, they saw Myōtatsu standing blankly, utterly still. From Myōtatsu’s mouth, they heard that the couple’s figures were nowhere to be found, and that the urn containing their child’s bones—which they had been offering daily—was also gone. “So they left during the night. …Lord Masasue. What a pity.”

Toyomaro glanced back at the samurai and looked disgruntled. —But he immediately averted his eyes as though unable to bear the sight of that warrior—his vacant face still turned toward the hall, appearing utterly desolate while swallowing back tears.

“Temple keeper. “…Was there anything left behind by the couple?”

Eventually, it was the samurai known as Masasue who inquired.

“Not really…” Myōtatsu replied with fading strength. “They were wandering performers who owned nothing from the start. Yet they left behind this note of thanks addressed to this humble one—” He showed him the paper scrap he held. “Let me see that.”

He gazed intently at the traces of ink in the feminine script, not reading them. Finally, his eyelashes began to glisten—but the moment they did, he casually reined it in. “Temple keeper. Will you give me this letter?” “Yes, please take it.” “You were very kind to them, I hear.” “This is a small token from me.” Apparently having nothing else on hand, he pulled out the sword’s kōgai and gave it to Myōtatsu. And to his companion Toyomaro,

“There’s no help for it; let us return.” “What reached my ears came too late. Had I but heard sooner—if only we could have conferred together...”

With forced lonely smiles, they returned together in dejection.

After seeing them off to the temple gate, Myōtatsu suddenly noticed the kōgai he had received as thanks. The part with the woven-pattern inlay bore a gold "Tachibana" crest.

“Ah.” “Then… that person?”

He once again gazed at the distant sky beyond the temple gate. In Kawachi, the house that used the Tachibana crest was none other than the Kusunoki family.

Hatsuse Confession

“Ya! Ya! Ya!” “……Oh hat, where are you off to?” The monk panicked. He dashed about. The hat rolled endlessly, tumbling down the slope of the mountain path.

At Yoshikakure Pass’s descent—a moment of carelessness from the traveling monk who’d been resting his feet—distracted by an unexpected cool breeze. “You wretched wind! Turn my hat right-side out!”

Peering into the valley’s depths, the monk soon began giggling. All at once, I found myself amused by my own wretched desperation—how I’d nearly tumbled into the valley chasing that dancing hat with such greed that even I had to acknowledge my own avarice.

He had a scrawny, petite build. His face was not large either. His head was not neatly shaven—like a chestnut burr. Only his eyes were sharp. No—or rather, 'sharp' might not have been quite accurate. They were eyes that moved with childlike curiosity. Perhaps he had a habit of talking to himself again. Even now, he was walking while muttering under his breath. “Well, I can’t go on like this without a hat.” He took out a sweat cloth and placed it on his head. At first glance, he might have seemed like a mean-spirited monk, but there was an underlying cheerfulness—a sort of amiable optimism beneath his stubbornness—that could be discerned in his demeanor. As for his age, one might truly take him for sixty if told so, but the luster of his persimmon-paper-colored skin and his nimble legs suggested he was still around forty-seven or eight.

Not long after that.

This peculiar traveling monk emerged at the foot of Hasedera Temple, following the sole mountain road from Nabari in Iga to Yamato along the Hatsuse River.

It was the height of a June day. This year brought particularly severe summer heat. There had been no rain since May; fields cracked dry, leaving regions where rice planting proved impossible. Withered seedlings stood visible everywhere, while the sky remained deaf to farmers' resentful cries—showing not even a cloud that day. Yet might it have been a festival day?

Men and women on pilgrimage to Hase were densely gathered, undeterred by the blazing sun. Searching for the traveling monk among them revealed him already utterly engrossed. His gaze mirrored a child’s. From the temple town’s approach to roadside stalls, street performers, and vendors alike—determined not to overlook anything—he walked while scanning his surroundings as the crowd jostled him. “A face powder vendor,” he muttered. “I see.”

He walked a little further.

“A comb carver, huh? Oh—so combs are carved like this?”

At each stall—the manju seller, agar jelly seller, prayer bead shop, sake seller, blind female minstrels’ straw mats, acrobatic performers, clog sellers, mirror polishers, kitchen knife sharpeners—he would pause briefly before hurriedly walking on again.

“Oh.” “There’s a hat seller! I’ll buy one—here now, give me that hat.”

The hat seller, seeing the monk, showed no interest in pleasantries.

“Monk. Unfortunately, we don’t have any woven bamboo hats.” “Then what’s that?”

“It’s a Hatsuse hat, sir.”

“You keep slapping place names on these hats—Hatsuse hat this, Hatsuse hat that—but they’re all the same thing. What’s the point of wearing a ‘Hatsuse hat’?” “Will this do?” “Ah, yes yes.” He paid the coins, immediately replaced his sweat cloth with the hat and started to leave, but then—having apparently seen something—suddenly turned back and stood in the shade of a tree next to the hat seller. Under a large Japanese pagoda tree, he saw a young couple selling fans who had spread out a straw mat and placed an old desk beside it. Just then, a female customer who had bought a small fan was making a request as if she wanted something written on it.

Since they were plain fans, every customer who purchased one would invariably have the fan-folding couple add small illustrations or poems before leaving.

But. As expected, customers seemed to favor the wife’s calligraphy over her husband’s fan-folding. The man simply kept folding fans in silence. “Here, fan-folder.” When he finally saw that customers had stopped coming, the traveling monk too counted his coins.

“Could I have one of those fans over there?” “Yes. Will this do?” “No—the five-ribbed one over there would be better.” “And could you add some inscription to it?” “I couldn’t possibly.”

The fan-folding wife was still young. When she saw the monk, her face flushed with bashfulness. “My writing could never meet the discerning eye of a monk such as yourself.” “I beg your pardon.” “Why?”

he pressed teasingly, “I’ve been watching from the start—for one customer you drew lotus blossoms in red ink alongside a verse from the Universal Gate chapter, and for an old woman you did reed-style writing of a passage from Kūya’s hymns, didn’t you?” “Oh…” Her face flushed even deeper. “Since plain fans alone don’t sell, I’m simply peddling my shame on others’ urging—just idle amusement for villagers.” “I’m but a humble village monk myself.” “Oh, come now—no need for such modesty.”

“I’m troubled.”

“I’m in a bind myself.” “Hee hee hee hee”

Finally, she burst into laughter, “Ha ha ha ha!”

The monk also puffed out his chest but started speaking again.

“Then let’s do this,” he said. “I’ll write. You’ll write too. A shame-scribbling contest. Let’s exchange them!” Reluctantly, she finally took up the brush. Holding a fan in one hand, her expression turned contemplative as she pondered what to write—all while the monk watched unblinkingly. Soon she set down the brush and, with face bowed, gently offered the still-damp ink marks into the traveling monk’s hands.

“Well then, let me have a look.” The monk gave a slight bow to the fan before examining it. Of this world Since I am a woman, That I cross Itaashi River How can I not cross? “Oh, this is a poem from the Manyōshū singing of the Itaashi River local to this area.” “A small note like ‘Inspired by the poem’s essence’ would have been good.” “…Well then, my turn.” “Lend me that brush, if you would.”

The monk also wrote something swiftly on another fan and returned it.

“...Ah?” The fan she had casually accepted fluttered in her hands with a start, trembling like a butterfly taking wing. Then, having moved closer to her husband’s fan-folding desk, the couple pressed their two faces together as if paralyzed, appearing for a moment to have stopped breathing altogether at the characters on the fan. those who had long been lost to the capital—people called Hatake no Motonari and Unoki— Having unexpectedly discovered their utterly changed appearances in the Hase area, There was a preface—

Koguchi (an old place name) At the edge of Mount Hatsuse The drifting clouds Are you not my beloved? And there was written one poem from the Manyōshū that said:—

After some time.

The fan-folding couple too seemed to have finally regained their composure. They lined up their figures—though to say they "lined up" seems inadequate—and approached the traveling monk as if burdened by shame, clasping their hands before him. "Excuse my rudeness, but who might you be?" "You seem to know much about our circumstances, Venerable Monk?" "Can you not recall?" "Well, I’m not sure..." The sight of the couple tilting their heads together in puzzlement met the monk’s gaze through eyes already crinkled with nostalgic sentiment.

“...Then you were indeed Hatake Jirōzaemon, weren’t you?” “I am utterly ashamed." “If you speak of our former names...” “Furthermore, your wife once served within Saikamon-in—the imperial consort of Retired Emperor Go-Uda—where she was addressed as Unoki, a minor attendant.” "...Yes. “I will no longer conceal anything, but to begin with, you are—” “Me? ... In recent years, I’ve been lodging at Jingo-ji Temple in Yoshida here in the capital, so people call me things like ‘the Shinbone Monk of Yoshida’ or ‘Kenkō of Yoshida,’ but I doubt those names would ring any bells.”

“So you are Lord Kenkō?” “No—in truth, I am Urabe no Kenkō, third son of Jibu no Shōbu Kaneaki. Taking my secular name as it was, I am now called Monk Kenkō.” “Oh! ... Then you were indeed Lord Kenkō, who had the honor to serve as Lieutenant of the Left Guards among the Hokumen (imperial guards) at Retired Emperor Go-Uda’s cloistered palace? ... My, what a transformation...”

“Ha ha ha! Haven’t we both failed to notice how much we ourselves have changed? I have not once been asked by anyone lately whether I am Urabe no Kenkō, my former name... And yet, seeing you two here now, I find myself strangely nostalgic for those days when Retired Emperor Go-Uda still reigned over the world. Well now, how things have changed.” “To have met you in such a place so unexpectedly—I wish I could vanish from shame.” “Well… What are you so—” “—worked up about?”

Kenkō shook his head. There was a time when scandalous rumors about two people had clamorously circulated through the imperial court and on the lips of Kyoto’s children—though faintly, he still retained some memory of those days. Even now—were they still ashamed of that? Comparing it to his own renunciation of the world, Kenkō seemed to think with frustration.

Suddenly changing the subject,

“Lord Motonari. I’m in no hurry on this journey—would you care to spend a night together sharing more of the paths we’ve walked and those yet to come?” “This is an unexpected honor.” “Does the fan shop roll up its straw mats at dusk?” “No, this trade was taught to us by the master of the lodging house, who said there would be crowds during Hase’s festival days so that we—my wife and I—might earn our keep.” “The brushes, inkstones, and all fan-making supplies were lent by him.” “Once we return these to the master.”

“I see.” “Then let me propose this.” “Having come here, to pass without making the Hase Pilgrimage would be a heartless act.” “I shall return here when the evening bell tolls.” “Without fail, will you both remain here?”

After saying this, Kenkō immediately left. Like the thousands of men and women ascending and descending Toyama Hasedera, his figure showed no sign of care.

Unoki and Motonari returned once to the lodging house. And as even that parched summer day finally began cooling into dusk, they set out again and waited beneath the midday pagoda tree for Kenkō to arrive as promised.

Before long,

“Ah, you’ve come.”

It was Kenkō’s voice. Even more warmly than during daytime. “Isn’t there somewhere we can talk? Somewhere out of sight and cool.” “Somewhere out of sight and cool.”

They left the thoroughfare and descended to the banks of the Hatsuse River. On the bridge above, evening passersby still occasionally came and went, but here there was only the sound of rushing shallows and fireflies darting about. The trio sat down and remained silent for a time. They forgot even summer itself as life’s hardships began to fade. “……Actually—you two.” “Yes.” “The ramblings of a monk like myself may invite mockery—but even this Kenkō once knew love like yours.” “She died young though—I tell you.” “This journey too—in truth—is my return path from visiting that woman’s grave in Iga—you see.”

“…………” “Therefore, did it not seem all the less like another’s concern?” “Moreover, Lord Motonari’s homeland being Iga, and Lady Unoki—raised since childhood by her noble kin in the capital, those styled Dharma Seal Gen’ei—this humble one knew them well during his secular days.”

“…………”

“Just as I’ve shamelessly confessed my love at her memorial service, won’t you two disclose why you linger here in such wretchedness, posing as outcasts?” Having said this, Kenkō began recounting—with almost cheerful relish—his motivations for taking monastic vows and memories of the woman. She had been called Shōben no Tsubone in imperial service, daughter of Tachibana no Naritada, Acting Governor of Iga.

At that time, Yoshida Kenkō was still no more than a twenty-six or twenty-seven-year-old young guardsman in the Northern Guard—for him, this had been his first love. He burned like fire and visited the woman. Her father was not pleased. He had no intention of marrying his daughter to some low-ranking Northern Guard. He withdrew from court and concealed his daughter’s whereabouts in Fukakusa. Yet still Kenkō kept visiting that Fukakusa, "Sleeves beaten on cold nights—ah, drenched they must be— Dawn dew of

Fukakusa Village With such verses, he sang of himself and grieved for himself. The woman’s father, bristling with disgust at his frenzied love, finally moved his daughter to his rural estate in Iga. It was immediately after that that Kenkō resigned from the Northern Guard and vanished from sight. But in the end, he could never meet the woman again. In his despair, he wandered through the eastern provinces for many years in a self-destructive state.—It was only after ten years had passed that he was summoned again to serve at Retired Emperor Go-Uda’s palace.

During that time, the woman had passed away in Iga Province. Moreover, not long after—in the first year of Shōchū—Retired Emperor Go-Uda also passed away. "Defeated in love and parted from the Retired Emperor who had shown me favor—it was at that time I resolved that my only path forward was to renounce the world..." Thus concluding, Kenkō, "I’ve visited the woman’s grave in Iga countless times since then." "When I suddenly long to see her, I have no reason to go to Iga." He made no attempt to hide his falling tears, rubbing them all over his dirty face with his palms.

The two listened, deeply moved, to Kenkō the monk’s confession of love and his reasons for renouncing the world. "...If it's this person..."—it seemed they now felt a desire to share even the details of their lives they would never tell others, wanting him to hear them.

What follows is.

Uroji and his wife—or rather, Hatake Jirōzaemon Motonari and his wife Unoki—were those who spoke openly to Kenkō that night amidst the Hatsuse River's murmur where fireflies whirled through the air. They had become a couple who now disclosed everything without shame—both a fearsome secret of these love-entangled times and their true lineage.

×　　　　　　　×

Motonari was the second son of Kōjima Nyūdō, a minor lord of Komada in Iga Province, but had been adopted into the related Hatake family. The Hatake, Kōjima, Ōta, and other clan factions in Iga were descendants of Hirauchi no Saemon Ienaga of Iga, who had prospered alongside the main branch during the Taira clan's reign. Therefore, even now in the capital, there are not a few families connected by ancestral ties. Taira no Narisuke, also known simply as Lord Karasumaru—Narisuke, the Middle Palace Secretary—was also of Taira lineage. Motonari's entry into service as a page to a court noble of the Karasumaru family followed the custom of provincial samurai sons residing with capital elites under the pretext of "disciplinary training" until inheriting family headship—but he came to be exceptionally favored by Narisuke,

“Just a bit more,” Lord Karasumaru would coax him each time—and before he knew it，Motonari had ended up serving for over ten years．Moreover，he had long since nearly forgotten his adoptive family in Iga．

Love had begun to bloom.

It was with Unoki, a lady-in-waiting serving Kishi, the West Flower Gate Consort in the inner palace of Retired Emperor Go-Uda. The two lovers, who had repeatedly glimpsed each other while running errands for their lord Narisuke, were finally united beneath the blossoms during the flower-viewing festivities at Kitayama Palace. At the imperial excursions to Kitayama each spring and autumn, the procession carriage would customarily remain stationed for two or three nights, allowing these two attendants serving their respective lords in retinues to steal secret meetings in blossom-veiled darkness by night, while by day—amidst banquet mats under cascades of petals and the din of dance spectators—they could indulge their love as they pleased.

Furthermore, at the Ishiyamizu imperial procession in the first year of Shōchū, Motonari stood as an outrider for the carriage. To suit his lord’s flamboyant tastes, he wore matching kosode robes with silver-laminated fabric dyed yellow with crane crests, layered over a translucent suikan underrobe visible beneath—an ensemble that drew all eyes alongside eight other retainers. Moreover, at the night banquets around bonfires, under Narisuke’s direction, “Motonari, show us the Iga Dance.” Being thus instructed, in that very attire, he briskly performed a Yamada Sarugaku piece amidst the crowd.

Of course, he had been trained in martial arts since childhood, but by nature, he loved dance and music. At Iga's Ichinomiya Shrine and other sanctuaries, spontaneously emerging Kagura-like modern-style dances had recently begun to flourish. Motonari had merely improvised a performance based on what he had observed and mimicked, but his exceptional talent quickly drew cheers that outshone the bonfire's brightness, and the crowd's praises rang out ceaselessly. "That man is my household's treasured retainer."

Narisuke proudly boasted whenever questioned by others. But for Motonari, rather than anyone’s praise, it was Unoki’s gaze—there behind the distant blinds—that held his attention. But that night, unfortunately, they were not blessed with a chance to meet—and moreover, not long after that, their love was fated to encounter a calamitous event.

It was around that time. There had been a bizarre incident of thieves breaking into the Bureau Town within the Greater Imperial Palace. Of all places, to infiltrate the inner palace deep within the Imperial Court—people were astonished at the thieves’ audacity, though some said it showed how far the disorder of the times had spread. Or so they whispered. From then on, officers of the Imperial Police prowled the capital day and night, presenting an appearance almost akin to the imperial faction’s intelligence network countering Rokuhara’s spies (*mitsutsu*).

Naturally, in such times, the claws of the times would gradually shrink lovers' gardens or turn them into thorns. Yet the flames of youth cannot be contained. In the predawn hours, beneath the West Flower Gate Consort's earthen wall, a suspicious young man was apprehended by patrol officers. The young man was Hatake Motonari, a retainer of the Karasumaru family. After about two days, he was transferred from the Imperial Police Bureau into Lord Karasumaru's custody under the private advisory of "...Please take care from now on."

However, after this incident, their love became openly discussed among people. “They say Lord Karasumaru’s prized retainer Motonari and Unoki—that servant girl from the West Flower Gate Consort’s household—are carrying on like lovesick fools. But do you really think Lord Chigusa’s younger brother will just sit there sucking his thumb?” There had, in fact, long been another who had been fervently courting Unoki. He was said to be the brother of Chigusa Tadaaki, who was regarded as the vanguard of the imperial faction.

Motonari knew of the formidable competitor’s existence. But his passion paid no heed to the Imperial Police’s admonitions or his lord Narisuke’s— “Exercise some restraint.” He paid no heed even to the confinement order. He could not go even three days without seeing Unoki’s face. On stormy nights in particular, he would sneak out from the main residence as if granted a fortunate opportunity, cross the high earthen wall of the West Flower Gate Consort, and—paying no heed to the howling night sky—return only near dawn after sharing intimacy with Unoki. Even he himself was surprised by his own daring.

In fact, it was his lord Narisuke who secretly smiled at his passion and boldness. Not as a sympathizer of love, but seeing Motonari as a man of courage through his discerning eye, he thought: *This man should be utilized.*

For some time now, among radical court nobles such as Karasumaru Narisuke, Chigusa Tadaaki, and Bōmon no Kiyotada, there had been discussing: "Is there not a suitable man we can employ?"

They had been keeping this task in mind—for this was a matter in which even the Emperor (Go-Daigo) had taken personal interest; should they fail, not only would cracks form in their alliance of court nobles, but it risked sparking dangerous confrontations with Kamakura as well. Hence they took extreme care in selecting whom to entrust with this secret mission.

Finally, on a certain occasion.

Narisuke closed his private chamber and secretly confided it to Jirōzaemon Motonari, whom he had personally selected, after which—

“What do you say? Will you do it?” With an intimidating gaze, he pressed for his answer. “Primarily for His Majesty’s sake—and in part for your own love’s sake. Should you succeed, Lord Chigusa and I shall arrange matters to see your bond with Unoki through to eternity.” “I shall.”

Motonari answered resolutely—it was the role of an assassin tasked with killing, but with this single-minded resolve, he believed nothing was impossible.

When Motonari clearly stated, “I’ll do it,” and accepted the role of assassin, Karasumaru Narisuke finally relaxed the stiffness that had tightened his entire body. The target to be assassinated. He then proceeded to explain the reasons. There existed a court noble called Ōbanshi Nakahara no Akifusa. He too had once attended the conspirators’ “Bundan-kai” meetings and had been among those thoroughly versed in the secret plot to overthrow the Hōjō clan within the imperial court from early on—but this Akifusa had recently,

“Your Majesty’s plan is far too imprudent.” Ōbanshi Nakahara no Akifusa had directly admonished His Majesty. “Whether it be the Hōjō clan or the warriors of the Eastern Provinces, all are children of the sovereign of the realm.” “The wicked deeds of the people are due to Your Majesty’s lack of virtue.” “Moreover, should rebellion arise, the suffering of fire and blood will fall upon good people. It is precisely by praying, ‘Let there be no chaos in the land,’ for your subjects’ sake that one fulfills the role of emperor—yet Your Majesty, in your exalted station, deigns to approve these conspiracies of young court nobles. Truly, one cannot help but foresee the world’s ruin.” “I beseech Your Majesty to abandon these single-minded reforms and deign to devote your heart solely to sacred virtues.”

He had apparently dared to voice words that must have grated harshly on Your Majesty's ears. But this was never an Emperor Go-Daigo who would countenance such counsel. As for admonishments— The Emperor's foster father Yoshida Sadafusa had offered veiled warnings. Even Ōnagon Mikohidari no Tameyo—father of the late beloved consort Tameko—had entreated him with earnest remonstrations. Yet even this provoked imperial wrath so fierce that Tameyo took monastic vows and withdrew into seclusion at Rengetsudani Valley on Mount Kōya. "What insolence from one of *Ōbanshi* Akifusa's station!"

Thus, Akifusa’s repeated admonishments were, of course, summarily dismissed.

But. For the anti-shogunate court nobles who learned of this, they could not let it go unheeded. If Ōbanshi Akifusa were to oppose them to such an extent, there was a risk that the matter would leak to Kamakura. There, before His Majesty, the measure of "...in that case" was tacitly agreed upon in the hearts of three men: Karasumaru Narisuke, Chigusa Tadaaki, and Bōmon no Kiyotada. "That Akifusa—having realized his failures as an overreacher—now shuns court attendance and keeps secluded. Yet he still makes pilgrimages to Kiyomizu Temple." "Should you target him, opportunities for observation will abound." "Ensure success."

Narisuke stirred the young blood of Jirōzaemon Motonari, who listened with eyes aglow.

And as for the reward— "I will grant you leave on this occasion. Take Unoki as your wife and live out your days with her."

However, regarding Unoki—Lord Chigusa’s younger brother had also taken a liking to her and was zealously campaigning to take her as his concubine, but this elder brother Chigusa Tadaaki would make him abandon the endeavor. Lord Chigusa had also consented to this as part of the exchange. Moreover, entreaties would be made to Lady Saikamon’in, whom Unoki served, and all arrangements would be amicably settled with Abbot Gen’e—her parental figure—and her family home in Kawachi as well. Narisuke thus promised.

“I shall do it. Without fail, I will strike down Lord Ōbanshi Akifusa within days and lay him before you.”

Motonari felt sweat pooling beneath his arms even as he listened, swearing in a voice like one possessed.

On the surface, he made it appear that he had taken leave from his master’s house, the Karasumaru family; Motonari thereafter concealed himself in the city, single-mindedly staking out Ōbanshi Akifusa’s comings and goings. Akifusa’s residence was located on Imadegawa.

But now. It was no simple task. Motonari, having become an assassin, came to realize just how supremely difficult a task it was to kill a single human being without any personal enmity or debt.

It was not a matter of courage or skill. It wasn't due to a lack of opportunities either. It was something within himself. An unfathomable darkness within his heart made the shadow of a self that had yet to commit any transgression already seem dyed in black sin—a helplessness beyond endurance. "Is this who I am?" With each passing day, his countenance grew more fearsome. The gauntly hollowed cheeks could be felt even by touch. "This demon's face." "Ah... Never—I must never let Unoki see this."

Therefore, he had not visited Unoki's place even once during that time.

With single-minded focus, "Ōbanshi, show yourself!" Thus did he make the demon's shadow wander through nearby vacant lots and outside the residence. In the vain passing of over a month, he came to hear unpleasant rumors—the reputation of Akifusa himself in society. "A good person rare in this world today." "In his official duties, he delivers razor-sharp judgments, yet never accepts bribes even in passing, and shows compassion for the poor"—such were the kinds of voices heard. This made Motonari shrink back. The demon's ears refused to accept any hint of the man's virtue.

Even so, he himself gradually began to doubt his own courage. The boldness and passionate nature that he himself had initially believed in—and that his lord Narisuke had recognized—were, in short, a flame born from the darkness of love that drove him to visit the woman’s abode; it was neither the courage to kill nor single-minded resolve.

“This won’t do.”

He rebuked the timid, quivering, petty imp within himself. The opportunity came. It was an evening alive with the chorus of insects.

Lured by the moon perhaps, Ōbanshi Akifusa himself walked alone along the unlit riverbank, unattended by retainers.—Now!—he crawled through the grass thicket, scattering dewdrops. His target’s back was right before him. But at that very moment,

“Who’s there?” Akifusa’s eyes turned toward him with vivid intensity. The instant must not be let slip. Yet Motonari leaped backward. He had by now lost his qualification as an assassin. However, before Akifusa’s eyes, Motonari—a strange masked figure—lay prostrated like a shattered specter. At some point, in his heart of hearts, he had come to respect Akifusa as a person. Overcome with shame, he blurted out a confession. “Wait... Take heed. Your life is being targeted. I, unfit to be an assassin, will vanish—but the world is in turmoil.”

Then, behind him as he departed, Akifusa’s laughing voice could be heard. “Assassin—don’t panic. Your warning now is appreciated... but comes before resolve. Without resolve itself—could you ever dare speak such boldness before His Majesty?”

——Meanwhile.

The commotion over Unoki’s disappearance from the quarters of Seikamon-in began on a night that dawned after a dark autumn rainstorm had raged—several days after the incident involving Motonari. With scandalous rumors already swirling, Unoki’s vanishing became the subject of even wilder speculation.

“Such an audacious escape from imperial service—no woman would plan this alone.” “A man must have aided her.” “Come to think of it, Lady Unoki had secretly favored sour tastes for about a month prior—or so it appeared.” “Having agonized beyond endurance—or so they judged.” Within the imperial court especially, she became the chatter of both fascination and envy.—Yet none was more thunderstruck by this affair than Karasumaru Narisuke. He immediately dispatched retainers across eight directions to investigate likely leads, even covertly engaging the imperial police’s assistance—yet man and woman alike vanished without trace.

They had sent people to Jirōzaemon Motonari’s home province and even to Iga. There was no trace of them, it was reported. “Then, investigate the woman’s connections.” Next, they proceeded to scrutinize Unoki’s connections. First and foremost, Narisuke personally visited Gen’e Hōin—the scholar-monk of Kita-no-Ōji who had raised her before she entered Seikamon-in’s service as a menial attendant. “...She has not shown herself.” “No—with such a disgraceful affair, she would hardly dare show herself.” It was Gen’e’s answer. In this era, the name of Gen’e Hōin had suddenly risen to prominence. He was the leading authority of the new Song Confucianism. Especially, he was highly popular among young radical court nobles.

The so-called “Bundan-kai” literary salons of those court noble cliques would haul out this elderly scholar and hoodwink society by masquerading as gatherings for attending lectures on the Zizhi Tongjian. Gen’e—whether cognizant of being exploited by them or not—dutifully attended these assemblies and assumed the role of Imperial Lecturer when appointed. Yet he maintained complete detachment toward how profoundly his own new theories had stirred both the Emperor and the rising court nobles beneath him, or how extensively they rippled through society. A scholar-monk remained resolutely nothing more than a scholar—one who humbly conducted himself as such.

“As her guardian, it was you, reverend, who recommended Unoki to Her Majesty the Retired Empress—but through what connection did that come about?” Narisuke probed. “Therefore, Unoki’s natal home in Kawachi—the Kusunoki family—and my own house are distant relatives by marriage.” “This is the first I’ve heard of this. Then, what is your relationship with Kusunoki Tamonhyōe Masanari?” “No—there had already been a bond since the days when the previous generation’s Kusunoki Masatō resided in the detached residence at Tamakushi no Shō in Kita Kawachi and governed the sanjō people in those parts.”

“And regarding Unoki—” “She is Masatō’s youngest daughter.” “Then since Masatō has long passed, tracing Unoki’s family line would necessarily lead to Kusunoki Hyōe—the current head who succeeded to the house in Mikumari—would it not?” “Indeed.” “After Masatō came his eldest son Masanari, then his younger brother Masatsune…” “Beneath them—whether there remained a daughter among their number or not…” “In any case, Unoki is indeed sister to Masanari. Yet having raised her since she was a girl not yet out of single digits—for matters to reach such a state—this foolish monk cannot help but feel some measure of responsibility.”

Having revealed this reminiscence, "I must promptly send a letter to Kawachi to apologize for Gen’e’s inadequate upbringing," he muttered.

Narisuke, upon returning to his residence, immediately dispatched a messenger to Mikumari in Kawachi to inquire whether the missing man and woman had been seen there. Jirōzaemon Motonari—originally a samurai who had realized his inability to kill others, abandoned his mission as an assassin, taken Unoki from Seikamon-in to go into hiding—was now struggling to survive each day. He could no longer show his face in Iga Province. In all likelihood, back at his adoptive family’s home in Iga Province, the entire clan—

"Disown him" It was clear they were furious.

Even so, they could not shamelessly turn to Unoki’s natal home for help. Now, they had become two people at the ends of the earth, with nowhere to turn. However, they had no regrets. Unoki had also declared it to be her true wish. But Unoki had quickly sold off the belongings she carried, and on top of that, Motonari himself was constantly assailed by terror for his life.

“...Is it now my turn to be the assassin’s target?”

He was constantly consumed by such terror all along.

The reason was: For he himself had also, unfortunately, been informed by Lord Karasumaru of the existence of a court noble conspiracy centered around the Emperor within the palace.

Fearing it might leak to the world, Daibenji Akifusa became a target. Therefore naturally, even Lord Bōmon and Lord Chigusa would be spurred into action— "That retainer of Lord Karasumaru—who failed his assassin’s mission and even stole away a woman—is one they cannot allow to live even more than Akifusa."

They were undoubtedly being exhorted in secret: "Leave no stone unturned!" As this reasoning took hold in Motonari, a profound gloom settled over him.

For men and women in such times,

Death

Death is always alluring. The churning of death and love—two elements within anguish—brews a wine of even stronger sweetness.

Moreover, in Unoki's body there had already been signs of pregnancy since her time at Saikamon-in. Once aware of their role as parents, they could no longer choose death. Winter arrived with sleet.

The latter part of December. It was a commotion at Sannen-zaka under Kiyomizu Temple. “Someone’s been killed!” “No—he was just stabbed and collapsed there right now.” “The culprit— “The culprit—?” “How could anyone know?” “The one who killed him wouldn’t be hanging around here.” Motonari had hidden his wife Unoki deep in Otowa and was on his way back that evening carrying food and other provisions. A clamorous crowd had formed like a black mountain. The voices forced their way into his ears.

A court noble-looking man had just come down from Kiyomizu Temple. Perhaps having left a palanquin or horse waiting at the foot of the slope, he descended Sannen-zaka holding an umbrella. Suddenly, from beneath the great ginkgo tree, a samurai wearing a bamboo shoot hat low over his brow and a half-straw raincoat around his body collided with the courtier’s umbrella like a swallow and fled— Huh?

When the passersby gathered to look, the mud had already turned crimson, and the courtier—stabbed in the spleen with a sharp blade—lay dead—so it was said.

Absentmindedly, over the shoulders of the crowd, Motonari too peered at the corpse lying in the mud.

“...Huh?” A trembling came over him, and Motonari’s legs began to shake violently. But assailed by the illusion that he himself was the culprit, his subsequent steps became frantic.

The dead man had a face unmistakably that of Daibenji Nakahara no Akifusa.

In the days that followed, the town— The Daibenji Murder— was abuzz with rumors. Given that Daibenji Akifusa had been well-regarded even by commoners during his lifetime, there was widespread sympathy for his unnatural death. In official circles: "They lightly suggested theories like 'Perhaps resentment from someone who lost a lawsuit against the upright Daibenji,'" but the commoners were in no mood to take such explanations at face value. "...Could there be some deeper reason behind this?" This whisper stubbornly refused to fade.

But the truth lay beyond their comprehension. The root of that daylight atrocity committed amid the town's bustle had been planted within the Imperial Court. Those privy to it numbered only an august personage, three or four court nobles, and the perpetrator himself. No—there was one more: a man called Jirōzaemon Motonari.

That Motonari, “Am I next to meet a violent end?” Each day, he was driven deeper into terror so absolute it left him no scrap of ground to stand upon even beneath the winter sun.

Moreover, whenever he heard the voices of society,

"If I had become the assassin and carried out the Daibenji killing with my own blade back then..." he also considered. That recollection terrified him more than anything. Even if this path had led to these circumstances and terrors, choosing it still seemed preferable. When they tried to live, desperation's claws caught hold of something.

The couple finally found their path to survival.

At the edge of the capital, below Keage and behind Imakumano, there existed a village within the city that defied easy description. They were a peculiar community that always worked diligently and sang heartily amid the clattering din of their bustling lives—and on certain nights, the entire village, old and young alike, children included, would chant sutras to the rhythm of bells and dance the nembutsu odori together in harmonious fellowship until dawn. In society, that place was known as the Jishū Ami Order, referred to as the Jishū Ami Order, and for villagers engaged in trades or those in religious attire—whether women or men—they used terms like “Ami followers” or “Jishū adherents.”

This was a recent phenomenon.

Not only there but Jishū adherents began appearing in various places and showed signs of gradual spread. When it came to doctrine—drawing from Kūya’s nenbutsu lineage, blending with Hōnen’s Jōdo sect teachings, and based on Ippen Shōnin’s philosophy—it appeared quite complex; however, the vows between dharma companions were simple and remarkably free.

This world is unreliable. Tomorrow is uncertain. Let us establish a separate Pure Land. Why don't we live together harmoniously in the single path of nenbutsu? Those who wish to wear Buddhist robes may do so; those who prefer secular appearance may remain secular. Occupation, social class, gender, age—these are not matters of concern. Those who come are not refused. Those who depart are not pursued. In essence, it seemed to be something like this: Do not be swayed by the ugliness of this world; enjoy life as humans naturally should, and when life ends, entrust yourself to Amida’s welcome to reach the Pure Land in the next life. Even those who did not believe in the Pure Land appeared to accept this perspective—that life itself was paradise, and death too was paradise.

Motonari and his wife hid there. —And then, his wife Unoki gave birth for the first time.

The people of Ami Village were kind. Moreover, with a unity and solidarity that could be called extraterritoriality, they finally felt as though they had been revived. But the couple’s first child soon died in the village. In any case, the so-called extraterritorial Ami Village was an ideal hiding place for Motonari and his wife, but it would not remain safe forever. Those who come are not refused Those who depart are not pursued. Since it was a diverse religious group of men and women adhering to these principles, it was inevitable that disguised government agents would infiltrate among them.

Moreover, the figures of Unoki and Motonari stood out far too conspicuously in Ami Village—a place seemingly dredged from the murky depths of commoner society—like a solitary crane amidst a flock of chickens. “Be careful now.” There were also comrades who subtly warned the couple.

“For some reason—I don’t know why—but there’s more than a few shady characters here keeping an eye on you folks.” “More than a few.”

The couple understood this too. Thus, having stayed in Ami Village for less than a year, they had no choice but to leave the capital and wander forth.

But after observing the Ami comrades' tenacious way of life for about a year, they had learned one conviction: "If humans try to live—no matter what they do—they can survive." At least confidence was something they had acquired.

It was after that that Motonari, utilizing his preferred path as a livelihood, joined the ranks of street performers. That said, both of them had only just timidly drifted away from their lives as court nobles and the refined elegance of the retired empress’s court. They found themselves unable to blend into either the violent seas of survival or the flesh of commoners who would even bite each other to survive. Moreover, they lacked even the courage to leave the capital they had long inhabited, and their wanderings remained confined to the regions of Settsu, Izumi, and Kawachi.

In the midst of all this, Unoki became pregnant with another child. They acquired a single decayed boat and transitioned to a boat-dwelling life thereafter—all for the sake of the mother and infant. Before long, during a night in Furuichi, an unexpected calamity caused them to lose their floating nest of a household; moreover, both husband and wife were bound and taken to the Rokuhara soldiers’ garrison at Fujiidera, ultimately leading to the loss of their second child as well.

Reflecting now—their firstborn child and the one they lost in Fujiidera—by what karmic bond had they been born to such ill-fated parents, vanishing from darkness into darkness without ever knowing a single smile? From the very beginning, was our love an ill-fated union—a promise never meant to bear fruit? Is it because of this that we find no place in the human world, that even the gods and buddhas despise us?

That was all.

The two of them, having finished speaking,

“Our trifling circumstances and petty complaints…” “We’ve ended up telling you everything.” “Please do laugh at us.”

And then, they obscured what followed with tearful laughter.

×　　　　　　　×

By now, even the sound of the Hatsuse River’s flow had deepened enough to feel chilly despite the summer night. “Well now—upon hearing your tale, I’d say your circumstances and this wretched monk’s own are not so different after all.” “In general, it seems people in similar situations are hardly rare in this world.” “Hahaha!”

He had been listening with profound absorption, but upon finishing, Yoshida Kenkō let out a dry, crackling laugh. It was not mockery of the couple's lament, but rather his characteristically optimistic derision toward fate—one that enveloped even himself.

Not only that—Yoshida Kenkō,

“Good, good”

What exactly was so good about it?—he kept nodding to himself in self-satisfied agreement. “Your love, your circumstances, your current situation—indeed, all the honorable tales you’ve recounted in such detail—upon hearing them, they all seem to be nothing but auspicious matters first and foremost. By no means is this misfortune or anything of the sort.”

He also said this.

“How enviable... Compared to this Kenkō’s love affairs, and compared to this Kenkō’s sulking half-secular state today—” “...To these eyes of mine, you two seem a man and woman basking in fair days... Wait—no, perhaps not... Do you yourselves perceive your state as such, or not?” “Well...?” The eccentric monk’s paradoxical words. To Motonari, those words rang thus.

As for Unoki, it seemed even less comprehensible. Rather than enlightenment, his words were taken as cruel mockery—akin to roadside jeers that toy with those battered by fate—ultimately appearing to wring out bitter tears of resentment. "You sound full of grievances."

Kenkō muttered to himself. “No—it’s only natural. Anyone who swims through even a bit of adversity tends to think there’s no one in the world as unfortunate as themselves. How could they know? This world of suffering has no bottom. Below lie those in lower depths still—people buried in misfortunes beyond imagining. In contrast, I must honestly say I envy you two for what a blessed youth you’ve had.”

“Lord Kenkō. How could we possibly be considered happy?” “Are we not fellow renunciants ourselves?” “No, though we endure this world out of necessity, we have not formally renounced it.” “Well, in the strict sense, renunciation may be limited to Buddhist disciples, but what this Kenkō speaks of as renunciation holds a far broader meaning. That is to say—you have renounced the warrior class, and Lady Unoki has renounced the gilded false happiness of the retired empress’s court, have you not? In other words, the aspiration to entrust oneself to Amida is also renunciation. To take the far shore of love as one’s vow is also renunciation. You two have achieved renunciation through love, I should think.”

“We see—if that is the meaning of your words.”

“Not only that.” Kenkō stirred up a flicker of the passion smoldering like banked embers deep in his breast, letting it glint through his tone. “If one thinks of tomorrow, today can only be called a world unlike any other.” “In capital or countryside, among court nobles or warrior houses—even within Buddhism’s sacred gates—nowhere remains shelter to cling to.” “Soon, the conflict of self against self will summon down to this earth a snarling Asura hell—I feel its shadow looming before my eyes.” “…………”

“To be expelled from this potential hell through haste and wander the fields of freedom with one’s beloved—is this not rather an auspicious form of youth? Kenkō became this sulky monk due to unrequited love, but you both are young and have achieved love in full…… You needn’t rot away as some resentful outcast couple lurking in the shadows. Now then—if lives that have thrived in the wild could make flowers of paradise bloom abundantly across these fields—what might that be like? If you hold hope, opportunity lies right before your eyes—if only you’d grasp it!”

Kenkō’s words too, at first, sounded somewhat peculiar. But Motonari was startled to realize that fragments of truth escaped from his offhand remarks. Moreover, he became aware that the true self which had long lain dormant and withered within him was being roused by that voice.

“Thank you for your words.”

Motonari suddenly made even his eyes come alive. "Truly, I was the one who forced myself into becoming an outcast. Though I have not been without resentment for such self-abasement until now, I could not bring myself to rely again on martial prowess or political power. Having no other talents to speak of—let alone harboring any grand aspirations—I ended up barely clinging to this transient existence. So when you said to me, 'Make flowers bloom in the wild,' what exactly did you mean by that?"

“According to your earlier account—though born to a warrior house—you declared dance and music your natural calling, did you not?” “There is no falsehood in that.” “Then why not cast your hopes headlong upon this beloved path? Do you still shrink from performing arts other than gagaku, deeming them vulgar trades?” “Nay—it depends on the art’s quality.” “With yesterday’s street performances—mere survival—we found no true appreciators. Answering to thrown coins degrades both art and self—a wretchedness beyond bearing.”

“Oh no—I didn’t mean you should remain street performers and call *that* ‘wildflowers’ or anything. Actually, Lord Motonari—while hearing your circumstances, something quite different suddenly occurred to me, you see.”

After saying this, Kenkō recounted to the couple an account of his travels. One day during this journey, having heard there would be a Sarugaku performance at Ueki Shrine in Iga Yamada no Shō, he went to see it—and indeed, it surpassed what he had heard of. Though Yamato Sarugaku was already renowned, this was not at all inferior to it. Particularly, the artistic style of troupe leader Yamada Kominō lingered vividly in his memory.

By the way, rumor had it that the Yamada Sarugaku troupe had been invited to perform at the rain prayer ritual of Kawachi’s Mikumari Shrine shortly thereafter. “Now, for you two as a couple, this could very well be called a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” “In any case, would you not consider joining such a troupe with history and prestige—honing your artistic skills and striving to elevate Sarugaku performances, which have only recently begun to flourish—into a more perfected form of art? Even if it cannot be achieved in one or two generations, hardships borne with such hope would give life meaning.”

“…Moreover—it’s a path we love.” “Moreover, the Yamada Sarugaku troupe is emerging in Iga.” “There may yet be ties of providential connection to grasp.” “What if we were to visit Troupe Leader Kominō and request to join the troupe?” Kenkō urged.

Motonari and his wife Unoki exchanged glances for some time. It stirred the couple’s hopes like a voice from heaven, but then they were immediately caught in their weak habit of lapsing into thought—*outcasts*—once more.

The next day.

―The figures of three people could be seen leaving Hatsuse's inn and heading toward Miwa no Oiwake. Since Kenkō too was returning to Kyoto, he likely left the same inn as the Motonari couple to accompany them part of the way. Before long, "Well then, farewell." he bid farewell quite briskly. In stark contrast, the young couple stood frozen, their faces etched with unbearable parting sorrow. Moved by Kenkō's words, even after returning to their inn last night, the two had earnestly discussed the course of their lives. And so, their final resolution became this morning's departure.

Therefore, for the two of them, there at the Oiwake crossroads was also a lifelong turning point. Parting with Kenkō must have suddenly struck them with a loneliness akin to straying from that very guidance. “Thanks to you—” Motonari solemnly expressed his gratitude. “From now on, I will strive to wipe away the dark habits of an outcast and live each day with hope.” “Last night—the night of rebirth—Unoki and I swore never to forget it.”

Then Kenkō seemed greatly embarrassed.

“Oh dear, what a nuisance! Though I ended up spouting such nonsense, no one else can arrange happiness for you two. After all, it’s something only you two can grasp. As for things that contribute to people’s happiness—this monk cannot do even a single one. Even I am just a beggar monk in this state. What happens after that—I don’t know. It may sound irresponsible—but that’s precisely where its worthlessness lies.” “Please, may you also stay well.”

“Indeed—if it’s praying for each other’s well-being, that we can surely do... From the shadows, I too shall keep praying.” “When you come to the capital, visit my hermitage on Yoshida Hill.” “While the hunt still burns hot, we dare not tread the capital’s soil—but someday...” “Then—where will you both go?” “After much deliberation, we’ve resolved to seek refuge with Unoki’s family—Lord Kusunoki—and formally request admission to Yamada Kominō’s troupe you spoke of last night, for the ceremony of joining.”

“Ah, I see. The Mimuro Shrine where the Yamada Sarugaku troupe performed was indeed within Lord Kusunoki’s domain.” “Everything’s falling into place nicely—best you hurry along now.”

Kenkō drifted northward along the road and vanished into the distance. Having parted from him, Motonari and Unoki crossed Taima-goe pass and entered Kawachi province the following day. The June sky—still withholding even a single raindrop—blazed relentlessly these past days as though wholly unconcerned with the parched mountains, fields, and their inhabitants; the Ishikawa, Iwami River, Tōjō River, and Mimuro River all lay stripped bare as utterly dried-up watercourses.

“Unoki. Are you tired?” “No.” “Your legs look heavy.”

“But soon…”

She placed her fingers on her hat.

The two-ri wilderness of Tomitashiba (now Tomidabayashi) lay utterly devoid of shade beneath the relentless sun; tracing the dried-up river's course upstream with their gaze, their eyes met the colossal mass of Kongō Mountain's foothills.

The foothills of Unoki's hometown mountains—where she had lived until age thirteen or fourteen—now drew near. Yet as they approached, she grew uneasy.

How would her brothers Masashige and Masasue react? What sort of apology should she have offered? A sudden foreboding ached within her.

Minakami Residence

“Lord Masasue! Are you there?” The sudden shout tore through the cicada-drenched air. Deep hinoki cypress forests surrounded the samurai residence on all sides. At its entrance—where the trees themselves seemed to buzz with the shrill *min-min* chorus of summer insects—the callers evidently believed only a thunderous voice could penetrate to the inner quarters. “Tenmi no Gorō here!” “Wait—Nakain no Zasshō Toshihide! Is he absent?” The two men kept bellowing.

This was the western foothills of Kongō Mountain. It was much lower than mid-slope areas like Chihaya and Akasaka, but already touched one end of the mountain’s base. This was called Sabi no Go’s Ryūsen Village. Kusunoki Masashige, the elder brother, maintained an even larger mountain residence as his “main estate” in nearby Mimuro, but his younger brother Masasue had a separate residence there. “Ah, both of you?”

Before long, Masasue himself appeared. “Come in—today everyone from the samurai down to the servants has gone to prepare for Takemikumari Shrine’s rain prayer festival. As you see, the residence lies deserted and cool.” “No, we shan’t enter.” “Why?”

“In truth, we detoured here on our return at Master Kagata’s request.” “Especially with how busy you must be.” “Nonsense—those hectic days are behind us. Starting tomorrow, Yamada Kominō’s Sarugaku troupe will conduct one of the rain prayer rituals at Takemikumari Shrine’s dance hall.” “The preparations are more or less complete.” “Actually, regarding that very matter—”

“What? Is this message about the rain prayer?” “Correct. Today at Kagata’s mountain villa, Master Mōri Tokichika instructed thus: Though these drought-stricken farmers have begged to hold a Sarugaku ritual rain prayer starting tomorrow at Mimuro, you must go immediately and order its postponement.” “……Now of all times?”

Masasue looked bewildered. “Why would His Lordship instruct us to postpone it now?” “He deems it ill-timed.” “The rain prayer?” “There’s not a hint of rain in this sky.—‘Even if natural showers were to cycle through,’ they doubled over laughing, ‘what could even the Takemikumari deity do to make it rain?’” “……And then came this rebuke:” “‘Do they truly understand nothing of strategy?’”

“Strategy?” “Hmm.” “In warfare too, people worship stars and observe divination—but miracles and divine reliance prove unreliable.” “He lectured extensively that this was strategic governance—a calculated method for winning hearts.” “Then—are you saying we should call off the rain prayer?” “No, no—” “This isn’t some rash command.” “Merely a reminder: How could the Kusunoki clan—stationed for generations at this strategic Mimuro River headwater from Kongō Mountain, granting irrigation rights to peasants across dozens of Kawachi Plain villages while collecting their taxes—fulfill its duty without grasping such fundamental strategy?”

“I see.” “Henceforth, should meteorological signs suggest approaching rain, Kagata will notify you immediately. You must begin the rain prayers starting that day.” “These were his words: Do not perform bungled rituals that might diminish the lord’s standing.” “You grasp this, do you not?” “Hmm. Understood. You have my gratitude.”

When the two men left, Masasue immediately ran toward the stable. Along the parched mountain path’s ascent, Masasue’s steed pressed onward, its clattering hooves panting.

The Mimuro River along the road flowed silent, its waters making no sound, while the farmhouses stood as quiet as dead insect cages. The rice paddies and fields across dozens of downstream villages that had depended on this single river for irrigation all showed signs of withering away. "Merciless sun..." Even when listless peasant men and women happened to bow toward him with murmured cries of "...Oh, Lord of the Ryūsen branch family," Masasue felt their eyes accusing him. "...I can't make it rain."

If things were to go as he wished, he thought, then unless he could make rain fall upon them especially at such a time as this, he would not feel like a true lord. He found himself questioning whether he deserved to receive their prostrations.

The Kusunoki clan. The Kusunoki clan—Masasue pondered. It was ancient indeed. He could believe it was a family that had been settled there from a very distant past. Their distant ancestors were said to descend from Emperor Bidatsu through Tachibana no Moroe, but such remote lineage remained as unknowable to him as droplets on the surface of the Mimuro River. However, having adopted Tachibana as their clan name and taken Tachibana for their family crest, the ancestors of the Kusunoki clan must have built their position as local lords through countless hardships since the time of the Genpei War.

Otherwise, under the subsequent Hōjō shogunate, they could never have abruptly carved out such a foothold or encroached from another province. This is proof of their deep-rooted lineage. It is also the accumulated virtue of generations of ancestors’ skillful governance. One such foundation was their water rights to the Mimuro River. Of course, their income was not limited to that alone. For instance, much like Ishikawa no Sanjo no Tayu, the Kusunoki clan had established a detached residence in Tamakushi no Sho—imposing private levies on transport routes, lending military support in temple disputes, vigorously exerting influence as sanjo daimyos, and amassing wealth throughout an era. Yet with their recent abolition of the Tamakushi residence, income from sanjo territories had markedly diminished.

Why?—This had caused much discontent within the clan.

Masasue understood. At its core lay a weakness in his brother Masanori's character - while scholarly pursuits had their place, this excessive leaning toward academia left him incapable of fully becoming the ruthless leader required of a sanjo lord who must engage in blood-soaked struggles for survival. Though Masasue didn't consider misguided Masanori's approach of striving to be a virtuous ruler over upright commoners, he found himself wondering: But faced with such a disastrous drought year, how viable was this path? "...Not even Lord Masanori could make rain fall."

In years of plenty, they collected taxes from all territories reached by the Mimuro River’s waters—but when the river ran dry, could they simply feign ignorance? And yet for this very reason, the Kusunoki clan had invited the Yamada Sarugaku troupe and conducted a three-day rain prayer—but was not even this being mocked by the hermit Tokichika of Kagata as “...sheer ignorance of strategy”? “Our master’s opinion was that ‘the timing is premature—postpone it,’ but now that it has come to this day—what does my brother Lord Masanori say?”

Masasue eventually dismounted his steed at the base of the stone steps of Takemikumari Shrine. Each pine tree had a fine form. The shrine, imbued with divine presence beneath the pine trees' shade, was situated atop a single peak that overlooked the mountain villages' roofs below. “Oh. “Lord Ryūsen has arrived.” The carpenters who had been working feverishly for tomorrow’s preparations, along with shrine priests and even villagers, all paused their hands at the sight of Masasue and bowed in respect.

Locally, it seemed they called him “Ryūsen-dono.”

“You’ve worked hard.”

Masasue acknowledged the group with a nod before turning to one of the shrine priests. “Where is my lord brother?” “Yes—Lord Motoya has just now returned.” “Already? So soon?” “To summarize—after inspecting tomorrow’s preparations and exchanging formal greetings with Yamada Kominosuke’s Sarugaku troupe lodging at the shrine, he departed in good spirits.” “And Onchi—” “The magistrate is present.”

“Call him.” Even deeper within the shrine, lively voices could be heard—the Yamada Sarugaku troupe currently lodging there. He must have been keeping those people company. Onchi Sakon, the Kusunoki family’s chief retainer who often made people laugh and was beloved by all, appeared with his ruddy face and snow-settled white eyebrows fluttering busily, “Well now, Younger Lord Brother—in such a place.”

and hurried over to the base of the large pine tree where Masasue was seated at the stone steps' entrance. "Old man... We've got trouble." "What is this matter?" "We're postponing it. As for tomorrow's rain prayer—" "What strange words are these, my lord?"

Sakon furrowed his white eyebrows. When stared at through those grape-flesh-like eyes, Masasue felt a twinge of fear—ever since his mischievous youth, though the man was a retainer, he had been seared into memory as this fearsome old man. "In any case, since you're one appointed by my lord brother as rain prayer magistrate, you should act accordingly." "Then when shall we conduct the postponed ritual?" "That I don't know." "This is most peculiar."

“Old man. Come closer. I’ve a stratagem.” “Closer.” “A minor stratagem.” Masasue lowered his voice. —And then, using Nakain no Toshihide and Amami no Gorō as messengers, he briefly relayed the plan that Mōri Tokichika of Kagata had gone out of his way to offer as counsel.

But Onchi Sakon made no effort to hide his displeasure. He was a man who believed in the divine efficacy of rain prayers without doubt. Not only that, but having made these preparations and even invited a great number of Yamada’s attendants, he vehemently insisted that they could not back out now. “It’s begun—the old man’s stubbornness.”

Masasue clicked his tongue. “But if my lord brother were to order a postponement as well, would you still persist, Old man?”

“Tch! What a foolish question!” Irritably, Sakon turned sideways while tapping his straightened lower back.

“If that were to come to pass, there would be no alternative.”

“Alright—then I’ll have my lord brother inform you.” Masasue was also feeling somewhat indignant. No sooner had he mounted his horse at the base of the stone steps than—leaving a trail of white dust—he soon came leaping down before his brother Masashige’s residence.

Voices from the depths of the Kusunoki residence, surrounded by forests to the north. ——

“Hmm. My lord brother has not yet returned, I wonder?” “Yes.” “At the shrine, they said he had just returned moments ago—so I rushed here, but...” “In that case, he must have proceeded to inspect the downstream villages.” “What for?” “Given this drought, he must now prepare measures against a poor harvest—which is why of late, he often proceeds to inspect even distant territories. Moreover, whether settling water disputes or encouraging peasants in parched fields, there are times when his return does not come until night has fallen.”

“Oh, that’s problematic.” Masasue did not settle into the cool study here to forget his sweat but suddenly made a perplexed face.

The person he had been addressing was his sister-in-law - Masashige's wife and keeper of household secrets - one called Hisako.

Hisako responded with a smile at her lips. “Lord Masasue. What could you be in such a hurry about?” “Tomorrow’s rain prayer is too early. Over the past few days, we’ve observed the weather and should wait for signs of rain—this comes from Tokichika-sensei of Kagata. Perfectly reasonable. I want my lord brother’s consent to postpone it immediately.” “Then even if late, he’ll surely return. There’s no need for such concern.”

“However, at the rain prayer festival, multitudes from nearby villages—men and women alike—will come to worship.” “Many will be eagerly awaiting the Yamada Sarugaku performance especially.” “We must issue notices to every hamlet without delay.” As though blaming Hisako personally, Masasue pressed insistently. This typically drew from her lips a smile too faint to notice. She understood well this brother-in-law’s temperament—straightforward as bamboo splitting.

“Let us send servants here and there to investigate.” “Now then, please cool yourself with some chilled melon and wait a moment.”

Before long, having calmed him, she attended to other tasks.

…………

In the lower marsh, cicadas chirped. The estate was vast beyond reproach as a mountain villa of a powerful clan. The front faced the mountain highway leading to Kongo, while behind, the Chihaya River flowed beneath a cliff formed by a deep fault. Therefore, from that study, one could gaze out upon Kongo, Katsuragi, and even the Mizukoshi Pass along the mountain ridge—all visible in a single sweeping view as if seated facing each other. …I’ve grown so tired of seeing this—the house’s black ceiling, those distant mountain ranges. Sitting there was unbearable for the young man.

The cicadas’ song resembled a dirge for their prime, while the tide-like roar centered on the capital—contrary to the mountains’ silence—sent undulating waves beating against his heart. Tap, tap, tap—a flurry of footsteps came rushing this way at that moment. “Uncle Ryūsen!”

The lively eyes of an eight- or nine-year-old boy peered inside. "Oh! You're yawning, Uncle? Your father has come back! Come on, Uncle, hurry up!" "Ah, you've returned at last." Finally regaining his usual expression, as Masasue stood up from there, the boy immediately circled behind him, pushed his waist, and urged him to dash urgently down the long corridor—he was Masashige's eldest son and heir, the future Masatsura, known in childhood as Tamemaru. Leaving his beloved blue-roan horse and attendants outside, Masashige proceeded through his welcoming family's faces from the entrance platform into the interior with his customary good spirits.

“Oh, Masasue.” “You were here?”

“There is a matter I wish to consult about—though I know this comes when you must be weary.” “Is it urgent?” “Yes. Regarding tomorrow’s arrangements—”

“Wait… Hisako.”

and looked at his wife, “The bath?” “It has been prepared.” “Masasue. Shall we take a quick bath together? After all, there’s all this sweat and dust.” “Well then... I shall await you there. Please go ahead.” At the bath chamber entrance, Masashige instructed his wife Hisako to serve sake with the evening meal before removing his garments. It was likely because he knew his brother’s fondness for drink. He sank into the bathwater. The gutter’s water dripped with a disheartening plink. But humans still had enough water to use. The crops in paddies and fields withered silently beneath drought’s fury—but were these human lives instead? Such an age might yet come before long.

"When I think about it," he shuddered. Even after spending half this day walking through these cramped mountain lands - even then - I can feel it.

The state of society was harsh. People's hearts were parched. All circumstances strove to render society combustible. It seemed poised, awaiting only the emergence of a firestarter. "Even here," he thought, "a bird carrying fire had once visited."

Through the bamboo window of the bathhouse, gazing at the copper-hued evening sky, Masashige recalled. Once, a young court noble from the capital had disguised himself as a mountain ascetic, secretly knocked at his gate under cover of night, denounced the Hōjō regency's misrule, then urgently pleaded for societal reform centered around the emperor—demanding that he provide a blood pledge to join their cause. He had given his answer after careful deliberation. Though at that time he had finally managed to slip away, thereafter the young noble had repeatedly paid him secret visits.

It was Hino Ason Toshimoto. As anticipated, the plot had been exposed—that courtier was dragged off to Kamakura—yet through some verbal maneuvering he escaped consequences. This spring brought word he had reappeared near Kawachi province only to vanish again before reaching these lands. “At least he remains unharmed for now.” This was Masashige’s genuine sentiment. Yet unbeknownst to all, the firebird had been hatching its eggs among local warriors here. Even within his own bloodline they were emerging. His younger brother Masasue numbered among them.

"What a good opportunity—tonight I should ask you what’s on your mind." Later when sharing the evening meal with his younger brother in the study hall, he had already been nurturing such intentions beforehand.

However, Masasue first set aside even his favorite cup, “Let’s get straight to it.” and, abruptly conveying Tokichika of Kagata’s counsel, sought his brother’s agreement. And then immediately declared as a matter of course, “We must announce the order to postpone the rain prayer to both the shrine and the territory.” “Hmm…” “Is that… Master Tokichika of Kagata’s esteemed counsel?”

Masashige did not nod. The lamplight's flicker was dim upon his soon-to-be-forty countenance - a face rich with prudence and discernment. His right eye, apparently from a childhood injury, remained narrower than his left - almost closed.

“Masasue.” “Yes.” “I appreciate your counsel, but tomorrow’s rain prayer will proceed as scheduled without postponement.” “Keep that in mind.” “What? Even Master’s esteemed counsel…?” “Even Master’s esteemed counsel…?” “That would contradict Masashige’s convictions.” “Why?” “Master states that rain prayers are military strategy, but for Masashige, they remain simply ‘prayers.’” “Now here’s the thing—he declares this shows foolishness unbefitting Lord Kusunoki.” “If no rain falls, the prayer becomes mere farce.” “Would we not merely forfeit the people’s trust?”

“That’s acceptable.” “No—first thoroughly observe celestial signs and confirm approaching rain before announcing the rain prayer festival.” “This would create the perfect opportunity to win popular support.” “That is military strategy.” “Your ignorance of strategic principles knows no bounds—that is Master’s teaching.” “Ha ha ha.” Masashige laughed.

“If you’re speaking as a military strategist, your counsel is only natural—but I have my convictions.” “Masasue, prayers need only be prayers.”

“Your words.” “I cannot quite comprehend them.” “Neither the peasants nor Masashige have any means to overcome this drought.” “We can only hold onto prayer—though if military strategy could bring rain sooner, I would follow strategy too.” “Then if we perform the rain prayer, will rain come promptly?” “It won’t rain—naah. Not until celestial signs naturally bring it.” “If it makes no difference either way, would it not be wiser for a lord to employ Master’s teachings—gauging weather changes while grasping the people’s hearts?”

“Foolishness!” He seemed slightly displeased.

At such moments, Masashige would display a faint tremor on the eyelid of his damaged right eye—a quiver resembling the stammer that betrayed emotional constriction at his lips. Perhaps owing to his impaired eye, it was Masashige’s habit to speak with face slightly tilted, an air of gloom clinging to his words. Thick eyebrows and a prominent aquiline nose grew more pronounced in profile. Observing these mannerisms—the broad shoulders and elongated limbs settled cross-legged like bedrock with unshakable composure—even Masasue often mistook this brother for some thick-skinned paragon of adulthood. Yet through years of observation, he had come to understand that this elder brother possessed far greater meticulousness and moral rigor than himself, the younger sibling so often labeled the emotional one.

“...Understood.” “In other words—as your conviction—exploiting divine rituals for personal matters or deceiving peasants through such acts would be improper?”

“That’s right.” “Exactly as you say…” “Then we shall disregard Master Kagata’s counsel and conduct the rain prayer as scheduled starting tomorrow. [...] With that settled, even I, Masasue, can feel relieved. Tonight at least, I’ll have no further duties.” “Drink. ...Shall we pass some time together?” He poured him a drink.

“Are people still frequently visiting Kagata’s mountain villa these days?”

“Yes.” “On lecture days—”

“I see.” “Military strategy may have its merits, but it would be best to stop at a basic understanding.” “That is not mere academic study—its true purpose lies in practical application.” “Ultimately, it becomes something that destroys oneself.” “For us mountain samurai, there will never come a day in our lives when such strategies find practical use.”

“Why is that?” Masasue lashed out. Even his brother’s appearance seemed at this moment like that of an ordinary head of a wealthy peasant household. “You say military strategy is useless, but our house is a military lineage.” “So it’s not a bad idea to maintain reasonable knowledge of it. But when it comes to military strategy, those hot-blooded types who gather at mountain villas to debate state affairs through endless days and nights—I question the value of such discussions. ...The croaking debates of mountain samurai. Wouldn’t those just be a waste of time?”

“Then, if I may ask—” In a fit of pique, Masasue set down the cup he had left untouched. He was willing to debate, but he did not want it to turn into a quarrel. “Brother, you did study military strategy yourself, did you not?” “Hmm, a bit, I suppose.” “No—it was no trivial matter. “Both you and I received our childhood education under Nakainoryūkaku Obo, but beyond that, was it not Kagata’s mountain villa that you frequented throughout your youth, Brother?”

“That’s right. I must have attended for over a decade.” “In that case, Lord Mōri Tokichika of Kagata should be your teacher as well.” “I still have not lost my respect for him as a great man. I have not forgotten his benevolence either.” “Yet how can you claim that military strategy brings only harm and no benefit? That’s contradictory. Brother’s words tonight—”

“I have not.” “No—you are.” “Hahaha.” Masashige, too, drank a cup.

“Masasue.” “Yes?” “Do you truly believe there will come a day when that military strategy you’re so obsessed with proves useful?” “It’s not beyond possibility.” “If such a day were to come—it would mark a time without right or wrong. By its very nature, any ultimate principles serving such a day cannot be called academic study.” “...What I pursue as scholarship lies in mutually upholding harmony that prevents such days—in measuring the world’s welfare, in safely living out one’s life among wife and children.”

“Ah, is that so?” “Am I wrong?” “What I understand, I do understand. You have a good wife and are father to three harmonious children. You must be truly happy. However, those of us in military houses must always maintain preparedness for extraordinary days. Even Masasue has maintained preparedness for emergencies. To be rebuked as if I were being obsessed with useless things—that is unfounded.” “Well. You’d do well to take a wife soon, hold fine children in your arms, and know in your mortal flesh the weight and warmth of a father’s knee.”

“It never crossed my mind.” “It disgusts me.” “You find it distasteful?” “Were this an ordinary world, perhaps—but knowing tomorrow’s storms may break and midnight’s hour approaches...” “How can you claim such certainty about tomorrow?”

“…………”

Masasue fell silent. The way his brother had grown conservative—no, even retrogressive—with age was not something he had only just now realized. And so, he could no longer bring himself to continue the debate, nor did he seem able to muster the will to vent the fire burning in his heart.

Before long, he left the Mikumari mountain villa without getting drunk and wordlessly returned the horse to the Ryūsen residence.

The day Unoki arrived at this hometown was exactly the third day of the rain prayer festival. The precincts of Takemikumari Shrine were packed with people.

The prayers and Sarugaku ritual offerings would end today, yet still not a single drop of rain had fallen, and the evening sky shone clear as if tomorrow too would bring relentless sun. “Ah, that pine... that dance hall.” For her, everything connected to memories of her maidenhood, leaving her restless with nostalgia.

“Unoki.” With that, Uroji approached her unfocused figure amidst the crowd.

“When I asked just now, they said there’s still quite some time before the night’s Sarugaku performance.” “Let’s rest somewhere around here and head out again later.”

Many men and women also began streaming away toward the stone steps in a straggling mass.

Joining the flow, the two also descended to Miyashita’s village path. The bustle of street vendors and tea stalls was more lively in the lower areas than on the mountain peak, and the dusk thick with human activity made the villagers forget their drought anxieties. Unoki and Uroji spotted a reed screen enclosure that drew no attention and entered. Without removing their hats, they took stewed dishes and such on camp stools and waited for the Yamada Sarugaku to begin. “……We should go immediately to visit my brother Lord Masashige at the Mikumari residence.”

This was something Unoki had repeatedly suggested along the way—visiting her brother Lord Masashige at the Mikumari residence—but somehow the threshold felt high, and with the rain prayer festival ending today as they had heard, having already seen Yamada Kominō’s performance, they had put it off and come straight to the shrine instead. “You’ve come all this way from such a distant place.” Receiving the tea shop owner’s flattery, Uroji acted nonchalantly.

“Yes. I thought I’d see what this Sarugaku performance by Iga no Kominō Dayū or whatever they call him is like, you know.” “Oh, that’s already got quite the reputation, you know. People must think it’s a rare sight indeed—even from distant places like Furuichi and Takayasu, we’ve got such crowds here.” Upon hearing “Furuichi,” forgotten fears and pains must have struck the couple’s hearts at once. Uroji counted out coins and placed them at the edge of the camp stool. “It must be nearly time for the dance hall to begin.”

“No, no. Before the Sarugaku performance begins, the gakuza ensemble’s prelude music will play—you’ll still have ample time even after that starts.” Dusk sank heavily into night, staining the darkness with flecks of crimson.

Eventually, on the peak above, drums, flutes, and bells could be heard. The black shadows of people were once again scrambling up the stone steps. The couple also left that spot immediately—and just as they had taken two or three steps— From earlier, in the same reed screen’s shadow where a townsman-like man—portly and fearsome—had been gulping down cloudy sake, he abruptly came chasing after them, “You there!” he called out in a sharp voice. “Well, well. You there—the wife of Uroji, the boat performer from Furuichi. If I recall correctly, you’re Unoki-san.”

“Wh-what? Th-that’s not true!” “Like hell you are!” “You must be mistaken.”

As Unoki shrugged, "Nonsense. That voice alone's a dead ringer." "Come on, show your face." Arms like wooden crab claws suddenly grabbed the edge of her hat. "What do you think you're doing?!" Was it a husband's instinct?—The fury at seeing hands laid on his wife's body proved impossible to restrain. The moment Uroji's open-handed strike landed on the wooden crab-like cheek with a sharp crack like flint striking, Unoki—clutching her hat—narrowly ducked beneath his hairy arms.

“Bastard!”

Resolutely, the wooden crab halted his body that had been floundering clumsily. And with heaving breaths from his shoulders,

“Got you now, Jirōzaemon!” the portly man bellowed Uroji’s true name—Jirōzaemon Motonari. With that alone, Uroji immediately discerned the man’s profession and involuntarily stiffened as if doused with water. “Wh-what’s this?!” “Uroji-san… No—if I call you that, you’ll probably play innocent and answer me straight-faced, but you’re no different from Hattori Jirōzaemon Motonari, who once served the Karasumaru family.” “What do you say? Am I seeing things?”

Uroji, now composed, declared resolutely—both to encourage his wife’s trembling form behind him and—

“If I were Jirōzaemon Motonari—what would you do?” “Ah, so you’ve shown yourself at last. Though it pains me to impose—how about accompanying me to the Takayasu Rokuhara outpost?” “To the outpost?”

“Yeah.” “What for?” “That’s not your concern.”

“Outrageous. There’s no reason we must go to such a place.” “Hmph. Still playing dumb? I’m Shinobi no Ōkura’s sworn brother—the one who took over as spymaster after Ōkura vanished. Name’s Shinobi no Gonzo. Your faces from Fujiidera—I’ve got ’em burned into my eyes. And I ain’t looked away once since then.” “You listen here, you scum—” “Got a problem?”

“What do you take me for?” “I have no recollection of being tailed by spies!” “You might not have it—but we do.” “Listen.” “Oi!”

Gonzo took a step forward. “This spring too, when Lord Hino was let escape in Furuichi, you two surfaced. And when we peeled back layer after layer investigating the killer who murdered Daibenji Shōbō on Sannen-zaka in Kyoto years back—lo and behold—a certain Hattori Jirōzaemon had left the Karasumaru family around then and disappeared.” “...We turned a blind eye at Fujiidera, but that boat performer reeks through and through.” “By Lord Honjō Oniroku’s command—we’re to haul you in again.” “Got grievances? State ’em at the magistrate’s office!”

“Shut up! These baseless accusations—” “Aren’t you coming?!” It seemed he had allies somewhere. Gonzo’s eyes scanned with abnormal intensity. Motonari’s defensive stance had reverted to that of his former self as a warrior. Perhaps deeming it beyond his capacity, Gonzo suddenly leapt back to the edge of the stone steps. At Takemikumari Shrine’s dance hall, the musical notes of Yamada Sarugaku resounded across the mountaintop. Gonzo’s subordinates must have been distracted by that as well. He abruptly clattered up the stone steps, never taking his eyes off the two below even as he glanced upward from midway.

“Hey!” “Everyone, come!” He shouted—no, even as his voice rang out, his body seemed to meet a counterattack from someone who had been standing there all along, suddenly sent flying head over heels down dozens of stone steps back to where he started. The two below were startled by the unexpectedness of the event.

Shinobi no Gonzo, who had tumbled head over heels down, lay stretched out on the ground, not moving a muscle. And from the middle of the stone steps, the person who had pushed him—who it was—was steadily looking down at the scene below.

But. Perhaps growing impatient with Uroji and Unoki gazing up dazedly, the figure above finally descended the stone steps with a clatter,

“Escape now. Quickly.”

he waved at the two. Thirty-four or five. He had a sturdy build and seemed to be some sort of craftsman. Snapped back to their senses,

“Ah.” “We humbly thank you.” As they aligned themselves and began to kneel on the ground, the craftsman—his sun-darkened face and eyes harboring something defiant—kept glancing toward the mountaintop. “No need for thanks.” “Leave this place immediately.” “The festival grounds are crawling with Rokuhara spies besides Gonzo here.” “...Unoki.” “What will you do?”

The couple could do nothing but stand frozen as dusk fell.

Was even this place ultimately not one that would take them in? As long as they remained pursued by the magistrate’s underlings, joining the Yamada Sarugaku troupe was nothing but a futile dream. Even if they were to join the troupe, they would inevitably soon be detected and suffer the misery of being dragged to Rokuhara. “Got you!” “You damn toad!” Suddenly, the craftsman’s simian arm shot sideways—for Shinobi no Gonzo, who should have been unconscious, was lifting his pitch-black blood-smeared face to crawl out. The craftsman seized his collar, slammed him with a smack against the base of the stone steps, stared intently to confirm he no longer struggled, then returned.

“You both. “...You seem to be at your wits’ end.” “Do you truly have nowhere to go?” “In truth, due to certain circumstances, we came here relying on Lord Kusunoki of this region—but given the current situation, even visiting his gate would invite calamity in days to come. That said, as you’ve likely surmised, we have no immediate plan to escape this perilous predicament.” “Ah.” “In that case,”

The craftsman spoke briskly. “I too have been staying at Lord Ryūsen’s—that is, Masatsune’s—residence since not long ago.” “How about taking refuge in Lord Ryūsen’s residence for the time being?” “But...” “And that residence…?” “You mean me?” Then, once more, he cast his eyes toward the motionless back lying face down at the base of the stone steps. “I am an armor maker from Sumiyoshi called Ryūsai.” “In truth, as I have been attending to the warrior households of Okukawachi and Lord Ryūsen for some time now, I came here recently to assist with airing out their armor—and it happened to coincide with this rain prayer festival…”

He began to say, then suddenly— “No no, such trivial talk can wait for later. At any rate, let us proceed to Lord Ryūsen’s residence first—what are your thoughts regarding plans beyond that? Even a moment’s delay here is perilous. If it’s there, this humble one will guide you.” It was a voice of salvation. Like a boat appearing when one needed to cross a river, Unoki nodded with a face that seemed ready to offer prayers. “They’re right behind us! Now, let’s get moving!”

While urging the two onward, Gusokushi Ryūsai also quickened his pace.

Rain’s Lament, Wind’s Resolve

When the rain prayer ended, as expected, harsh voices rose at once from the neighboring villages. The Mikumari Residence was so inept even for local warlords, avoiding conflicts with neighboring districts and merely maintaining peace—yet even so, enemies existed. Seizing any opportunity to encroach upon that territory, it seemed the ever-aggressive agents of other local warlords—a fifth column—would swiftly incite the simple farmers and scheme disturbances.

Onchi Sakon, hereditary steward of the Kusunoki household, had been catching whispers of such matters these past few days—his usual deaf obstinacy and aged stubbornness had him burning with anger. Today was no different. He had seen off the Yamada Sarugaku troupe—over twenty members who had finally completed their ritual service in this land and were now stopping at Kasuga in Yamato before returning to Iga—to the domain border, and was returning on horseback, puffing and panting as he came back. Then, from Kanshinji Road along the Ishimigawa River, a group of four or five rural warriors were making their way down toward the village,

“Ah, venerable elder!”

Immediately noticing him, one among them—Amanmi no Gorō—called out. “Where might you be returning from in this blistering heat?” “I’ve just escorted the Yamada Sarugaku troupe to Ishikawa and back.” “Well now.” “To speak plainly—the rain prayer amounted to nothing but wasted effort, if I may be so bold. Though Lord Masatsune relayed the Kagata priest’s wisdom, it went unheeded in the end, and still the rains refuse to fall.”

“What are you all—” The old man immediately flew into a rage. Unaware that the young rural warriors always found his quick temper amusing and would tease him, “Since when does conducting rituals require military stratagems?” “To witness our lord Masashige’s sincere devotion—this old man could only bow in reverence.” “Mark my words—through divine communion, we shall see torrents rain down!”

“Hahahaha!” The young faces all laughed. “Just you wait...” “Oh, of course.” “It’s absolutely certain to rain now!”

The old man did not even glance their way. He had already hurriedly urged his horse onward.—The grand roof of Ryūsen-ji soon came into view. Adjacent to it, the roof deeply nestled within the cypress grove was the residence of “Ryūsen-dono” Masatsune. “I wonder if they’re here?”

He muttered to himself while tying up his horse. When passing by the gate, it seemed to have been this old man’s conscientious practice to at least offer a greeting each time. The young samurai at the entrance, seeing his arrival,

“Oh, Lord Chief Retainer! You’ve arrived.” “His Lordship is in the storehouse, but...” He pointed toward the western side, into the depths of the grove. He immediately walked that way. Between the storehouses, a curtain emblazoned with the Tachibana crest was hung all around. Hmm, is there some gathering at the archery range? he wondered. When he approached and looked, from the storehouse entrance all the way to the archery range, an astonishing quantity of weapons and armor were laid out to dry.

“Ah, so it’s airing time.” The old man narrowed his eyes. Perhaps it was an empathy with the adage: “In peace, do not forget chaos.”

However.

Masatsune was nowhere to be seen; on the drying mats, several armorers and bowyers were inspecting bows and mending tears in armor.

“Here, now. Where might your esteemed younger lord be?” At the voice, the one who suddenly raised his face from the mat was Sumiyoshi’s armorer Ryūsai, who had been staying here for work. Ryūsai immediately rose to his feet,

“Yes.” “His Lordship is inside the storehouse.” “Allow me to go and inform him.”

With that, he hurried off. From the storehouse entrance, Masatsune soon appeared. Beneath it, Onchi Sakon stepped forward, reverently lowered his white-haired head, and spoke with a bow befitting an elderly man.

“The Yamada Sarugaku troupe has returned to their home province today.” “With this, all matters pertaining to the rain prayer have been concluded without incident. And so—on my return journey, as I happened to pass by your esteemed gate—I thought to briefly report the aforementioned.”

“I see. You old man must be breathing a sigh of relief too.” “It seems you’re quite occupied here as well.” “It’s airing—armor chests, bundles of arrows—things like that. Though when I take them out, they’re surprisingly few.” “Not at all—with this much military equipment, you could supply two hundred soldiers.” “Well, I always strive to maintain preparations for around five hundred, but just keeping them from insects and mold is exhausting enough.”

“Hahaha! Here we air weapons. At Mizumari, they pray for rain. With such divided efforts, even the drought sun must wonder which side to take, I daresay.” “Don’t tell Brother. Don’t let it trouble you. ...Ah yes—old man, you’ve come at an opportune moment.”

Suddenly, he began moving toward the outside of the "airing curtain".

On the mats around them, bowyers, leatherworkers, and decorative craftsmen focused intently on their maintenance tasks. So this must be his consideration to avoid being overheard by others. Old man Sakon followed after him, understanding this intention. But Ryūsai the armorer alone had already turned to look at their retreating backs, as if sensing something. Suddenly, in Ryūsai’s gaze during such moments, there was an inner gleam absent in the other craftsmen. ——Hmm. _How far are you taking me?_ When Sakon's white eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement, Masatsune finally came to a halt. And then, from the forest path, he pointed toward the garden and whispered.

“Old man. …Do you know that woman you see over there?” “Huh. …?”

A cottage set apart from the main residence was visible in the distance. At the desk there, burying his face in a book, was an unfamiliar middle-aged man. However, there was another—a woman leaning on the railing in a corner, lost in thought as she gazed at the dry streambed below where no water remained.

The woman’s figure was enveloped in dark emerald shadows, her haggard features possessed of a beauty so unnervingly alluring that she resembled a statue of a woman glimpsed in dim light. “Hmm… I don’t recall ever seeing that man and woman before. I have no knowledge of them either.”

“The man wouldn’t know. But as for the woman—you’ve known her well since her childhood.”

“Oh?...” He maintained his distant gaze unceasingly. “As expected, I still do not recognize her.”

“Old man, that is Unoki.”

“Gah!... U-Unoki-sama, you say?” “Wait, old man.”

Grabbing his sleeve, Masatsune pulled his feet back further into the shade.

“Leave her be. If you suddenly show yourself, Unoki would surely revert to her childhood self and burst into tears all at once.” “Wh-why is Lady Unoki here?” “This alone answered our rain prayers. A man named Ryūsai—who came from Sumiyoshi to tend airing equipment—rescued them from beneath Takemikumari Shrine last night. A hairsbreadth escape from Rokuhara’s clutches.” “Fatherrr!”

It was Tamonmaru’s voice. He must have been playing in the Chihaya River below—having spotted his father, he called out from afar beneath the tree-filled fault line. “I’m coming now.”

Masashige began to descend. When he peered down at the crowd of nearly naked children—peasant kids and samurai tenement children mixed together—splashing and leaping about as they found water in the parched stream, his gloom vanished in an instant. Since the drought had begun, complaints from across the territory multiplied by the day. ——And miscellaneous visitors. Moreover, this afternoon again, three Rokuhara warriors from the Takayasu checkpoint had come and—though they had no business here—lingered for nearly half a day with their trivial chatter, so that just now, to stretch his shoulders, he had been standing along the garden path above the rear gorge.

“Fatherrr….” “There’s water here!” “Come here!” “I’m coming now. “I’m coming now.” The cliff was steep. He could not descend with a child’s nimbleness. His figure, sinking down the emerald slope, answered from midway.

For once, he wanted to join the crowd of children and feel the spray of water on his completely naked body. There was such eagerness in Masashige's responding voice. Yet even as he thought this—though he might not have been able to act on it—the man who became a father whenever Tamonmaru clung to him was always struck by that pang, not just now but every time. Then, from above him,

“My lord… Where are you headed?”

Someone called out.

He was still halfway down the cliff. When he looked up, it was indeed Onchi Sakon, their family’s longtime retainer. Perhaps thinking the old man was safe, Masashige grabbed onto a tree and continued dragging his feet downward— “Sakon, come with me.” With that, he set foot on the valley floor.

Unavoidably, the old man also descended. Perhaps due to the sunset, the old man’s face was even redder than usual, and he was drenched in sweat.

“I was delayed.” First apologizing for his belated return to the residence and delivering his report about the Yamada Sarugaku troupe, “In truth, when I stopped by Lord Masatsune’s gate on my way back, there was an unexpected person present—well, this old man nearly lost his composure, and between one thing and another in conversation, I ended up lingering there... Regarding that matter, your honorable brother instructed me to fully ascertain your intentions, but—”

“Sakon.” “Yes.” “When you said you nearly lost your wits, it must have been because you saw my sister Unoki.” “Ah! You already knew?” “I could tell.”

“What—coming here too?” “Those suspicious Rokuhara warriors came claiming to inspect drought-stricken fields across the villages—all while covertly surveying the residence. After wasting nearly half a day with idle talk, they had only just left moments ago… Because Unoki’s name was briefly mentioned in their conversation, it seems some premonition of sorts led me to suddenly hit upon the truth.” “Truly, it is exactly as you have discerned.” “But here, discussing such detailed matters…”

“No, here is fine.—Though we’ve ostensibly returned, Rokuhara’s spies are likely still vigilantly watching this area.” “This is what you might call an ideal place for conversation. …Now then, old man—what condition was Unoki in?” For these past few years, through rain and wind, Masashige had found it difficult to forget his sister Unoki in his heart.

For a time. ——Rumors from the capital had spread even to these parts—that Lord Kusunoki’s sister had taken a lover, fled her service at Saikamon-in, and that the man was under extraordinary official scrutiny—until the whispers among the territory’s people grew increasingly tangled. Now, if someone were to ask at some gathering, “…How has your dear younger sister in the capital been lately?” Masashige found himself compelled to respond thus: “Such a lewd woman—I do not consider her my sister.” “Not only has she brought trouble upon the houses that showed her kindness since childhood, but she even conspired with the shogunate’s pursuers to vanish without trace—a woman beyond all pardon.” “A sister who has sullied our family’s name.” “Even were they to seek refuge here, we would not admit them.”

And yet, in the depths of his heart— Where and how were they living?

Be happy. No matter how destitute they became—as long as they were happy.

And so it was that Masashige too had harbored this secret prayer within himself at times. Then this spring, when he heard from his brother Masatsune that she had been dragged to the Rokuhara outpost at Fujiidera alongside her boat-performer husband, he was aghast. However, as this fell under Lord Yoshitane of Sanjo's jurisdiction, Masatsune confided in Yoshitane's only son Toyomaro, and the two went to Fujiidera—only to find Uroji and Unoki had already vanished the previous night without even informing Myōdatsu, the temple keeper.

“Do not search.”

Masashige had strictly suppressed Masatsune’s concerns and actions from that point onward. The times were complex.—The man accompanying Unoki was embroiled in some secret tied to those turbulent circumstances.—This was what Masashige feared.

"If by any chance that were to bring calamity upon the Kusunoki clan—" he thought, and moreover, he remained uncertain whether forcibly retrieving them and bringing his sister into the present household would bring happiness to his sister and her husband. Thus his stern "Do not shelter them" and "Let them be" were in truth nothing but affection mercilessly shrouded. But now—

If one were to listen to old man Onchi Sakon’s account, it would be said that his sister and her husband had been secretly sheltered deep within Masatsune’s Ryūsen-dono residence since the night of the rain prayer.

“Ah… So they’ve finally come.”

No wonder. He thought. This was her homeland. For his sister too—this was the land where she had been born. The end of wandering must inevitably come. Every time he saw children playing in that mountain stream—their splashes conjuring visions of his sister’s childhood self among them—Masashige’s eyelids painted scenes from a distant past. “...Sakon.”

“Hah!”

“And does Masatsune intend to persist in sheltering my sister and her husband, or what?” “Well, regarding that matter—he wishes to seek your esteemed will on how to proceed.” “He says it must be determined by your august command as clan head.”

“Upon me?”

Overwhelmed by bitterness yet fully aware of his untenable position, Masashige countered thus—A desperate bird that flies into one’s bosom—even a hunter would not shoot it—the old adage now pierced him with renewed urgency. The naked children of Chihaya River too, noticing the bats, looked up at the light above and began climbing the cliff. Evening drew near.

Masashige was meeting with guests again. Minamie Masatada, Matsuo Suetsuna, Hashimoto Masaasu, and others—all relatives living in nearby villages—

“Is there any trouble in your household?”

they said in a tone as if paying a sympathy visit. “Why?”

When he asked. That day，Rokuhara-like samurai who had appeared here also made rounds to their mansions，where they blatantly leaked matters concerning Uroji and Unoki as well as investigations into those who had harmed Genzaburō of Shinobi.

“I see.” Masashige responded, as if discussing another’s affair.

“There are no retainers here who seem to have caused any trouble, and while I have long been aware of the matter concerning Uroji and his wife, I have no intention of sheltering them even if they were to come here. Please do not concern yourselves.” The relatives soon departed amidst laughter—they appeared to absolutely trust Masashige, their clan head, in any circumstance, viewing him through the lens of his long-standing governance and gentle wisdom.

Therefore, for Masashige, it was all the more painful. Suppose now— Were he to gather a dozen clan families and consult them about handling his sister and her husband, what conclusion would emerge there? It would likely unfold as follows: Unoki would naturally be taken into the Kusunoki family and made to live discreetly. Then they would immediately dispatch a messenger to the capital, and through Kita-no-Kōji Gen'e Hōin—who had assisted them for many years—offer formal apologies to Lady Saikamon'in.

Moreover, if we were to declare that we had Unoki shave her head and take vows—then even our apology to Lady Saikamon'in would demonstrate greater sincerity. Next, regarding the man's disposition— Though disposing of Hattori Jirōzaemon Motonari might resemble the cruelty of splitting green wood, it would only be natural to return him to his former status and send him back to his original master's household, the Karasumaru family. Moreover, whatever measures the Karasumaru family might take became a secondary matter—but for the Kusunoki family, maintaining any resentment toward Lord Karasumaru Narisuke, who currently enjoyed such high prestige, would be utterly unthinkable.

"But..." Masashige agonized. "Poor sister - I don't want to take such measures."

That night, even as he lay beneath the mosquito net, he found himself unable to sleep. Old Sakon and Masatsune of Ryūsen too seemed to be anxiously awaiting his command, yet the indecision he had carried into his bedding—combined with the oppressive sweltering heat—forced him to turn over yet again countless times.

Then, it was near midnight. Following a heavy *zushin*—the roof trembling—came the low, rumbling *gorogorogoro* of distant thunder. "Ah—thunder?" Masashige immediately thought of rain. He involuntarily sat up straight. The thunder roared as if the mute Mount Kongō had begun to speak. "If just one rain comes here now, more than half of these withered fields could be saved—" As this thought struck him, a white tear streaked down Masashige’s cheek. “Hisako! Hisako!”

Masashige went out to the corridor and called his wife. He also summoned Old Sakon and abruptly ordered preparations for going out. Incessant lightning was making even the stable horses restless. Even in the samurai longhouse, under the thunder, “What’s happening?”

Without understanding why, they began making noises. This was because Onji Sakon had issued an order: "Prepare yourselves and assemble immediately in the hall." Preparations meant to come out wearing armor. It had to be something dire.

In the square, everyone from Masashige down to the household officials and lower-ranking samurai had gathered. When Masashige saw that everyone had assembled,

“This is grace.”

Gazing up at the sky nearing midnight, rumbling and surging, "...The rain comes!"

he said.

This single word, imbued with emotion, stirred in the hearts of even the low-ranking retainers—without explanation—the same measure of joy and profound relief as he felt. Yet still, “Will it really rain?” With faces that seemed to harbor doubt, they looked up at the sky.

The stars that usually filled the night sky were clearly visible. Yet on one side of the sky, even the stars had been erased by a gray film, and under the cold rain-laden air rustling from Mount Kongō, the nearby plants had abruptly changed their expressions as never before. "This rain-laden air will bless the land with its first rain in ages. I, Masashige, shall now go to offer thanks at Takemikumari Shrine. As for you retainers—split up and inform all village heads of this shared joy. Soon we will announce a reduction in land taxes too, so go encourage the peasants to take heart."

This was unprecedented. While there were instances of village heads and shrine priests coming to a local lord’s gate to offer congratulations in such situations, no such precedent had ever been recorded. “Do you understand? I’ve given my orders.” Disregarding the retainers’ bewilderment, Masashige entrusted these instructions to Onji Sakon and pressed their importance. “Understood.” Sakon appeared to have grasped their meaning. He opened the gate and sent forth Masashige’s horse. Two of Masashige’s personal attendants accompanied the galloping steed. Yet when they reached the slope of Mizumikawa River, only those attendants who had comprehended his true intent turned toward the shrine—while Masashige alone descended toward Ryūsen and knocked upon the gate of his younger brother Masatsune’s residence.

By then,

On the roof here and in the hinoki forest, large raindrops heavy with wind had begun clattering noisily. When Masatsune heard of his elder brother’s unexpected visit, he came out holding an animal-fat candle to greet him himself, but even its small flame seemed on the verge of being swallowed by the rain’s roar. “Ah! Elder Brother?” “Younger Brother… It’s begun falling.”

“You’ve come at last—and in such favorable timing.” “With this, your long-cherished wish has been fulfilled, I should say.” “No—my concerns remain undispelled.” “That is why I’ve come.” “I must see Unoki.” “Huh?” “When you say ‘see her’—” “Have the couple prepare for their journey immediately.… Then bring them to the chamber where I wait.” “This may well be a prolonged farewell.”

Having said that, Masashige sat down in a room. The sound of the rain, so intense it seemed to tear through the roof, left him feeling both invigorated and mournful as he waited. Masatsune had not yet inquired about his brother’s intentions, but acting on the urgent command regardless, he himself began pounding furiously on the side door of the detached pavilion. —The two inside reacted with astonishment. “Unoki! Unoki!”

Even Masatsune’s voice knocking on the side door was eventually drowned out by the wind and rain; inside, it likely reached them only in fragments. “Lord Brother from Mizumido has suddenly arrived and wishes to meet you two…” He repeated it insistently, each time stressing the urgency. “Prepare for your journey at once and come to the main house. “Lord Brother is waiting to see you.” “Prepare for the journey!” “Hurry!”

Even within the detached pavilion, “Yes.” “Yes.”

The same response repeated again and again. “……We’ll be there at once.” Before long, the couple could be seen hurriedly dashing through the shimmering rain from the lattice door to the connecting plank. The lamps in the main house all flickered dimly, and somewhere, Masashige’s cough suddenly sounded. Unoki gasped, her chest tightening sharply. She immediately recognized the owner of the cough as her brother Masashige—yet how uncannily it resembled their deceased father Masatō’s. For a moment, one might have doubted whether their late father himself stood there with the siblings.

“Unoki?”

Masashige’s voice from within soothingly urged, “—Come in.” At his side, Masatsune was also present. Unoki, as if placed before judgment, briefly urged her husband with a look, and together they placed their hands in the corner.

“...This marks my first reception of your will.” “I am Hattori Jirōzaemon Motonari—an unworthy man.” When Motonari saw Masashige’s form, he gasped out these words as though breathless. “Should I incur punishment by your hand—no matter what penalty I face—I shall raise no objection.” “As for my apology—though I have laid bare every detail up to this day before your esteemed brother Lord Masatsune...” “Ah... “So you are Lord Hattori Jirōzaemon Motonari?”

Masashige inclined his head slightly. “Through strange fate’s design, my sister has come to entrust her life’s course to you.” “Though this marks our first meeting, I have never forgotten how matters have stood with you through these days.” “Lord Motonari… I beg you to remain by her side for all your years to come.” At these words, both Motonari and Unoki could do nothing but weep.

The storm outside grew increasingly violent. Rainwater overflowing from the large roof’s gutter formed a waterfall at the eaves.

Spurred by the storm’s roar, Masashige began, “...Lord Motonari.” He shook his head. “Do not dwell on such thoughts,” then pressed onward without pause. “I have not the slightest intent to dispose of you here or pass judgment. My only wish is for your happiness... Unoki.”

“……Yes.” “You’ve grown so much. No—since I never knew you in your maiden years, I can only marvel at how unrecognizable you’ve become, yet as we sit here now, somehow your face appears to regain its childhood softness.”

“Lord Brother... How dearly I have missed you.”

“Ah, you have come at last.” “Masashige too had long wished to meet you.” “Do not condemn me as an unfeeling brother.” “Keeping you two within these lands cannot be.” “I understand full well.” “How could I bear any resentment?” “It may seem profligate, but precisely because I inherited our late father’s domain does Masashige maintain this station—though to lay bare my heart, I envy those who might dwell freely in some cottage of field or town.” “But Tamonhyōe Masashige, bearing his clan’s burden, cannot indulge such luxuries.”

“...I have heard,” Masashige continued. “You two came here to join the Yamada Sarugaku troupe for training—but with Rokuhara’s meddling like this, your wish cannot be granted.” “Rather than that—” He closed his eyes for an instant. The storm’s claws tearing at the great roof swallowed even this lamplight and silence into its raging torrent. Masashige produced a bundle wrapped in purple cloth from his robe and, keeping it balanced on one knee, gestured with his eyes as he said, “...Unoki. Come here.”

“...Yes? What is it?” When she timidly stepped forward, Masashige took his sister’s hand with one hand. And he gazed searchingly into her haggard face, as if seeking traces of her childhood features, "For you who have neither father nor mother, your homeland must have been a bed of thorns." “Though I hold you dear, you must leave this place now.” “Go far away wherever you can, and live out your days in harmony with your husband.” “There may come a day when you realize that being born human was life’s greatest blessing.” "...This gold comes not from me, but from your departed parents." "Use this as capital to find your way in life." “Now—if you’re to leave here, there’s no time but this moment.” “This very storm offers heaven-sent cover—before daybreak.”

With that, he firmly placed the heavy purple-wrapped bundle into his younger sister's hands.

“Ah… Lord Brother.” Unoki remained as she was and prostrated herself. Without letting go of her brother’s hand, she sobbed.

Masatsune, who was nearby, also bent his arm to cover his face. He may have had his own differing views, but when it came to his brother’s words, there could be no objection at all.

But. What he thought was,

At this very moment, such a violent thunderstorm raged. But while my brother seemed to be hurrying them precisely because it was such a night—could we truly rely not just on surviving this storm's dangers, but also on evading Rokuhara's watchful eyes? As Masatsune worried over this, "There's no problem—up to our domain's borders, old Onji Sakon has our retainers laying diversionary tactics in secret." "Moreover, from afar I shall guard their escape route." Masashige declared. He'd already considered even that—Masatsune stood amazed at his brother's foresight. Under normal circumstances he might have laughed at this brother who disparaged military strategy. But there was no time. Unoki and Motonari renewed their tearful farewells before Masashige.

Then, outside the corridor,

“My lord…” “Lord of your noble house.” A hesitant voice sounded.

Masatsune stood up and went, “Who’s there?”

As he peered into the darkness, there stood Sumiyoshi armorer Ryūsai—the very man who had been treated to a feast in the main house that evening. The airing of belongings had been completed, and since he was to return to Sumiyoshi the next day, they had given him a drink of appreciation, provided travel expenses and payment for his services, and let him rest. “...I happened to wake due to this storm and, without meaning to, overheard everyone’s conversation.” “Ah, Ryūsai. You were eavesdropping.” “Nothing of the sort! I must protest this misunderstanding... From the beginning, it was this Ryūsai who brought the honorable couple here on the night of the rain prayer festival. Even had I eavesdropped, I learned of their circumstances that very night.”

“Ah, right. It was indeed you who put Shinobi no Gonzō to sleep and rescued the Unoki couple. —But even if you are that Ryūsai, why have you come barging in here uninvited?” “Yes…” Ryūsai bowed deeply, “Though a mere armorer like myself making such an offer might seem somewhat presumptuous, I am set to take my leave tomorrow morning and return to Sumiyoshi in Settsu. Well, the thing is…”

His words came out haltingly. It was just like an honest man. But for Masatsune, it felt frustrating.

“Ryūsai.” “What’s your point?” “Out with it.” “Well... “It suddenly struck me that if this humble one were to leave now and escort Lady Unoki and her husband...” “What? Concerning Unoki?” “To speak plainly, there may be scant worry up to your domain’s borders. But beyond—on every highway—Rokuhara guard posts stand watch.” “And even Lord Motonari, traveling with a woman, might yet stumble into honorable misfortune again as that recent night, should ill chance arise.”

“Hmm. Exactly.” “In any case, since I must return to Sumiyoshi, this Ryūsai shall surely ensure their safe passage at least as far as that area.” “Well, though it may sound bold of me to say so, if I can be of service in such times, I humbly think it might serve as some small repayment for your usual kind patronage.” “Ah, well said. …That’s most appreciated, but—”

and looked back. “Unoki, what do you think? Ryūsai has made such an offer.” Of course, Unoki had no objection. Just the previous night, they had been rescued by that very Ryūsai, and even after settling there, they had occasionally exchanged words with him—so they understood his temperament well enough that there was no room for anxious doubts about his goodwill.

However, Masashige alone—

Hmm?

From where he stood inside the room, peering through to the dim corridor beyond, he had been intently watching the crouched shadow of Ryūsai there since earlier. "Brother—" Masatsune pressed again,

“What do you think? The armorer who is set to return to Sumiyoshi has offered to accompany the couple.”

“Masatsune.” “Yes!” “Is this armorer someone I’ve kept under my care for years?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, but he’s an honest man named Ryūsai whom we’ve had tend to our armor and equipment from time to time since around last year through an introduction by Tenken no Gorō.” “He has also stopped by the shop in Sumiyoshi on a few occasions, so there should be no concern regarding that aspect.”

“I see…” “That Ryūsai fellow.” “Yes… Might this be Lord Takemikumari?” “This marks your first meeting with Masashige.” “I am deeply honored.” “I beg you to remember this humble one.” “Come closer.” “Y-yes.” Even when instructed, Ryūsai had merely shifted his knees forward slightly, sweating profusely as he remained rigid. Masashige studied his demeanor intently before speaking. “Indeed—you bear a formidable countenance and seem dependable.” “You’re returning to Sumiyoshi?”

“As you command.” “The timing is good—we’ve found an excellent escort.” “I entrust the couple’s safety to you, Ryūsai.” I entrust them to you—Ryūsai. In the tone of Kusunoki Masashige’s words lingered both familial affection and trust in those he was entrusting. Ryūsai, inadvertently— “Yes!”

and prostrated himself.

Why had he, who normally used the craftsman’s parlance of “Hei,” only now responded with the warrior’s bearing of “Ha!”? “Oh, when you speak so kindly, someone like me who presumes too much suddenly feels apprehensive.” “But please—ah—do not trouble yourself over it.” Ryūsai, flustered, wiped the sweat from his brow sideways. And with that,

“Then, this humble one will promptly prepare and head out to the Mikado gate side.”

With that, he rose to his feet. Perhaps accustomed to preparing for journeys, he had swiftly gathered even a straw raincoat and hat, hurried out ahead, and now stood in the darkness outside.

The sky was pitch black. The rainfall flowed even to their lips. The straw raincoat they wore seemed about to be torn off by the wind. "Bring out horses—three of them. —In this storm, they can't walk."

Masatsune was shouting. Before long, Masashige and his group formed a united party and, not minding the rain, came to send off Unoki and Motonari.

“Unoki—is the horse secure?” “Yes.” “Lord Motonari—mount up.” “Farewell—go safely.” “You’re husband and wife now—don’t lose your way.” “Don’t lose your way—Unoki.”

“...Yes. Brothers.” “Oh, take care on your journey… Ryūsai.” “Yes!”

“You’ve done splendidly with how the saddle sits. The horse seems well-handled.” “N-no need for such praise. It’s merely from being accustomed to journeys. ...Now then, Lord Ryūsen, Lord of Takemikumari... Please rest assured regarding this couple’s safety. I bid you farewell.” Buffeted by the gale, three rain hats bowed uniformly from horseback toward the gate in final salute. “If you delay, floods will block every path. Make haste!” Whether Masashige’s voice reached them remained uncertain. A rain so piercing that even those seeing them off could not raise their faces swiftly swallowed the three shadows into the distance.

……After they had stared endlessly into that darkness, seeing them off. Masashige let out a breath of relief.

“Masatsune. “I’ll be heading back too.” “I will see you off.” “To the gate.” “No, there’s no need for that.”

“But...”

Masatsune insisted and rode his horse alongside his brother’s from behind, but... “Oh. “Brother, we haven’t taken the wrong road, have we?” “In any case. “Let’s see our sister safely as far as Nagano, then return to Takemikumari. “It’s not a significant detour.” However, this was a tempest of black winds and white rain. The three figures were already beyond sight.

Before long, torchlights racing beneath the storm could frequently be seen along every country path and village ahead. Doubtless, even the shrewd Rokuhara hōmen agents who had infiltrated northern Kawachi some time ago were now wasting all their efforts in vain over their bewilderment.

Before long, they arrived at the gate of Takemikumari.

“Masatsune. That’s enough.” “Truly, what a relief.” “Go back and rest peacefully.” “Then you as well, Brother.” “Hmm, tomorrow we’ll sleep in to our heart’s content. Looking forward to waking up and seeing the green fields revived.”

Crash, crash, crash.

Sumiyoshi Bay, from the precincts of the Sumiyoshi Four Shrines to Shikitsu and Kohama, consisted mostly of sandy soil dominated by pine trees, but along the Settsu-Kawachi-Izumi highway near Kizuma no Tsuji, willows grew in abundance.

The year turned to Gentoku 3.

The flowers had already scattered, and spring had now entered April.

The verdant willows cast a pale, peaceful bluish-green haze over Kizuma Hundred Houses, where among the townhouses stood the signboard of armorer Ryūsai. Unlike neighboring shops, his establishment remained chilly and dim even in the earthen-floored entryway behind the shop curtain, with Ryūsai perpetually lounging on the rear second floor. The room housed a long workbench alongside armor components—shikoro cord hangers and kusazuri racks—with scraps of dyed leather and glue pots strewn haphazardly about. At times his permanent bedding lay undisturbed for days. Though not particularly eccentric in appearance, he remained unmarried at his age—a bachelor through some unspoken circumstance.

“Master.” A dull voice sounded from downstairs. It was the elderly maid. Though there were several men employed there too, they all seemed to have gone out during daytime. “A courier has come. Shall I bring it up to you there?” “Oh! No need for that.” Ryūsai had been leaning against his desk, brush in hand with single-minded focus, but now hurriedly descended the ladder himself. “Granny—where’s the courier?” “Waiting in the earthen entrance with the receipt.”

“Ah, right.” “The seal, please.” “……Much obliged for your trouble.” True to his merchant guise, he had the courier hold both the seal and some coins, then returned upstairs where, without delay, he tore open the envelope. It was a lengthy letter written in small characters—he stared at it until his neck grew stiff, but upon finishing, immediately tossed it without hesitation into the charcoal fire beneath the glue pot, where it flared up and burned away. And then, next, even his own half-written letter—

“Wait. In this situation—” As if suddenly reconsidering something, he burned that too. Afterwards, he propped his cheek on his hand at the desk, “Feels close now. Must be this year.... The insects foretell it.” he muttered. Letting his centrifugal gaze drift among spring clouds alone, he suddenly heard the rear well-bucket clatter. Lowering his eyes, he found a pale face by the well also looking up at this second-floor window.

“Master Ryūsai. What has you looking so troubled?” “Ah, Ms. Unoki?”

Ryūsai removed his hand from his cheek. “You caught me in quite a spot. Well, you see—from this second floor you can view Sumiyoshi’s tall lighthouse and channel markers, an indescribable scene really—so uncharacteristically, I thought I might try composing a poem or two.” “Ohohoho. That is such a refined pursuit of yours.” “Now don’t tease me. What’s Mr. Motonari up to?” “He no longer lets his eyes wander beyond his work during daylight hours.”

“I see. He shouldn’t overexert himself and harm his health. Perhaps I’ll go pay him a visit.” “Yes, please do.” “But you see—since we’ve grown so close, whenever that thought comes, I always hesitate.” “Oh now, you mustn’t speak that way.”

The well was shared by the tenement.

Diagonally across the empty lot, Unoki hurried back carrying a bucket of water. "You—Master Ryūsai says he's coming right now." At his wife's voice from the kitchen, "Oh? What for?"

From inside came Motonari’s voice. “Today, he seems to have some free time. Shall I prepare some tea?” “How unusual. The man who’s never idle.” The couple began tidying up the area around them. That said, theirs was but a single narrow unit in a tenement row house—the one room by the window served as Motonari’s workspace.

All the neighbors could be considered subcontractors. Only those who did subcontracting work for Ryūsai the armorer lived there.—Among the various crafts—engraving accessories, leather dyeing, lacquering, ornamentation, thread-twisting—Motonari worked as a preliminary sketch artist.—It was not work requiring artistic flair; the sketches were nothing more than simple patterns like clients’ family crests, plovers, Genji carriage wheels, cherry blossoms, or irises. By now, he had grown accustomed to it.

Last summer. It had been their life since Ryūsai brought them here. Nearly a year had already passed since that unforgettable stormy night. "Alright then. Mind if I come in?"

“Oh, Master Ryūsai.” “Please, come this way.” “Forgive me... Though I must say—truly, yours is the only household that...” “What could possibly warrant such admiration?” “Even among identical tenement row houses, yours alone maintains such neatness.” “Flowers arranged in vases, your wife never neglecting her subtle makeup—” “Hahaha! What nonsense are you spouting?” “What could you mean by that?” “No—this cannot be disputed.”

“This too is thanks to Master Ryūsai. For a time, I thought we had no choice but to flee to the western provinces, but—” “Well, that’s good to hear. Yes—if you’re pleased with it, then my efforts have borne fruit... And this place remains surprisingly undisturbed.” The neighboring units were separated by only a single wall. Ryūsai lowered his voice. “Even the fly-like Rokuhara bailiffs never noticed this place. You may rest easy now.”

"But we take care when going out," he said. "Unoki and I only occasionally walk along Sumiyoshi Beach - we haven't even visited Tennōji Temple yet." "Still," Ryūsai countered, "this cramped endurance will last at most through this year. No - if matters worsen, who knows what state the world might be in before year's end." Unoki turned from preparing tea. "Oh? Does this mean some new turmoil brews in the world again?"

As Unoki, who had been making tea, suddenly turned around to ask, Ryūsai masked his response with a laugh. "No, no—no matter what occurs, this place remains safe." "On the contrary, the work of the tenement residents only continues to thrive... Ah yes, speaking of that business—" That appeared to be the real purpose of today’s visit. He suddenly changed his words there and informed the couple of his upcoming absence of several days. "Since a considerable order seems likely to come from a certain estate owner, I want to go to Tanba." "I intend to return in haste, but I also wish to visit some regular clients in Kyoto—it might take around half a month." "The old maid I’ve entrusted with housekeeping is hard of hearing, so I must ask you to look after things while I’m away."

During Ryūsai’s absence—or rather, whether Ryūsai was present or not— all daily matters from shop accounting to work distribution among the subcontractor tenements had always been managed by the shop foreman Tobishichi.

As for this man,

He also went by the nickname "Old Bald Kite."

A man in his fifties—having come from a blacksmith family, his face reportedly burned and scarred across one temple after falling into forge ashes as a child—bore that visage atop his obese frame, often barking orders at the subcontractors. He appeared adept at business. "Our master here doesn’t know a thing about commerce." When visiting the tenement, he’d prattle on without restraint. “Well now, the capital comes from Master Ryūsai, see? But let me tell you—the one who’s spread this shop so wide in just four or five years? Yours truly, Tobishichi! So they dump everything on me. And the master just keeps his hands in his pockets. Cushy gig he’s got, huh?”

However, Tobishichi's own circumstances didn't seem particularly unfavorable either. As a "commuting clerk," there were days when he would appear at the shop and days when he wouldn't. Throughout the tenement, people said he kept a courtesan in Kanzaki and maintained a residence near Naniwa's Gappō Crossroads, commuting from there.

“Oh, Ms. Unoki. Changing the pickles?” “Oh, Mr. Tobishichi! You haven’t graced us with your presence these past two or three days.” “Caught a chill… But when I dragged myself here today, they say Master Ryūsai up and left on some sudden trip night before last.” “Yes—he mentioned urgent business requiring him to visit Tanba.” “That’s what’s odd. Tanba, was it truly?” “So I was informed.” “Don’t recall the master having dealings with any estate holders in Tanba—not even among our floral trade connections. Ah well—Master Ryūsai’s a lone wolf. Whether it’s Tanba, Eguchi, or Kanzaki, he’ll come slinking back soon enough.”

“Please do come in.” “But here...” He indicated with his thumb and whispered: “He’s working in the back, I suppose.” “Yes, as usual...” “You two are damn serious, aren’t you? Ms. Unoki.” “Eh?” “Lately you’ve gotten a bit gaunt—somehow that diligent housewife act of yours looks beautiful now.” “Oh, that’s...” “Seriously. You’re about three or four months along now, aren’t you? A beautiful married woman’s pregnancy—that sort of thing—strangely stirs men’s thoughts, doesn’t it?”

Unoki turned red and, leaving the pickle barrel as it was, started to hide herself in the kitchen.

Then, from the shop’s back entrance, the old woman came and informed Tobishichi of the visitors’ arrival. The visitors’ names were:

The elder was Shizu Saburō Kanemune. The younger one was Gotō Sukemitsu. "...It's... the two honored guests." said the old woman. Unoki in the kitchen and Motonari in the back room both happened to overhear this. Tobishichi seemed slightly agitated.

“Huh, really? Shizu Saburō and Gotō Sukemitsu are both swordsmiths who head renowned schools these days. Both of them gathered here… What on earth could their business be?” Then he peeked into Unoki’s kitchen entrance once more, made his request, and left. “They seem to be important guests. Sorry about this, but could you serve them tea later? That old woman couldn’t pour a proper cup if her life depended on it.” The guests in the main house stayed for a long time.

Unoki brought tea twice. Tea was still a rare commodity and seldom used even in commoners' households. And as tenants of the row house,

“After all, my husband doesn’t even take a single drink of sake.” she was making an excuse.

Even now, by Motonari’s work desk, the couple sat quietly savoring the tea they had served to the shop’s guests while talking. “What kind of people are they, huh? “...these guests?” “One of them, Mr. Shizu Saburō Kanemune, is around fifty-two or fifty-three.” “The other one, Mr. Gotō Sukemitsu or so, still looks quite young.” “Both are famous swordsmiths. “At least their names, I’ve heard of.” “From what I gather, it seems they’ve placed an order for a considerable number of armor pieces through Mr. Tobishichi.”

“Huh, swordsmiths, eh?”

“After all, with the numbers being so large and the deadline so tight, Mr. Tobishichi looked nearly comical with his mix of bewilderment and beaming delight.” “Unoki...”

Suddenly pressing a paperweight onto the half-drawn engraving draft fluttering in the wind, Motonari lowered his voice. "It’s been nearly a year since we came here, yet there’s still much that doesn’t sit right with me." "Lord Ryūsai’s full of suspicious aspects too." "But if that person hadn’t been there, we would—" "Now don’t mistake me—he’s been nothing but good to us, a decent sort through and through." "When you say it doesn’t sit right—"

“No matter how you look at it, he can’t be just some ordinary townsman craftsman,” “According to Tobishichi, he’s supposedly the degenerate son of some wealthy man from Wakasa who provided him capital as a hobby—but that’s just that man’s greed talking.” “You…” Unoki cautioned—speak of the devil—as Tobishichi could be seen striding diagonally across the vacant lot toward their window.

“We’ve got ourselves a real situation here!”

Outside the bamboo window, Tobishichi immediately began speaking upon seeing the couple inside. “Just the premium armor alone runs thirty or forty suits—then there’s full harnesses, torso plates, and such. The sheer numbers make this order near-blinding in scale." "The real headache’s the deadline." "I barely stretched their hundred-day demand to a hundred twenty before accepting, but of all times—Master Ryūsai’s gone missing." “Man’s got nerves of steel!” Then again: “For now, looks like I’m soloing this hustle." “Leather ingots, base metals, threads, gold-silver alloys—gotta scramble sourcing all of ’em." “…But those two clients today swore up ’n’ down—" “This trade’s ’bout to hit a gold-rush boom!" “You lot better grind day-night shifts stacking coin while you can!" “Means to build my own nest egg too." “Hah? Where’s it all headed?" “That stays sealed." “Sworn on Kumano Gōō’s holy writ—my lips stay shut!”

With that, Tobishichi pressed a finger to his lips in mock secrecy and laughed. And then, still in that manner, he went around informing each neighboring tenement one after another before eventually heading off somewhere. “A huge boom is coming, they say.” “Will wages for various trades also go up?” The tenement broke into a carefree uproar.

But Ryūsai, who was away on his trip, did not return even after half a month had passed. There was no telling what had become of him; nor was there any word.

Amidst all this, one evening.

“Mistress—” “If you would be so kind as to spare a moment.” The shop’s old woman came with a request. “It’s… another customer.” she said with a perplexed expression. This wasn’t one of their regular business clients. It was the mother and child who had visited before—the mother a beautiful nun in her thirties, the child a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old biwa priest—and they appeared to be on quite intimate terms with Master Ryūsai, having even stayed overnight once, it was said. “Well, what unfortunate timing.”

Unoki postponed preparing her own household's evening arrangements and went to inspect the shop area of the main house. "Granny, bring a lamp here too." "Oh. Right away." "Right away." Then, acting in place of the master, Unoki repeatedly offered apologies and words of consolation to the mother and child guests. "Truly, this timing is most unfortunate—Master Ryūsai has been away on his journey for over half a month now... But please, even without the master present, do relax at your leisure."

“How kind of you.” The nun’s bow was beautiful. Not only her etiquette, but the very existence of such a beautiful nun in this world left Unoki feeling as though she’d been awakened. In the same way, the nun also widened her eyes at Unoki’s appearance, “Excuse me, but you are…” “Yes. I am not a member of this household, but one named Unoki, wife of the under-painter Motonari, who resides in Master Ryūsai’s tenement and has been receiving his various kindnesses.” “Oh, is that so? We too—Master Ryūsai and us mother and child—have been acquainted since our days in the home province… However, as we have been residing in the capital in recent years, we had looked forward to meeting him again after so long during this Shitennō-ji pilgrimage visit—but…”

“That must be terribly disheartening for you. Though Master Ryūsai should return within today or tomorrow at the latest—please make yourselves comfortable and wait a while longer.”

“Well now, what should we do?” The nun peered at her son’s profile—he had been sitting silently beside her all this time— “Well now… Kakuichi.” she quietly consulted.

Kakuichi turned toward the sound of her voice. “You must be Lady Unoki.” “Yes.” When she answered, Unoki realized for the first time that the young man was blind, her chest constricting. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Kakuichi, still training as a biwa priest. My mother is called Sōshin-ni. Though Master Ryūsai is absent, might we impose on your hospitality?” “Of course. The tenement is humble—mere thatch—but comfortable enough. You’re welcome to stay at our home as well.”

“Thank you very much. “Well then, Mother, shall we do as she suggests?” “Oh, please make yourselves at home.”

The two women exchanged modest smiles. That was good, and Kakuichi's forthrightness had also turned out well. Though this was their first meeting, the nun—having been warmly received—moved into Unoki's tenement household at her suggestion.—And in a single cramped space, they unpacked their traveling gear and shared an evening meal with the Motonari couple.

But the traveling Ryūsai did not return. And so, day after day they waited—until one evening.

――Suddenly, the shop foreman Tobishichi—who had returned from outside—proclaimed at the top of his lungs to the entire tenement about a major incident that had occurred in the capital the previous day. “It’s a huge loss! Huge loss!” Tobishichi’s voice was tinged with frenzy. “No matter how you look at it, things’ve turned into a complete disaster!” From the end of the tenement, he peered into each door in order. “Hey gilder—work’s suspended. Lacquerers, carvers, thread-twisters, leather-dyers—every last one of ’em! All recent commissioned work’s postponed. …Far from a splendid boom, a huge commotion’s hit us!”

The edge of his words even carried a sob-like tone. At first, the entire tenement had been laughing, but perhaps realizing this was no ordinary matter, craftsmen of various trades came flying out barefoot from every doorway and in an instant surrounded Tobishichi. “Wh-what’s happened, Mr. Foreman?” “Mr. Foreman! Why is the work being suspended?” “It’s not like we rely solely on those orders from before!”

“Mr. Tobishichi. Why is the work being suspended?” “There ain’t no need to rely solely on those recent orders.” As they clamored noisily, Tobishichi suddenly used his elbows and fists to shake off the voices around him. “Hey! Shut your traps! If this were some trivial matter like you lot are making it out to be, you think I’d be panicking like this? Just you watch—if we keep stockpiling armor parts like scales and gauntlets and greaves all willy-nilly, the Rokuhara Judicial Office’s men will come storming in here on official business before you know it!”

“Gah! Rokuhara, you say?” “That’s right. We’ve gotta dig a hole or something tonight and hide all the armor materials here—or they’ll get snatched up. ...Listen up, all of you.”

“But...” “What in the world has happened to cause such a situation?” “I don’t know. I don’t get it either.” “But this much is certain.” “Six years ago—back then, that turbulent volcano called the Shōchū Incident began rumbling again right in the capital’s heart, I tell ya.” “So it’s the imperial court again? The root of this commotion?” “That’s right—they’re calling it His Majesty the Emperor’s own rebellion.” “What’s more, some high-ranking official from the imperial faction itself tipped off Kamakura—not a shred of doubt about it.” “And then! Since dawn today, Rokuhara troops have been fanning out—snatching up rebel monks and court nobles here, flushing out hidden rats there—I swear, the whole capital’s turned into a battlefield! Heard it straight from Yodogawa entrance just now!” “You get it now, after all that?”

“Gah! Then that means… those two swordsmiths who came to place a massive armor order the other day—they’re…?”

“Shizu Saburō, Gotō Sukemitsu. “Those two are imperial loyalists too. “At worst, we might get rounded up... Or rather, even if we don’t get caught, armor workshops will surely face inspections after this. “Hey! How long you gonna stand there gawping at me with those dumb looks? “From every scrap of armor material in this tenement to what’s in the warehouse—all of you find ways to hide it! “Right—haul it to Hamanaya! “Move! Move!” The late spring day had deepened into evening when the entire tenement erupted in tsunami-like chaos.

The only house stealthily listening to Tobishichi’s shouts and this clamor was Unoki’s dwelling. No—alongside the couple, Sōshin-ni and her son Kakuichi, who had been lodging there, were also listening to the ongoing uproar with faces pale as if doused in water. The entire tenement was in evacuation-like turmoil that night. It was the sound of them desperately beginning to conceal every last piece of their vast armor materials before Rokuhara’s inspectors arrived and they faced confiscation’s calamity. Caught by this unforeseen emergency, Unoki and Motonari—the couple—

“Ah, so this residence too was but a shore of floating weeds…” Exchanging pale-faced glances,

"We cannot remain here another day. We must go elsewhere—" Their fate had suddenly compelled them to unavoidable resolve—but what of Sōshin-ni and Kakuichi, who had lodged here these past days awaiting Ryūsai's return? This became their foremost dilemma. "Let us take our leave."

The nun said quietly. Not only that—perhaps she had realized something— “If the capital had been thrown into turmoil again like during the Shōchū Incident, Lord Ryūsai would likely never return here again." “It would be futile to wait any longer…”

She seemed about to urge Kakuichi onward and leave immediately. Motonari stiffened at Sōshin-ni's remark. Why would Ryūsai never return here again? What connection could there possibly be between this sudden upheaval in the capital and an armorer like Ryūsai?

Motonari, who had long harbored doubts about Ryūsai’s true nature, felt his resolve harden further—the day had come to abandon this house and leave immediately. “Lady Nun…” “Would you wait but a moment?” “We too must make urgent preparations.” “Only during that time.”

“What? You both as well?” “We too must leave abruptly due to circumstances.” “I’ll explain details later, but there’s something I must ask you too, Lady Nun.” “Unoki, take only your immediate belongings.”

And then, in less than half an hour— While the tenement residents were still scrambling about in confusion, Unoki and her husband, along with Sōshin-ni and her son—the four of them—hurried through the dark seaside wind. That said, they adjusted their pace to match Kakuichi’s blind footsteps. “Starting now, walking from Abeno through Ikuno to reach Yodo would be too great an undertaking. “When morning comes, there’s a ferry from Demachi Beach to Naniwa. “You should take that ferry.”

Following Motonari’s suggestion, the mother and child resolved to wait for morning at Sumiyoshi Bay and make their way back to the capital by transferring between boats. Along the inlet of the bay, Sumiyoshi Shrine’s offering fires and the tall tide-watching lanterns serving as maritime markers burned constantly.

“Come now, you should rest here.” Motonari searched for a straw mat from somewhere, spread it out on the sandy ground nearby, and first seated Kakuichi and Sōshin-ni. “Until dawn when the boat departs, we too shall stay here and spend the night together." “I do believe you are descendants of a distinguished lineage, but to see mother and son united in purpose as you ascend to the capital for biwa training—how enviable.” “I too am one who was once devoted to the artistic path, but that too I could not achieve, and now wander fruitlessly as you see.”

Putting aside what he wanted to ask for later, he first began to engage the mother and child in conversation with such topics. The blind person enjoyed the conversation.

When the conversation touched upon the artistic path, especially when it came to the biwa, Kakuichi chattered on by himself. Naturally, even in their unguarded conversation, details emerged—from Sōshin-ni and her son’s true lineage to the circumstances that had brought them to the capital—all gradually coming to light.

Gradually hearing this, Motonari looked genuinely surprised. “Then, the Lord Ashikaga of the eastern provinces—the one often spoken of in rumors as Lord Takauji—is…?” “Yes, that Lord Takauji—” Kakuichi said without hesitation, “A nephew to my mother. …Which makes him my cousin.” “I see.” With that, Motonari let out a sigh resembling admiration. “To abandon such an exalted station and devote one’s entire life to perfecting the biwa’s art—that demands resolve of iron.” “Someone like myself ought to feel ashamed.”

“Lord Motonari. What is it you desire?” “I longed to join prestigious troupes like the Yamada Sarugaku of Iga or the Yamato Sarugaku of Kasuga—to complete my training in such esteemed companies. But due to circumstances, that has become unattainable for someone like me.” “Why is that?”

Kakuichi tilted his blind visage. "I am not like that. "I believe that if one dedicates their heart, no aspiration remains beyond reach... That's why Mother finally relented and came to the capital with me." "What are the circumstances behind the troubles that plague you, Lord Motonari?" "If I were to explain, it would take time—but we are an ill-fated couple accused of baseless suspicions, pursued at every turn by Rokuhara's *hōmen* spies."

“If that’s the situation, you needn’t worry. … Within the Rokuhara forces, there is a distinguished figure who is a relative of Mother’s.” “If you rely on such a person, they could ensure a fair judgment.” “Right… Mother?” Sōshin-ni and Motonari both laughed forlornly—there was no mistaking that Kakuichi’s words were true. That simplicity was enviable to the adults. “But Lord Kakuichi, that won’t be possible now.” “The capital is said to be in great turmoil... If fate allows, perhaps there will come a time when we meet again.”

Having said that, Motonari suddenly turned to Sōshin-ni’s face and inquired. “Lord Ryūsai does not seem to have been an armorer from the start.” “Yes, he is a samurai.”

“I had thought it might be so. His bearing... those eyes of his—” “To you of all people, I may speak plainly... Ryūsai is an alias. His true name is Isshiki Uma no Suke—a samurai who served Lord Ashikaga and once acted as tutor to Lord Takauji.” “Hoh? Why would such a warrior...”

“I do not know the full circumstances, but I had heard only this much—that he incurred Lord Takauji’s displeasure and vanished from the Kamakura region several years ago, taking refuge here in Sumiyoshi.” “...But in truth, I do not believe he has fully embraced life as a townsman.” “Moreover, given the current upheaval in the capital...” “...Though this is merely the speculation of a nun, I do not believe that Uma no Suke will ever appear before you both as Ryūsai again.” “...Please keep that in mind and seek your peace elsewhere.”

Before long, the sky began to pale, and the loud voices of guests and boatmen gathering at the distant Naniwa-bound boat landing started to rise.

“Then, Lord Motonari, Lady Unoki.” “Oh—so soon to our parting.” “Farewell to you as well, Reverend Mother.” “Lord Kakuichi, please study diligently.” The four of them set out walking together toward the boat. Sōshin-ni had been observing signs of pregnancy in Unoki’s body with a woman’s perceptive gaze. Therefore, she had been frequently worrying about and caring for her due to the midnight chill since last night, but this morning as well,

“Above all, your body.”

She whispered while drawing close. “For men who make their way in the world—yes, but a woman’s mission of childbirth is a duty so arduous it’s truly terrifying.” “And continuing into the future with your wandering circumstances—or something of the sort.” “You must take truly great care of yourself.”

“I humbly thank you.” “No matter what comes.” “I understand your hardships, but when the day comes to see your child thriving, there is nothing that teaches life’s purpose quite like a child.” “…Even for this nun—were Kakuichi not here—I cannot help but imagine what a lonely existence I would have.” “This remains true even with a blind child.”

Motonari, who had been half-listening to the women’s conversation, suddenly stopped in his tracks. “Reverend Mother… I’ve learned something invaluable.” “In truth, I had sunk into dark despair—our home in Sumiyoshi proved but a fleeting respite, condemning us again to endless wandering, our years of aspirations reduced to mere dreams. Yet even blind Kakuichi holds such blazing resolve, and you find purpose in nurturing it… Ah yes—only now, seeing this mother and child, do I feel I’ve received a glimmer of light from their example.”

There was a wrenching quiver in his voice. At his tone, both Unoki and Sōshin-ni stopped in their tracks. Even the blind Kakuichi involuntarily composed his expression.

“...When I think about it, our efforts as a couple were lacking.” “In truth, we’ve already lost two children.” “If another comes, it will be our third.” “This time we’ll cherish them so as not to lose them.” “And even if we pass our unfulfilled hopes to our children’s generation—let us patiently walk behind Sōshin-ni and her son along that same path.”

As if swearing an oath, he added once more to his wife.

“Listen, Unoki… Neither this place at Sumiyoshi no Gozen nor what happened this morning shall we forget.” Pine pollen danced across Unoki’s pale face as she nodded.

Moment by moment, the beach grew brighter. Urged by the boatman's voice, figures of men and women already stood lined up on the gangplank. Sōshin-ni also joined the crowd, embracing Kakuichi's back. ...And once again, she turned around from the gunwale toward Uroji and Unoki, who remained behind, “...Farewell.” She showed the sorrow of parting.

The boat immediately left the shore.

Kakuichi also, upon sensing the vast expanse of waves, drew close to his mother, the nun,

“Where are the couple?” Kakuichi was asking. The figures of Unoki and Motonari were already beginning to grow small and forlorn in a corner of pines and white sand. When his mother indicated the direction, Kakuichi stretched up from the gunwale and repeatedly lowered his round head again and again.

There was a tailwind. The boat had arrived at the mouth of the Nagare River while passing by the flat sands of Naniwa no Tsu (Osaka), its reeds and scattered roofs, still early in the morning before noon.

“...Kakuichi.” “Kakuichi.”

Kakuichi leaned against the gunwale and fell fast asleep.

“It’s time now—we’ll transfer boats and go up the Yodo River.” Finally shaking him awake, the nun tugged at the hand of this large baby-like blind child and crossed the gangplank from the very end of the passenger line. After walking a short way along the riverside town, there was another boat waiting hut. It served as the landing for Yodo River boats bound for Kyoto. “What’s with today…?”

There were unusually few people visible. When they inquired at a nearby wayside teahouse, they found this too resulted from disturbances in the capital since two days prior. "The capital lies like extinguished embers," went the ominous rumors, "and now battle may soon erupt." Yet no one truly understood the situation. Precisely for this reason, terror had taken deeper root—from travelers to peddlers' movements, all showed such desolation. "...Then does this mean the upstream boat won't depart?"

“Are you bound for Kyoto?” “Yes.” “Might be best to reconsider.” “They say one can’t just wander about the capital these days.” “But our home lies within it.” “Ah well—you’ve no choice but to return then. Still... with that child. That child in tow.”

In any case, they had no choice but to wait. Under the eaves sat a basket of clams. Having had those clams grilled for them, the mother and child were eating their morning meal. Then a young warrior in quilted armor and split riding trousers peered beneath the reed screen. “Old man! Old man!” he called urgently. “Quickly prepare seven portions of field rations!” “Right away! Please wait on the camp stool.” “Right away! Please wait on the camp stool.” “Hurry up. We’re keeping the upstream boat waiting.”

So, the boat is departing after all, I wonder. Sōshin-ni stood up and looked at the river channel immediately before her. On the Yodo River boat, a group of figures could already be seen. The nun took Kakuichi and went down to the pier there. The boatman, still firmly seated at the stern, responded to the nun’s inquiry with a sullen face and a reluctant nod of permission to board. But the passengers were only companions of the warriors they had seen at the teahouse. They were all uniformly clad in quilted armor—sturdy country samurai. When the nun noticed this and suddenly halted with a faltering expression, one of them, perhaps interpreting it differently,

“Here, give me your hand,” reaching over the gunwale to take Kakuichi’s hand and help him into the boat. “Careful now—sit here,” he said, even clearing a seat in the corner for him. Moreover, all of them together remarked, “The nun’s son, eh? My, my—can’t see a thing? Poor thing.”

His gaze, contrary to his rough appearance, held an unexpectedly kind look. Moreover, relieved, Sōshin-ni now focused solely on the thought that once they reached the capital, all would be well.

Immediately after that, the samurai from earlier came rushing in, carrying everyone’s field rations. Taking that as their cue, the samurai barked orders at the boatman and forced him to cast off immediately. The Yodo River wind suddenly flapped the sail overhead with a loud snap. White river waves rose with a rushing sound.

While upstream journeys on the Yodo River typically progressed so slowly that passengers would grow weary of the boat, the sail filled with a tailwind now passed Moriguchi in an instant, and soon Torikai came into view on the left.

“We’re making good time today!” The seven men, who appeared to be country samurai, threw their empty bento boxes over the gunwale one after another and, with only glances at their arrow-like trajectories, then placed just sake and cups before them. “At this rate, we should reach Otokoyama before dark.” They kept vigorously rousing each other’s spirits.

Were they so completely reassured because the boat held only the boatman and a nun accompanying the blind monk’s child? In their reckless remarks, terrifying words often flew out.

From this, one could infer. This particular group appeared to be country samurai from the Kinai region who styled themselves "imperial loyalists" in daily life and harbored rebellious intentions against the shogunate. Excitedly, “To Otokoyama” and “Comrades have...” From their fragmented talk—“To Otokoyama” and “Comrades have...”—it seemed others concerned about the capital’s unrest and the imperial palace’s safety were gathering from various regions, perhaps even ascending Mount Otokoyama Hachiman to devise some scheme.

At the edge of the boat mat, Kakuichi listened without truly listening, shuddering occasionally from the cold spray that struck his body, his lips turning pale. "...Mother," he whispered, "If you listen to what those people are saying, it seems a battle could break out any moment now." "Will we be able to return to the capital?" "Don't be absurd." The nun forced a laugh. "How could something so unlikely happen so suddenly?" "If war breaks out, we'll just hide in the depths of Saga together." "There's no need to borrow trouble."

However, Kakuichi’s dreadful premonition materialized before his eyes that very day, while the sun was still high.

That was the exact instant they passed Takatsuki. From within the deep reed waves along the left bank, three or four swift-boats bearing small flags suddenly came rowing toward this Yodo River vessel—the voices shouting “Halt!” again and again carried unmistakable authority. “Rokuhara boats?!” “Damn it!” “Checkpoint soldiers!” The seven country samurai moved as one. “Boatman! Why falter? Keep straight ahead—now!” “Keep straight ahead—now!” “Slow this boat and you’ll pay dearly!” No idle threat this. Two men among them drew blades and pressed cold steel against the boatman’s spine.

Kakuichi and the nun huddled together in a corner of the boat, utterly lifeless. From behind, riding the tailwind, “You there! Stop!” “Stop that boat!” The sound of oars from the pursuing boats grew ever fiercer. The fleeing sail refused to be outdone, its mad wings snapping and fluttering wildly in the wind-whipped sky. “Alright!” Before long, someone spoke. The sail’s power had finally pushed the shapes of the swift boats far into the distance.

“This is Hashimoto no Shuku. We’ll walk the rest of the way to Hachiman. Boatman—put us ashore!” Before long, the maddened bow gnawed into the riverbed and came to a halt—instantly, two or three men leapt ashore ahead of the others. But as soon as they returned, they turned to their comrades: “Danger! There are Rokuhara soldiers at this inn too! It has to be the boats—take to the river! The river’s our way!”

However, by that time, several of the earlier Rokuhara boats had already encircled the water behind them. The nun and Kakuichi encountered something truly terrifying. Kakuichi felt it with his body; the nun saw it with her eyes. From the several swift boats commanded by Rokuhara officials, hook ropes instantly flew out, rakes extended, and simultaneously, subordinate soldiers came leaping into this boat. And then, between them and the seven country samurai, a brief but fierce exchange of words erupted—no sooner had this happened than one of the samurai suddenly,

“The hell with this!” With that cry, he suddenly cut down an official into the river. The scream seemed not of this world, and in that instant, the water droplets that drenched the entire boat appeared to the nun and Kakuichi as nothing but blood.

After that, the nun and Kakuichi were left in a daze, even they themselves unaware of what had transpired. On the narrow footing, naked blades filled the space; entangled with howls and screams, the boat too went mad. But it was an instant—to Kakuichi and his mother, who looked as though they were covering their ears under lightning strikes, it must have felt like an eternity. Yet in reality, within mere moments, several wounded men had been cast aside, and the country samurai had fled ashore. However, on land too, separate Rokuhara soldiers had rushed to the scene. Thus the fierce battle continued anew, blood undoubtedly splattered everywhere. And how many of those seven country samurai had managed to preserve their lives and escape?

……A little time passed. The boat's interior was completely still. But neither the nun nor Kakuichi could yet lift their faces. The eerie silence made them feel as if they too were stained with blood, leaving them unsettled. Then, on the nearby bank, "Who are they and where are they from?" came voices interrogating the captured boatman about the nun and Kakuichi's identities and destination.

Of course, there was no way he could have known. How had the boatman answered that? Before long, several soldiers came down to the boat, “On your feet.” With that single command, they drove the mother and child ashore. And then, as they tried to bind them with ropes, Sōshin-ni—forgetting both the unwarranted bonds and her own fearful expression—shielded Kakuichi and cried out. “Then at least spare them the ropes—they’re a woman and a blind man.”

The man who appeared to be their commander had issued this order, but Sōshin-ni's refined speech and dignified bearing—uncharacteristic for a nun—only deepened their suspicions. "Could they be messengers sent to contact court nobles?" "That blind man must be part of their ruse." "No sane person would head to the capital today." "...Regardless, make them board that one." He pointed at an ox-drawn cart parked by the roadside.

Looking, they saw one of the country samurai who had just been captured, tightly bound and thrown onto the cart. No—within those shallow plank walls, travelers, monks, samurai—more than ten in all—were heaped like beasts.

Not a single one of Sōshin-ni’s explanations was given even the slightest consideration. What was this Capital Disturbance? What the truth might be—they were a mother and child who did not even know a shred of it. But perhaps those under Rokuhara’s command had now grown so frenzied that they could not rest unless ruthlessly adding even such people to their list of suspects, viewing them as somehow connected to the imperial faction.

The Emperor’s Rebellion The current Rokuhara Tandai were Nakatoki, Governor of Echigo (Northern Commissioner), and Tokimasu, Left Lesser Captain (Southern Commissioner). Both were newly appointed young men and—needless to say—distinguished scions of the Hōjō clan. Separated by Gojō Sōmon Avenue, the Tandai headquarters stood divided into northern and southern compounds. This mirrored the Edo period’s administrative structure of Kitamachi Magistrate and Minamimachi Magistrate.

But. The scale of their power and status was beyond comparison to Edo-period magistrates or Kyoto Protectors—and Rokuhara, this fated seat since the Heike era, even now 180 years later, still presented itself as a formidable enemy state to the Imperial Court.

Especially. The situation over the past few days had grown perilous. Even low-ranking officials performed their duties in a semi-armed state. Spear soldiers were stationed at every gate, and at the horse stations, they attached messengers to military troops ready to deploy at any moment. Of course, the capital remained under martial law—its nights crimson with watchtower fires, yet its days conversely devoid of people, May’s fresh greenery hanging in vain as the anguished city teetered on the brink of death. “Where might Lord Governor of Echigo be?” A man was busily making inquiries here and there within the compound—at the Shoshi Gate, Hyōjōsho Gate, and other locations.

Commander of the Kendansho, Honjō Oniroku, “Wouldn’t he be here?” he had been asking at the middle gate as well. The security soldiers were stationed with unusual severity. “He is here! But may I inquire your business?” “I humbly request an immediate audience.” “I believe that would be problematic,”

“This is a matter of utmost urgency. Could you at least convey it to his ears?” Due to Oniroku’s persistence, the squad leader retreated into the eaves of the middle gate corridor. After a short while, “——His Lordship’s command is to wait.”

“I see.” “In that case,” Oniroku sat on a large flat stone by the gate and waited for the summons.

In the meantime, he grabbed the squad leader and questioned him. In the inner chambers, both Tandai commissioners—Tokimasu Hōjō, Left Lesser Captain of the Southern Bureau, and Nakatoki Hōjō, Governor of Echigo of the Northern Bureau—had gathered with the group including Nikaidō, Governor of Shimotsuke, and Nagai, Governor of Tōtōmi, who had been hastily dispatched from Kamakura. They were said to have been in secret council since this morning.

"This could be bad," Oniroku thought.

The problem he had brought concerned matters outside the current crisis and could even be considered his subordinates' blunder. He thought that deliberately exposing his own failures before such dignitaries would show a lack of wisdom. "...Maybe I should withdraw," he nearly decided, but it was already too late. From the inner chambers came an attendant bearing an order: "Proceed." Oniroku was led to kneel at the edge of the main hall's eaves. None of the earlier attendees remained visible—only the two Tandai commissioners persisted: the Left Lesser Captain and the Governor of Echigo.

“Oniroku. What is this about?” Nakatoki, Governor of Echigo, was still twenty-eight. For a person in such a high position, he was exceptionally young.

“Hah…” Oniroku closed his eyes and spat out the words in a single breath, the report’s disgrace weighing heavy. “Last night near Yodo—of all blunders—my subordinates dragged into Rokuhara prison a nun claiming kinship to Lord Ashikaga and her blind son, alongside other suspicious rabble. Though this grave oversight shames me beyond measure, I’ve come to humbly seek your lordships’ guidance on how to handle these two persons’ custody.”

“What? A relative of Lord Ashikaga?”

Oniroku’s words suddenly seemed not to make sense, and Left Lesser Captain Tokimasu Hōjō tilted his head slightly. And then, “Does Lord Governor of Echigo know of this?” he whispered inquiringly toward Nakatoki. “Therefore, when you were appointed to the capital, Lord Uesugi asked that we look after you... That nun—she must be Lord Takauji’s aunt and Lord Uesugi’s sister.”

When he heard the private conversation between the two Tandai commissioners, Oniroku grew increasingly fearful.

“Oniroku. Speak in more detail.” “What exactly transpired?” “Hah… The truth is,”

As he vehemently explained, the situation was thus. Though this had long been the case, one might say anti-shogunate rural samurai, Shinto priests, and assorted commoners sympathetic to the imperial loyalists filled the countryside throughout the Kinai region. Naturally—they had been greatly stirred by the recent upheaval and were now holding secret meetings everywhere while attempting infiltrations into the capital. To prepare for this, the Rokuhara Kendansho had erected barriers at the seven major roads outside the capital. Whenever they spotted suspicious travelers, they would mercilessly apprehend them, load them onto ox carts, bring them to Rokuhara Prison Square, strip each one naked, undo their topknots down to the roots, and conduct rigorous inspections.

However. It was entirely my subordinates' overreach—among those detained were a blind boy carrying a biwa and a beautiful nun. Upon interrogating them, they claimed relation to Ashikaga Matatarō Takauji, brother-in-law of Kamakura's current regent Lord Hōjō Morotoki. Panicked, we hastily treated them with utmost courtesy and relocated them to separate quarters. Yet in these dark times, uncertain how to handle their custody, Oniroku came seeking your esteemed instructions.

The two Tandai commissioners exchanged glances and whispered privately once more, but soon Nakatoki, Governor of Echigo, issued his command. “Oniroku. “The nun is called Sōshin-ni, and the child is named Kakuichi?” “As you command.” “Then there is no discrepancy. You shall accompany them and take them to my private residence in Komatsudani for the time being. Today is quite busy, but after returning to my residence, I shall meet with them.”

“Understood.” “I shall escort them at once.”

As he began to stand,

“Wait, Oniroku.” The Left Lesser Captain called out to stop him again. “You rank among the foremost at the Kendansho, yet in this present turmoil, you’ve shown not a shred of achievement.” “That’s why your underlings must be chafing with impatience.” “What exactly are you doing?” “Hah! To hear such words leaves me without honor to show.”

“Shouldn’t you have some leads by now on Lord Hino Toshimoto’s whereabouts? Still no leads?” “We are straining every effort and casting a wide investigative net, but...” “In any case, it is evident he is hiding near the capital. Until that courtier is captured, this remains nothing but empty commotion. And as for reporting to Kamakura, we cannot even begin to draft anything. Aren’t you the one even ex-convicts fear as a demon? Show me one feat worth your reputation!”

For Oniroku, it was an ill-omened day. On top of the blunder came this reprimand. In panicked haste, he retreated.

“Well then, shall we move over there and take our seats?” The two Tandai commissioners crossed the corridor and made their way to one of the three White Sand Courts within the compound—the Third White Sand Court. From the First and Second White Sand Courts to every prison block—it was Yama’s Court incarnate. One could say the prison blocks seethed with resentment. This marked the Rokuhara Kendansho’s accomplishments during the recent upheaval—yet still they fell short. For Hino Toshimoto remained at large.

Fundamentally, what exactly were the motive and truth behind such a large number of arrests being made within just a few days?

×　　　　　　　×

It was the end of the previous month.

To be precise, it was the twenty-ninth day of the fourth month. Within the Kamakura shogunate, there had been a mysterious envoy from a court noble who came bearing a secret letter to lodge an internal appeal. The envoy merely announced, “—From Lord Yoshida Sadafusa, the Major Counselor,” and vanished. When it came to Yoshida Sadafusa, everyone knew him as the Emperor’s foster father.

He was presently both father to Emperor Go-Daigo's wet nurse and—needless to say—enjoyed the Emperor's utmost trust, being one of what were called the "Three Pillars of Sanbō" (Kitabatake Chikafusa, Madenokōji Nobufusa, and Yoshida Sadafusa). "What manner of secret missive is this?" Yet strange as that alone was, its contents left the shogunate's inner circle thunderstruck. Within the Emperor's war council, preparations to overthrow the shogunate were steadily progressing. Moreover—the time to set this plan into motion now loomed imminent—so declared this secret report.

“Can this be believed?” Every senior vassal of the shogunate tilted their heads in doubt, each voicing the same sentiment at least once. “It’s unbelievable!” they all exclaimed. Yet even when examined by a handwriting appraiser, the brushwork was declared unmistakably Lord Sadafusa’s own. Still, when they proceeded to deliberate meticulously, they couldn’t entirely dismiss the possibility as baseless.

First and foremost, it did not name the Emperor as the ringleader of the anti-shogunate plot, but rather attributed it to his inner council. The Emperor himself was troubled, but those around him were recklessly pushing forward with military preparations under his name. It read as if lamenting how truly deplorable this all was.

And. The mastermind behind it all was: It had also explicitly stated that the masterminds were Prince Son'un (Daitō-no-miya)—the Third Prince of the Emperor and former Tendai Archbishop who had entered Mount Hiei in Karyaku 2—and Hino Toshimoto. "...Inferring that—" The shogunate thus interpreted Sadafusa's true intentions as follows: As both the Emperor's foster father and advisor, Sadafusa must have become unable to ignore the gravity of the situation any longer. If left unattended, the imperial house's ruin and the realm's great chaos would be clearer than seeing flames. —that even enduring some sacrifices, there could be no better path than to now leverage Kamakura's power to excise this cancer from the court.

“Exactly.” “After days of anguish, Lord Sadafusa’s dilemma must have finally driven him to this course of action.” And so—startled by this grave turn of events, the shogunate immediately dispatched secret envoys to Rokuhara with all haste, ordering them to thwart the imperial loyalists’ plot before it could materialize and capture its masterminds and associates in a single sweep. Yoshida Sadafusa—a man caught in a dilemma, an imperial loyalist who nonetheless leaked his faction’s secrets to the shogunate—where did his true intentions lie? If mishandled, the situation had developed to the point where his very wish could instead yield results akin to throwing a torch into an oil cauldron.

The honorable name of Daitō-no-miya had scarcely surfaced until this day.

The reason for this was: At twenty years of age (now twenty-four), he had assumed the position of Tendai Archbishop. Even after relinquishing the archbishopric to his younger brother Prince Sonjun last year, he remained unmoving in his residence at Mount Hiei's Great Pagoda, secretly training warrior monks of the monastic community while awaiting his imperial father's command with the conviction that "the time has come," maintaining complete silence. Yet even Rokuhara's prosecutors could not lay hands on the temple complex. Entrusting that matter to future political maneuvers, they instead prioritized apprehending the other mastermind—Hino Toshimoto. Though he appeared neither at court nor on travels, and despite hundreds of spies scouring everywhere with bloodshot eyes of late, his whereabouts remained utterly unknown.

Yet the thousand-odd eastern warriors under Rokuhara’s standing commissioners had been stationed precisely for such occasions. Moreover, at this very moment, reinforcements were streaming into the capital from Kamakura—Nagai Tōtōmi-no-kami, Nagasaki Magoshirō, Nanjō Takanao, Saiga Hayato-no-suke, and others—all bringing troops to bolster their forces. They were not merely idly folding their hands in futility simply because they could not lay hands on Daitō-no-miya and did not know Hino Toshimoto’s whereabouts. Rather, precisely because of that, their fierce impatience turned outward, filling the prisons day and night.

The hidden military supply locations in the capital were of course uncovered, and armorers, swordsmiths, bowyers, as well as court nobles' servants, were driven across Gojō Bridge in unbroken chains day after day and sent inside Rokuhara's main gate. Among these, the most severe was the arrest of monks. Saiga Hayato's forces bound and dragged Enkan Shōnin of Hōshō-ji Temple at dawn on the eleventh day of the fifth month, bringing him to prison, while Nanjō Saemon raided Tō-ji Temple and captured Bishop Monkan to bring him back.

Furthermore, from Yamato, two monks—Chikyō and Kyōen—were simultaneously summoned and likewise thrown into prison cells. Bishop Chūen, Hōin Yugā, and countless others had their kasaya robes torn and clerical vestments bound with rough ropes; the usual radiance of their wisdom and the solemn dignity of their purple-gold adornments lost all potency in the prison’s soil, and all lay prostrate beneath anguished moans.

×　　　　　　　×

Now— Having ascended the steps from the corridor entrance and appeared on the floor of the Third White Sand Interrogation Area, both commissioners first fixed their gazes intently upon the figure of the high-ranking monk bound with rough rope in the white sand area. “…………”

And. Echigo-no-kami Nakatoki and Sahishōgen Tokimasu exchanged glances and took their seats on separate round cushions— Ah—so this was the renowned Monkan he had heard about.

They seemed to watch with particular resolve, steeling themselves. Any monk dragged onto that white gravel would at least give some answer—yet Ono no Monkan alone feigned ignorance, refusing them even a single written confession. The officials found him utterly unmanageable. However, he had boldly declared he would answer if both commissioners came personally. Therefore did Sahishōgen and Echigo-no-kami— “What manner of monk is this?” —proceed to take seats in the interrogation chamber themselves, curiosity mingling with duty. Yet even now that they had come, Monkan on his mat half-closed stony eyes and tilted his face sideways with feigned oblivion.

“Clerk,” Sahishōgen Tokimasu’s wordless signal directed a sidelong glance toward the court clerk’s desk— a silent command to take up the brush for recording confessions. Having composed himself, “Bishop,” he formally addressed Monkan in the white sand interrogation area. The bound prelate responded like a slumbering arhat roused by a sudden yawn: “Huh?! What is it?!” The answer came more as a bark than speech. His booming voice shook the interrogation chamber’s chill air, startling even the jailers at the distant wooden gate.

“Hahaha. Your voice is quite loud, Bishop. With that voice of yours, I’d like you to state everything without reserve.” Sahishōgen sneered. Against a monk who devoured others with contempt, he likely needed an attitude that could not be devoured in turn.

“Ask me anything!” “What I find objectionable—I won’t answer!” “What I choose to share—that you’ll hear!”

“Reverend Monk. Your place of birth?”

“Harima.” “Your parents?” “Amitabha Buddha.”

“…………” Clearly, Sahishōgen’s eyebrows bore hatred. But perhaps he was trying not to get caught up in peripheral trivialities or emotions.

“Your religious training—and your future path?”

And then, he pressed forward with the interrogation vigorously. Monkan declared all at once. "In my youth, I studied at Hokke-ji in Banshū; in my middle years, I spent several years undergoing training at Hōjō-ji in Kasa and Shoshazan." "Moreover, before long, I wandered in Nanto and resided in Rakunai, eventually being appointed as the chief priest of To-ji and the abbot of Daigo-ji—this Monkan whom people recognize as the master of the Four Mandalas and Three Mysteries, and who himself upholds this title." "……Just you wait. You will all come to know this Buddha’s wrath." "When did you first begin approaching the emperor?"

"I don't recall clearly, but it must have been nearly ten years ago now." "It all began when I was granted an audience during the imperial visit to Hōshō-ji, accompanied by Priest Keichin." “Since then, you have frequented the imperial court, eventually establishing the Five Altar Ritual—under the pretense of offering prayers for Her Majesty’s pregnancy, you undoubtedly performed incantations to subjugate Kantō.”

“Prayers are a monk’s duty.” “What’s wrong with that?” “However, it was not a curse against Kantō.” “No, no—Chūen, Enkan, Yūga, Chikyō, and the other monks have all confessed outright.” “No matter what one reverend monk may say—” “Silence!” “Another’s confession is another’s affair.” “That is not Monkan’s testimony.” “However much you feign ignorance, the testimonies all align—that Bishop Monkan led the prayers; that he constantly lurked in His Majesty’s war councils to strategize eastern campaigns; and that this black-robed warrior monk scheming to rally temple armies for imperial ambitions is none other than Monkan himself.”

“Ridiculous.” Bishop Monkan curled his lips. “Commissioner... Is that all you wish to ask?” “I wish to hear the response of the black-robed warrior monk Monkan. Monkan—what say you?” “Nay,” he parried the interrogator’s tone, “Monkan’s answers end here. No matter what you ask, I will not respond.” “I will have you taken to Kamakura!”

“It’s been too long. A sightseeing trip to the eastern provinces sounds splendid.” “Take me anywhere you please.”

Truly, he was a magnificent villainous monk. He would never open his mouth again. Having deemed the written statement to be submitted to Kamakura sufficient for now, both commissioners rose from their seats. Echigo no Kami Nakatoki returned to his Komatsudani private residence late that night as well. It was the next morning that Nakatoki saw Sōshin-ni and her son in the guest hall, and he also deeply apologized for his subordinates’ blunder, “When did you arrive in the capital?” “And where in the capital have you been residing?” he began inquiring about various matters.

“Yes. …It has now been five years since I began residing in the capital.” The nun belatedly recalled. Her son Kakuichi had already turned eighteen. Pestered by her child, five years prior, she had reluctantly parted from her brother Lord Uesugi in Kamakura and traveled up the coastal route. During the journey, due to the ill intent of retainers they had brought along, they endured a terrifying night crossing Nakayama Pass in Mikawa. Fortunately, they were rescued and taken to the village of the Isshiki faction in the nearby countryside—to Isshiki Gyōbu’s residence—where they spent the year, then departed for the capital early the following spring.

Denji of Mikuriya escorted them to the capital. And Denji immediately returned to Kamakura.

But. What had become of Fujiyasha since they parted in Isshiki Village? Also, Takauji’s illegitimate child Shiranuya Maru must have come of age by now. While such thoughts lingered, the nun and her son maintained a secluded household near Shinsen-en in Mibu within the capital, and Kakuichi went to his former biwa teacher. Moreover, the nun commuted to Reizei Tamesada, whom her sister Kiyoko had studied under, devoting herself to the path of waka poetry, and thus she had spent these past few years almost without realizing it. “So, your household in Mibu—is it just the two of you, mother and child?”

“Oh my, it’s truly like a warbler’s nest—a thatched hut in the shade of a thicket.” “Even so...” With that, the nun looked at Kakuichi. “How fortunate we came to the capital… At times, we even say to each other with deep feeling that we’ve had no hardships at all.” “But the dreadful state of people these past few days...” “What is to become of this?” “Nay, this commotion will subside before long, but for the time being, with the world remaining turbulent, it is unthinkable for you, Reverend Mother, and the blind one to venture out.” “It would be best if the two of you remained here at Komatsudani for the time being.”

Even Commissioner Nakatoki himself did not yet know how the current situation would conclude. For the protection of the mother and child, it had been deemed that there was no other way. “Feel free to stay for as many days as you need. This Komatsudani is the former site where Lord Taira no Shigemori once resided. When you grow weary, Kakuichi could take up the biwa and reminisce about the Lantern Minister’s elegant affairs. In any case, consider this your home and stay as long as you wish.” With those words, Echigo no Kami Nakatoki—busy even today with preparations for official duties—departed the Komatsudani residence on horseback, accompanied by retainers.

And when he emerged onto Kuruma Ōji, right at that moment, there was a group of Rokuhara constables charging north from Yamato Kaidō with fierce expressions. And at the very forefront, flying like Idaten, was Honjō Oniroku of the Kendansho, so Nakatoki called out from horseback, “Oniroku, what’s happening?” When he asked, “Ah! Lord Commissioner?” “You’ll be pleased to hear—” “We have finally managed to track down Lord Hino’s whereabouts near Fukakusa in the early hours this morning.” “We’re about to raid the hideout.” “By evening at the latest, we’ll have them bound and presented before the shirasu for your august viewing.” “My apologies—” With that, Oniroku once again went flying through the air as he raced away.

No sooner had he spoken than Oniroku once again took flight through the air and vanished.

Not long after that.

Under Honjō Oniroku’s command, approximately thirty arresting soldiers had begun crossing by wading from the east of Kamo, scattering as they headed toward the Nijō area on the opposite bank. “Don’t cluster! Spread out more—spread out!” Half of them proceeded through the town on land. Oniroku and his men headed slightly upstream along the riverbank under the shadow of the embankment.

Unaware of this, on that very morning, Hino Toshimoto had undone his hair tie and was having Kikuō bind his hair. The location was the house of a certain court musician (from the Gagaku Bureau) at the site of Hōshō-ji Temple. Moreover, this same Toshimoto—who had knocked late the previous night to beg for lodging—now swore in his heart that come morning, he absolutely must attend court from here. On the day when, not long before, Rokuhara had suddenly conducted their mass arrests all at once, he had fortunately been neither at home nor at the imperial court.

He had learned of the incident while away. The swordsmith Gotō Sukemitsu—with whom he regularly consulted regarding military provisions—maintained a separate residence in Fukakusa. He had been hiding there until just last night. But hearing daily reports of his associates being hauled to the Kendansho and rumors that Rokuhara was at last showing their true resolve, he could no longer remain still.

Especially—what had become of the imperial court? The Emperor’s distress. I worried that even His Majesty’s heart might be in turmoil. According to rumors I had gathered, the one who divulged the crucial matter of the eastern campaign and leaked it to Kamakura was none other than His Majesty’s own wet nurse’s husband—Yoshida Dainagon Sadafusa.

Having heard this, he could no longer sit still or remain idle. Forgetting the danger to himself, "I must attend court without fail." And so under cover of darkness, he had finally left his Fukakusa hideout—but he, being no deity, remained unaware this morning that Rokuhara agents' eyes had already caught wind of where Toshimoto had settled. "Good... This should suffice for my purification. And now, Kikuō—" "Right away!" Kikuō poured the water from the ear basin over the veranda railing into the Nakagawa River flowing directly below.

“Next will be your ceremonial attire, I presume.” “No, no—I will dress myself alone. You go to the neighboring Muryōju-in Temple and request their oxcart. This morning, our host here made an appeal, but they refused to grant it. Hurry and make ready.” Though typically composed, Toshimoto’s manner of speaking was uncharacteristically rushed.

“Understood.” Kikuō also rushed off as if sprinting away—here at the banks of Nakagawa in Nijō Kyōgoku, the Ōuchi palace gate stood just nearby. Even if only for the brief moment an oxcart’s ox would take to walk there. Yet even that short distance belonged to the daylight world.

“If I can just pass through the palace gate,” he thought, yet the anxiety of reaching that point surpassed even the hardship of a hundred-mile journey. Resentment toward Yoshida Sadafusa mingled with speculations about the imperial court’s turmoil—each wave pounding at his chest sent up its spray without exception. “My lord… The oxcart stands ready.” “Right. I come now.”

Toshimoto, while tying the cord of his court cap, hurried out from the rear to the narrow entrance platform. “Ah! Lord Ben!” Then immediately from behind him, the master of this place—a court musician (from the Gagaku Bureau)—came trotting after him, “Your ceremonial belt has become twisted at the waist. Please adjust it.” the court musician cautioned. “Ah, right.”

Toshimoto brushed his hand over his back, “Kikuō. I’ll change and be right back—in the meantime, keep watch over the alleys as a precaution.” Leaving those words behind, he hurried back to his original room and, with the master’s assistance, redressed his ceremonial robes. He suddenly remembered his wife Kousuke’s hands. On mornings when he attended court, Kousuke’s white hands would always tie even the cords of his hakama. His wife—how was she spending this morning?

Abruptly approaching the small desk, Toshimoto swept his brush across the poetry paper. He entrusted it to the innkeeper, asking if he might deliver this to his wife Kousuke when occasion permitted. On the paper was inscribed a poem— Yet further To stay yet not stay— Like floating reeds Drawn forth by Nakagawa’s current —written thus. During this interval, Kikuō—having raced back from inspecting nearby alleyways—now approached Toshimoto’s figure already visible beside the oxcart. “No irregularities appear outside,” he reported. “Now, my lord—to the carriage.”

With that urging, he immediately grasped the oxcart’s reins. The oxcart was jolted and shaken by the rubble of Hōjō-ji Temple’s ruins and the muddy alleys, soon emerging onto the main road. The dense forest of the palace grounds (over two hundred thousand tsubo at the time) loomed so close it seemed to brush against their brows.

However, the moment they emerged onto the main road, someone somewhere let out an “Ah?” When Kikuō sharply turned around, a fully armored man hastily pulled his head back into another alley. But that moment of perceived safety lasted only an instant—immediately four or five soldiers came swarming out, “Halt that oxcart!”

and surrounded the shafts. Kikuō muttered "...They're here!" while steeling himself, yet he couldn't help but show his agitation. But the interior of the oxcart remained quiet. He drew strength from that. "What is this?! Since when do you dare order us to halt?" "There's an inspection." "We require the carriage occupant to show their face." "Silence! Who do you imagine this noble lord to be? You overreach your station as common foot soldiers!" "Common we may be, but we act under the judicial office's authority. Our ignorance of this lord's identity precisely necessitates this inspection—will you comply?"

“Wh-what insolence! To address nobility thus!” “Nobility... Heh heh heh. There’s many sorts of nobility.” “Enough trouble!”

Suddenly extending his arm, the man grabbed at the edge of the curtain, then circled around to the back of the carriage. As Kikuō seized one by the collar and slammed him down by the ox’s feet, the soldiers clinging to the carriage’s rear were suddenly struck by Toshimoto’s kicks from inside the canopy, tumbling off to either side.

“Kikuō! Don’t mind them! Do it now!”

Under a fierce whip, the ox made the cart’s wheels clatter and broke into a run. They had intended to follow the wildly running ox diagonally across the main road and enter through Hasshōmon Gate, but unable to afford the time for such a detour, they took advantage of Mikenmon Gate being open and appeared to be making for it to escape inside. Hearing his subordinate’s loud shout, Honjō Oniroku came flying from the riverbank.—When he looked, a single oxcart was clattering and galloping madly toward where his subordinate soldiers were in pursuit.

“Damn!”

Cutting through the wind with his body, “Lord Hino! Wait!”

And he gave chase. They were already beneath Mikenmon Gate. One step beyond lay the palace grounds. "The rule to dismount and alight went without saying." Kikuō, cursing “Damn it all!”, struck the ox’s rump once more with a crack right at that boundary. No Rokuhara police could enter within the palace gates—if only they could take one step past this point. And whether the fact that Mikenmon Gate—which was usually closed—stood open was divine protection or not, he closed his eyes and struck the ox.

“Ah!”

“Who goes there?!” “Please dismount.” Those were the voices of guardsmen from the Left Guardsmen’s Office. In unison, they seized the shafts and ordered them to dismount. Both Kikuō and Toshimoto in the oxcart must have felt relieved—now safely within the palace gates, they had escaped the tiger’s jaws. Hino Toshimoto swept aside the curtain and leaned halfway out from the carriage: “Ah! Carelessness upon carelessness! I am Hino no Ushōben Toshimoto. An urgent summons to court compelled me to whip the ox too harshly—in its frenzy, even my attendants lost control, resulting in this disgrace… Forgive us.” “This is Hino no Ushōben Toshimoto. Pressed by a matter requiring immediate imperial attendance, I drove the ox too fiercely—its madness overpowered even my retainers, leading to this blunder…” “Forgive us.”

Having said all this in one breath, “Kikuō, my shoes.”

Urging himself on, he jumped down from the front of the carriage. With a flutter, the long hem of his robes parted from the carriage curtain—and right behind him, “I saw you, Lord Hino!” Honjō Oniroku and his men’s shout came almost simultaneously. “Outrageous!” Needless to say, a ferocious struggle instantly erupted between the guardsmen of the Imperial Guard attempting to block them and the fanatical Rokuhara agents. In the days of the Heiji Rebellion, this place too had been trampled by warrior straw sandals and horse hooves, but such lawless intrusion today was unforgivable for the Imperial Guard. Their utmost efforts to stop them were only natural.

Even the rough arresting soldiers faltered somewhat at that.—But for Oniroku, this was Hino Toshimoto—the man who had eluded him for years. —He had now seen the man’s true form before his very eyes. There could be no mercy. Moreover, within the hearts of these Kantō warriors lay both a reactionary contempt for "those pretentious blue-blooded courtiers" and an arrogant confidence that "even the imperial court now lies under the shogunate’s watch."

“What the?! Why?!” Oniroku spurred himself on and, cutting down the guardsmen blocking his path, “Lord Hino, that’s dirty! “You think you can escape? This Oniroku will let you get away?” As if leaning forward, he continued to give chase. Toshimoto, not even wearing his shoes, fled stumbling past the side of the Daizen-ryō toward the Nakatsukasa-shō, dragging the hem of his ceremonial robes like the tail of a long-tailed rooster. —He seemed to be trying to dash into the inner gate of the Eight Ministries’ hall. But between him dragging his hem and the agile Oniroku’s light attire, there was no comparison. In the end, when Toshimoto tripped over a large pine root, Oniroku had already come within reach of his back.

“Got you!”

The voice of Oniroku struck close to his ear along with the arm beneath it, "You lowlife!" Toshimoto barely managed to slip through,

“This is the imperial palace!” “This is the imperial palace!” “Withdraw, I say! Withdraw!” Twisting his body once more, he shouted with a glance that split the corner of his eye. Honjō Oniroku sneered mockingly. He snarled again. “What do you mean ‘imperial palace’? “You mean the palace where the Emperor resides?” Furthermore, with the force of his leap, “Imperial Palace—got it!” With that, he lunged and grappled him in a flash. And in an instant, the two men tangled like a pair of gamecocks scattering feathers, kicking up the immaculate white sand within Taikenmon Gate.

It was a deathly contest. With a thud, it was Oniroku who received the shoulder throw. For Oniroku, precisely because he absolutely had to capture him alive, he couldn't fully exert his desired force—perhaps that was where the opening had been. “Tch. My mistake.” He continued cursing himself like this. And rebounding, he leapt up— “You think I’d let you escape, evil courtier?”

Cursing all the while, he persistently chased after him like a leopard’s tail. By now, gasping, straining a voice that wouldn’t come out, Toshimoto— “Someone! Anyone!...” While running, time and again, “Come forth!” And he was calling for help in all directions.

And he fled from the Onmyōryō to the front of the Nakatsukasa-shō. Undoubtedly, he must have tried to stumble into the Chōdō hall from there—if one entered the inner court of the Eight Ministries' hall, a great number of court nobles and officials would be attending to their duties. But unfortunately, the side gate (wakinomon) leading there was closed. To detour to Shōkeimon Gate or Ōtenmon Gate would be no small distance. No—there was no time for such thoughts. Toshimoto was already a man of deathly eyes. Both the verdant May foliage covering Mount Ōuchi and the splendid roof tiles were plunged into utter darkness.

“No!” Startled, he began fleeing toward the Dairi. The hem was caught under Oniroku’s foot, making him lurch forward—but as the long robe tore away from somewhere, his dying form kept fleeing, staggering and crawling. “Someone!...” “Someone come…!”

No matter how vast the inner garden of the Imperial Palace was, there was no way this cry had not reached somewhere. Nearby stood buildings such as the Chamberlain’s Office and the Inner Inspectorate Bell. Yet despite this, save for the sound of wind through pines, all remained silent—not a single court noble came rushing forth.

Finally, he ran out of strength, “No... this can’t be!” As he lay collapsed on his back, Toshimoto saw the tiger-whiskered face panting heavily above him—close enough to touch. For an instant, he shut his eyes. —as if waiting to resign himself quietly to death—a fleeting moment. “Jailer, release your grip! “Release me—just for a moment.” “Y-You fool!” “I won’t flee... We’re already near Shōmeimon Gate. “His Majesty’s chambers lie close at hand. “This is most disrespectful. “I implore you. “Keep silent, I beg you!”

“What? So you won’t run anymore? Good!” “If that’s truly the case…” Oniroku boasted of his victory. Seizing the stone belt of Toshimoto’s courtly attire and yanking him upward, he swiftly twisted his own skilled arm— “Come on!”

With a harsh scraping—dragging him along the ground—he ran for about a hundred paces. But this was not Oniroku showing reverence by keeping his distance from the Emperor’s chambers. He had ventured too deep into the imperial garden, and his subordinates were nowhere to be seen. Thereupon, he bellowed a loud “Hey!” in all directions. Then, immediately upon learning Oniroku’s location, a great number of his subordinates came swarming in from all directions. And upon seeing Toshimoto’s figure, they all burst into an uproar.

Then, Oniroku’s pride immediately manifested itself in berating his subordinates. “Ha! You fools! Wandering around aimlessly—where have you been searching for what?” “Well—while we were fighting the guards, we ended up letting that Kikuō escape.” “What? You let him escape?” “You let him escape?” “We could not find where he had hidden himself.” “With all those men?!” With a contemptuous spit, “Enough, enough! — This courtier here is what matters now.” “Now, take him away immediately!”

They were mere ignorant foot soldiers. With a roar, they swarmed around Toshimoto and attempted to bind him with ropes. But Toshimoto furrowed his stern brows and pushed them back. He remained resolute and would not yield. “I will not flee,” he declared as his premise. “There exists no law permitting ropes over court attire.” “How could it ever be permissible to parade a bound man through palace gates?” “If you refuse consent—I, Toshimoto—will bite through my tongue and die here!” “Then your achievements will turn to dust, and Kamakura’s reprimand shall find you unavoidable.”

And without another word, “Stop with the rope.” “Just surround him as he is.”

Oniroku was already starting to walk ahead. "Stay your steps a moment."

Toshimoto remained still. “...I shall neither die nor resist. I will walk obediently wherever you command.” “But grant me this brief moment—you will all wait here quietly.” Adjusting his disheveled hair and straightening his court robes, Toshimoto lowered himself to sit upon the ground. For a long while, he pressed his forehead to the earth in deep prostration toward the great roof of the Imperial Palace. “........” What unvoiced cries he directed toward His Majesty’s chambers remained beyond the comprehension of all who witnessed this scene.

Yet even the heartless Rokuhara Police ruffians were silenced by tears streaming down his ghastly face—all this unfolding within palace gardens where many ought to have been present. Countless eyes from court nobles must have secretly witnessed this scene somewhere among those halls. Eventually Toshimoto raised his chest and declared aloud: “I would say I harbor no regrets... yet I, Toshimoto, cannot speak those words.” “That I cannot cast aside even one shred of resentment toward Lord Yoshida no Sadafusa—this above all torments me.”

Abruptly standing up, he declared once more as though shouting a cheer for the Imperial Palace.

“—Still, it is May! The young greenery never ceases to sprout. Though I alone perish, how could the realm’s summer turn backward? You who remain—live ever more resolutely in this world!” The moment he spoke, Oniroku— “Silence!”

With that, he gave a single forceful thrust to his back and drove him forward as if goading an ox. “Tch! A prisoner’s ballad grates on the ears—now march, march!” After the group that had seized Toshimoto departed through the Taikenmon Gate, a sudden clamor—part weeping, part outrage—erupted throughout the palace grounds. And then, even deep within the Inner Palace, came the thud, thud, thud… of urgent footsteps.

“This is terrible! Just now—Lord Hino—” “To the Rokuhara detention center!”

“How cruel! He is being dragged away!” “What a waste! What a waste!” “He looks utterly aggrieved…” Every voice rose in agitation. The Rokui Kurōdo and lesser courtiers of the Senior Sixth Rank swarmed to report their covert sightings from shadowed corners to the high-ranking nobles of the Inner Palace.

The senior nobles had already known. It goes without saying that reports of the Rokuhara Police’s lawless intrusion had swiftly reached even the vicinity of their seats from the Left Guards Office. But on this day as well, they were packed into the Inner Palace— Kazan'in Morikata Madenokōji Nobufusa, Fujifusa Kitabatake Tomoyuki Karasumaru no Narisuke In addition, Chigusa Tadaaki, Bōmon no Kiyotada, and all the many other court nobles— “Ah. Even within the palace gates…?”

“Even within the palace gates…?”

“How unreasonable!” They could only bite their lips and, in that moment, had no idea what to do—or rather, it would not be wrong to say they were trembling with terror at anticipating what further outrages might follow and whether the clutches of evil would close in on them as well. Thus now, when they heard from various servants that “the intruding Rokuhara Police have already seized Toshimoto alone and departed,” the court nobles’ faces could not help but show a hint of relief somewhere in their expressions. And their outrage at Rokuhara’s tyranny, and their bitter tears at the thought that even the Imperial Palace had now been violated by their muddied feet—these came only afterward.

“Withdraw, for now.” “You lot—after withdrawing, keep your mouths shut and don’t cause commotions.” “Keep quiet and redouble your vigilance over all gates and any suspicious comings and goings hereafter.”

With that, once they had withdrawn. “……Well.” “I must report this to His Majesty.” Someone muttered gravely, without any particular target. For whoever it was, delivering that report must have been agonizing. The elderly Nobufusa stood in silence. Even without that, since the incident’s outbreak, the Emperor’s distress went without saying. It was being said in the Bureau of Imperial Cuisine that even the imperial meals had been reduced. There, all events and imperial outings had been suspended, and whether in the nighttime palace halls or the daytime imperial seat, the Seiryōden was no different from a giant ice chamber. Even now, beside the faint light from the latticed shutters, next to the bedchamber where a large desk had been placed, he sat somewhat slumped, resting his cheek on his hand as if weary.

“...Nobufusa.” Then Renzi, the favored consort at his side, gently alerted His Majesty.

After much anxious deliberation, had he drifted into a doze, perhaps even dreaming? His Majesty, upon being approached by Nobufusa who had come to attend him, wore a startled expression. “Nobufusa.” “Did something happen?” he was the first to ask. And when His Majesty heard that Hino Toshimoto had been dragged from within the palace gates, the color of imperial fury rapidly spread across his august visage. “An unconscionable act.”

He muttered under his breath. The Emperor’s loathing for the shogunate was of long standing, but never before had Nobufusa seen such intensity in the corners of His Majesty’s eyes as he did now. His Majesty was drenched in tears of grief. But His Majesty seemed to be trying to endure it, his eyes tightly closed.

“Nobufusa.” “Yes.” “This is Toshimoto’s second capture.” “...during the Shōchū Incident.” “It marks his second imprisonment.” “He cannot possibly survive this time.” “...Most likely not.” “What bitter resentment he must have felt.” “...Though he had come so near to the Inner Palace...” “They say he was dragged away while turning back toward Your Majesty’s chambers several times.” “That I can well believe. Did he speak?” “Did he say anything?”

“He reportedly strained his voice twice.” “‘My only regret is that I could not say one word to Lord Dainagon Yoshida Sadafusa.’” “…………” Even Lady Sanmi Renzi, the favored consort, upon merely hearing Yoshida Sadafusa’s name, flashed a glance toward His Majesty with charcoal-darkened eyebrows that seemed to smolder with contempt for a “traitor” and hatred for an “informer.”

However, the nature of her anguish differed from Go-Daigo's silence. For Emperor Go-Daigo, even now, he could not bring himself to believe that his imperial tutor Yoshida had informed Kamakura—no matter what. Originally, Yoshida Sadafusa, the Dainagon, had been the "official in charge of shogunate affairs" within the imperial court. Contact with Kamakura was inevitably frequent. Someone must have exploited his position to craft this fabricated plot for their own ends—and there must have been someone out there seeking to splinter the unity within the imperial court and destabilize the imperial throne itself.

Of course, given the shogunate’s policy, that was only natural, but Go-Daigo’s suspicions lay within his own court. They extended to dissidents within the imperial court and the movements of the Jimyō-in faction. Suppose—let us call those elements discordant with His Majesty’s will the anti-Go-Daigo faction. The anti-Go-Daigo faction itself was divided into two.

The first were court nobles who had served the Retired Emperor Go-Uda; after His Cloistered Majesty’s passing, most of this faction’s members remained disgraced, relegated to stagnant posts with no prospects of advancement or withdrawn into seclusion. Why? From the time of Crown Prince Takaharu’s era onward, a robust network of favored vassals supporting him had already coalesced around Go-Daigo.

Furthermore, His Majesty’s own personality was remarkably strong, and his affections toward his subjects and the weight he gave to their appointments were exceedingly clear. In other words, “The shogunate must be destroyed” “Restore governance to the ancient ways of the imperial court.” For the imperial throne of Go-Daigo—founded on comradely unity—the late emperor’s surviving retainers were, so to speak, oil and water.

Next.—The other major anti-Go-Daigo faction was what was called the Jimyō-in Imperial Line.

Emperor Go-Daigo was of the Daikakuji Imperial Line. The eventual conflict between the "Southern Court" and "Northern Court" had its distant roots in the entanglement of these two imperial lines. taking turns

Now, having arrived at this point.

The author of this *Private Edition Taiheiki* collided with a "narrative wall." To write about the Nanboku-chō period, one inevitably encountered the thorny issue of "the alternate succession system between two imperial lines"—a topic that demanded addressing at least once. alternate succession system To phrase it thus might seem abstruse, but in essence, there had been an era when a single imperial family split into two factions. Over generations, imperial princes became entangled in struggles for the throne until they agreed to alternately put forth emperors from both sides—a system of "taking turns."

Moreover, this agreement was not honored. If there had been humans capable of keeping even promises between ordinary people or treaties between nations, wars would have been reduced by half or more throughout human history. While it cannot be said that this was entirely the cause of the great turmoil between the Northern and Southern Courts, at the very least, critical matters such as imperial succession— taking turns The reliance on such agreements—taking turns—undeniably became a root cause of calamity.—Thus, even the “unbroken imperial lineage” and “myth of eternal imperial unity” descended into disarray, culminating in a great national schism where the Southern and Northern Courts clashed relentlessly.

Now, as to what circumstances led to its beginning—

From the current era of Emperor Go-Daigo, tracing back approximately ninety years, Emperor Go-Saga

There was Emperor Go-Saga. This emperor, having been installed through the Hōjō clan's machinations as their chosen candidate, showed unwavering obedience to the Kantō authorities from the very outset. When the first prince born to Empress Consort Saionji Kitsushi reached four years of age, he abdicated the throne and established the child as— Emperor Go-Fukakusa —thereby enthroning him as Emperor Go-Fukakusa.

However, afterward, out of excessive affection for the second prince born from the same womb, he forced Go-Fukakusa to abdicate at seventeen without reason and established the eleven-year-old second prince as Emperor Kameyama. Later, Go-Fukakusa made the Jimyō-in his imperial residence, so his line was called the Jimyō-in Imperial Line, while Kameyama resided at the Daikakuji, leading people to refer to his line as the Daikakuji Imperial Line. And thus, this also served as the inception of the "alternate succession system."

The reason was this: Emperor Go-Saga had once again appointed the prince of his younger brother Emperor Kameyama as Crown Prince. —The younger brother Kameyama was quick-witted, while the elder brother Go-Fukakusa was meek.—Yet even so, Go-Fukakusa grew furious at this. That resentment had lain dormant for many years. When his father Emperor Go-Saga passed away, Go-Fukakusa saw his moment and sought to seize control of the cloistered government. However, Emperor Kameyama also interfered in this.—A quarrel between younger and elder brothers.—The Hōjō Shogunate, petitioned by both sides, found itself at a loss over which side to support.

Thereupon, they resorted to having Empress Dowager Kitsushi—the late emperor’s empress—answer the question: "Where did Emperor Go-Saga’s final will lie?"

Then, Empress Dowager Kitsushi answered without hesitation, “It was naturally within Emperor Kameyama’s lineage.” Go-Fukakusa also had children. The disappointment went without saying. Thus, from this moment onward, even the court officials split into two factions.

Cloistered government

The system of cloistered government—this was ancient. The Emperor remained a symbolic figure even then. The true seat of governance, authority, and imperial ambition had long resided with retired emperors or cloistered emperors dwelling in the "retired emperor's residence," stretching back beyond even the distant Genpei era. Thus for generations, it stood as an unshakable truth: "Should one merely ascend to the Chrysanthemum Throne as Emperor, unless one rises further to become a retired emperor administering cloistered government, there exists no purpose in having become the Son of Heaven." This makes plain—

Emperor Go-Saga’s earlier unreasonable measures were none other than his own desire to prolong his enjoyment of the authority and glory of the cloistered government for as long as possible. Moreover, one can understand Go-Fukakusa’s long-frustrated desire to seize the seat of cloistered government immediately after his father’s passing—thinking, “Now is the time”—just as it’s impossible not to grasp Emperor Kameyama’s resolve to crush his elder brother Go-Fukakusa’s hopes with a decisive “This I shall not permit.” If one were to insist on seeking what remains incomprehensible, it would be the extremity of favoritism shown by their late father Emperor Go-Saga.—On his deathbed, this Go-Saga had even left behind a posthumous edict of the following nature.

(...The imperial throne shall henceforth and forever be succeeded by the descendants of Emperor Kameyama.—In exchange, I shall grant the descendants of Go-Fukakusa one hundred and eighty estates across the provinces. Therefore, henceforth, sever all hopes for the Imperial Throne.) By invoking this edict, Emperor Kameyama soon established his own son as Emperor Go-Uda and claimed the long-awaited power for himself. It was here that Go-Fukakusa showed compassion.—He declared his intention to take monastic vows. However, should Go-Fukakusa become a monk, many of his retainers would never find peace in their lifetimes. They employed every means at their disposal to sway the shogunate.

The regent at the time was Hōjō Tokimune. Tokimune had discerned. The cause of the entanglement between the two imperial lines lay partly in the emotions of women within the inner palace. *Well*, *this* *is* *most* *troublesome* *indeed*, he thought.

Indeed, it was a tangled web. Empress Kōshi Saionji of Go-Fukakusa was the sister of Emperor Go-Saga’s widow—Empress Dowager Kitsushi—making their relationship that of aunt and nephew, and thus his aunt was also his wife.

However, Empress Kōshi had borne no imperial prince. The imperial heir had been born to the Betsunami Consort, Genkimon-in. Yet this Genkimon-in's elder sister had become Emperor Kameyama's imperial consort. Thus between the two sisters—the elder wedded to the younger brother-emperor, the younger to the elder brother-emperor—their marriages formed an inverted cross. Moreover, Empress Dowager Kitsushi Saionji had vigorously upheld the late Emperor Go-Saga's partiality.—Emotional entanglements of the sort common even among lowlier folk must have lain hidden beneath the surface, inscrutable yet potent. In the end, not even the shogunate could render clear judgment on such matters.

Thereupon, Tokimune declared bluntly—or rather, humbly remonstrated: “The imperial household’s internal affairs should be decided by the imperial household. However, I must state that in any era, unnatural succession to the imperial throne is the root of disorder. I urge you to consider this carefully.” The shogunate’s remonstrance had still appended further remarks: Originally, His Majesty Go-Fukakusa, as the legitimate heir, had committed no misgovernment. Yet for His Majesty to endure such prolonged seclusion over many years—was this not exceedingly pitiful? At the very least, enthroning His Majesty Go-Fukakusa’s offspring next would be the proper course of action.

As a matter of course, Kameyama had no choice but to comply. Eventually, after Emperor Go-Uda’s reign, they established the son of his elder brother Go-Fukakusa as— Emperor Fushimi

they came to enthrone Emperor Fushimi.

This was the background of the two imperial lines.

If diagrammed, it would form the following lineage.

Thus.

Emperor Go-Uda was forced to abdicate, and it was in the tenth year of Kōan that Go-Fukakusa's son became Emperor Fushimi.

With this, even the faint-hearted Go-Fukakusa's long-pent frustrations were dispelled all at once. Yet when matters came to this pass, even an emperor of such good nature could not help having flaws emerge precisely from that goodness. Having seized their moment, Go-Fukakusa's factional retainers—determined never again to yield the throne to the Daikakuji line—devised a stratagem to solidify their footing: "The Daikakuji line," they proclaimed, "centered around Retired Emperor Kameyama, conspires to avenge the grudge of the Jōkyū Rebellion." Thus did they spread their slander. Long ago, when Emperor Go-Toba's imperial restoration had collapsed during that Jōkyū turmoil, Hōjō Yoshitoki—regent of those days—had exiled him to Oki Island, while Retired Emperors Juntoku and Tsuchimikado were banished to Sado and Tosa. The bitter nightmare of loyalist defeat remained carved deep into men's hearts even now, a full century later.

Therefore, for the Daikakuji line to use this in appealing to the shogunate was an exceedingly malicious scheme, and they bitterly regretted having ceded the imperial throne even temporarily.—Moreover, while the Jimyō-in line possessed vast estates inherited from Emperor Go-Saga, the Daikakuji line, having relinquished the throne, had no financial resources for their factional retainers to rely on. Thus, Retired Emperor Kameyama, seething with indignation, exposed the faults of the Jimyō-in line at every turn and appealed to the shogunate. In essence, it was nothing more than a sibling quarrel within the imperial family. However, if framed as a conflict between two imperial lines, the matter would be of grave significance. It could very well become a repeat of the Hōgen Rebellion.

Thereupon, the shogunate side, having been at a loss in handling the situation, submitted a proposal to the imperial court. This was what became known as the “Alternate Succession System Proposal.”

It was a system where every ten years, the Jimyō-in faction and the Daikakuji faction would alternately appoint a Crown Prince from their respective lines and pass on the imperial throne. Humans are comical creatures. Even such a temporary stopgap measure seemed momentarily plausible to them.—Soon after Emperor Fushimi, a prince from the same Jimyō-in line swiftly assumed the position of Crown Prince, and for the Daikakuji line, this yet again resulted in an unconcealable blunder that shook the realm.

This is an incident that also appears in *Masukagami*. It can be considered credible.

In March of the third year of Shōō during Emperor Fushimi’s reign. Three fearsome warriors galloped into the palace grounds on horseback and, in an instant, stormed up to the Seiryō Hall with their boots still on. They were armored warriors like the red and blue demons depicted in picture scrolls. Among them, the tallest one seized a court lady and demanded, “...Where is the Emperor sleeping? If you try to hide it, I’ll chop your head off!” he said. The court lady, her teeth chattering, answered, “...He is in the ‘Night Palace,’ northeast of the Central Hall,” and when the bandits ran off, she stumbled into the Emperor’s sleeping chambers and secretly reported in a hushed voice.

That night, the Emperor had been resting at the Empress’s Kōkiden Palace, but in haste had a court lady’s robe draped over him and retreated to another hall. Meanwhile, the bandits, finding no trace of his figure, stamped their feet around the Night Palace. In that brief interval, the palace had already erupted into utter chaos. Kagemasa, a warrior of the Empress’s household, crossed blades with the bandits and was cut down beneath the veranda railing, while numerous Takinokuchi warriors converged shouting: “There!” “Over there!” “Don’t let them escape!”—their clamor racing from the Daibansho kitchens to the Fujitsubo chambers.

In the meantime, over fifty guards from Nijō-Kyōgoku also galloped to join the fray, and the bandits must have thought their luck had run out. They fled into the Night Palace, borrowed the Emperor’s cushion, and all three cut their stomachs and died.—By the time their corpses were carried to Rokuhara, it was already morning, and the streets were a sea of onlookers.

As a result of the investigation— The culprits were identified as Asahara Hachirō and his son from Kai Province. However, when Asahara’s sword was authenticated as “Namazuo,” a blade passed down through generations in Sanjō no Saishō Sanemori’s family, Sanjō no Saishō himself was immediately arrested by Kendansho officers. From his subsequent confession emerged a signed testimony declaring Retired Emperor Kameyama himself to be the architect of the plot.

Go-Fukakusa of the Jimyō-in line was mild by nature, while Kameyama was resolute and often rough. Given their longstanding resentment, [Kameyama] must have orchestrated the plot to assassinate Emperor Fushimi.—The public also deemed it a plausible scenario. In particular, the Empress’s brother, Saionji Kinhira, and others zealously pressured the shogunate to punish Retired Emperor Kameyama, so he finally sent an explanatory letter addressed to Regent Sadatoki stating, "...I have absolutely no involvement in this matter," and furthermore took Buddhist vows at the age of forty-one.

However, Emperor Go-Fushimi, who succeeded Emperor Fushimi, abided by the agreement of alternating succession and next abdicated the throne to the Daikakuji line’s Emperor Go-Nijō. And, following protocol, when they proposed appointing Tomihito—younger brother of Go-Fushimi from the Jimyō-in line—as the next Crown Prince, this again displeased Retired Emperor Go-Uda of the Daikakuji line, sparking a dispute; yet the Kamakura shogunate steadfastly maintained the alternate succession system and refused to yield. Amid these tensions, Go-Fukakusa passed away, and Retired Emperor Kameyama also departed this life. Furthermore, Emperor Go-Nijō died young after a mere five-year reign, whereupon the long-designated Crown Prince, Prince Tomihito, ascended the throne.

Emperor Hanazono is respectfully referred to as Emperor Hanazono.

Next, as for the next Crown Prince, The Daikakuji line's Emperor Go-Uda's royal son, Prince Takayoshi, was established as Crown Prince.—This Prince Takayoshi was none other than,

Emperor Go-Daigo He became Crown Prince at twenty-one. He ascended the imperial throne at thirty-one. After successive generations of child emperors, there now appeared—remarkably—an emperor in his prime, rich in wisdom and experience. The ten-year imperial succession system naturally grew untenable as generations accumulated. When appointing the Crown Prince, one could not simply designate only the legitimate heir. Branches upon branches sprouted like limbs from limbs, and by Go-Daigo's reign, court officials had effectively split into four lords and four factions.

In the Jimyō-in line stood the two retired emperors Go-Fushimi and Hanazono, while the Daikakuji line counted both Retired Emperors Go-Uda and Go-Nijō among its ranks. Yet Go-Daigo alone differed markedly in his thinking—forged through his prolonged tenure as Crown Prince that included years of quasi-commoner existence. "The imperial succession concerns none but our house," he maintained inwardly. "For ninety years since Go-Saga's reign, our forebears trembled at the shogunate's every breath—kowtowing to their dictates at every juncture! Such obsequiousness marks the pinnacle of folly."

Under this imperial view, "What past emperors did matters not. I am who I am."

With his enthronement, he had already begun harboring a secret defiance from that very time.

Ten years of reign quickly passed. It was the promised abdication deadline. Truly anticlimactic. However, for Crown Prince Kuniyoshi (son of his deceased elder brother Emperor Go-Nijō), this was the long-awaited moment. They repeatedly sent secret envoys to Kamakura and began covertly scheming for Emperor Go-Daigo’s abdication. Emperor Go-Daigo was no fool. He knew full well. Yet even after a decade passed, there remained not the slightest indication of His Majesty relinquishing the throne. Then came the Shōchū Incident. Following this, Crown Prince Kuniyoshi departed this world.

Was it not His Majesty’s innermost resolve at that moment—that this was a rare chance to be seized? Emperor Go-Daigo attempted to have his second prince, Prince Yutaka, installed as Crown Prince. But within the Hōjō Shogunate, they remained vigilant, thinking, “By no means let your guard down against this emperor.” The shogunate resolutely opposed this. “The agreement of imperial succession will not be rendered void.” “The next Crown Prince should be appointed from the Jimyō-in line as per the proper order.” “—None other than Prince Kagehito, the royal son of Emperor Go-Fushimi, is most suitable.”

Inevitably, that came to pass. The first emperor of the Northern Court, Emperor Kōgon, was this Crown Prince. Nevertheless, the Jimyō-in faction,

“A decade has already passed.” “His Majesty Go-Daigo must abdicate without a single day’s delay.” From behind the scenes, they prodded Kamakura in various ways. However, as the Shōchū Incident had also exposed, the Hōjō clan itself had already seen its actual power become questionable.

“The shogunate’s hand has been revealed.” With that established, Emperor Go-Daigo now wore an expression of resolute defiance.—Even if Prince Kagehito of the Jimyō-in line had been made Crown Prince, His Majesty had no intention of retracing the foolish paths trodden by his predecessors. “The time is ripe! Since I have ascended to the throne, how could I ever yield this imperial seat to another lineage again? ... Moreover, not only must we rectify the current state of the imperial household, but we must also restore governance to the ancient systems of Engi and Tenryaku and thoroughly purge this nest of uncouth warriors in Kamakura.”

This was the solemn vow rooted in the depths of his being.

However, for all his wisdom and boldness, that alone was not the whole story. It could be said these were aided by the surrounding ambitions closing in, the new currents of Song Confucianism that served as their stimulant, and the soil of the times where all things hastened toward a combustible state. The igniter of that combustible matter—Hino Toshimoto—had already become a single leaf of rebellion's fire and was now being sent off to Kamakura.

Toshimoto was beheaded. It was July 7th of that year.

A great earthquake struck, centered on the Tōkaidō, shocking Kyoto and the entire Kantō region.

The records state: "Mount Fuji collapsed for thousands of shaku." It was recorded. At that time, Mount Fuji was an active volcano that perpetually billowed smoke, but during the great earthquake, it rained ash across vast areas. For several nights, the vivid flames from its summit burned so fiercely that they turned the tides of Tōkai's seas red.

×　　　　　　　×

“Mount Fuji is burning!” “No—it’s the mountain deity’s wrath!” “This ain’t normal—somethin’ terrible’s happenin’!” Kamakura’s government was also in an uproar. The buildings of Ryōei had sustained damage, and collapsed houses lay scattered throughout the city. Due to the aftershocks, many commoners still slept on mats spread across bamboo groves for days on end. To compound matters, In June of that very month—from Rokuhara to Kamakura’s precincts—a great many bound prisoners had been transported in succession: Hino Toshimoto at their head, followed by monks deemed major conspirators in the Imperial Loyalists’ plot—Monkan, Chūen, Chikyō, Yūga, and Enkan. Thus all the more,

“In case of any contingency,” the shogunate enforced controls with wartime severity, cracking down on rumormongers and suspicious entrants while stationing troops to block the seven mountain passes. Moreover, at their tribunal in Ryōei’s sandy court, they passed judgment on the conspiratorial monks who had been under investigation—issuing sentences just five days after the earthquake—and exiled them to distant provinces. The principal figures were: Chūen: Echigo Province.

Enkan was placed into the permanent custody of Yūki Nyūdō in Ōshū. The gravest crime was that of Bishop Monkan; his punishment was been decided as exile to Kikaigashima—that is, Sulfur Island—where Shunkan of the Taira clan had been sent long ago. However, this bishop was hated in more ways than one. The testimony circulated from Rokuhara had left a poor impression, and at the shogunate’s tribunal, Monkan had said everything he wanted to say—perhaps resigning himself with the thought that "...In any case, my head is forfeit"—displaying a resolve and boldness of face entirely unlike the other high priests.

Naturally, within the shogunate, “However learned he may be, such a rebellious monk must not be suffered to live.”

The death penalty had been deemed certain, but suddenly it was reduced by one degree. According to the Classic Taiheiki, the reason for the commutation of his sentence is stated as follows. In a dream of Sagami Nyūdō Takatoki, thousands of monkeys appeared as messengers from Mount Hiei. Thereupon, Takatoki—greatly fearing this to be a divine warning for having subjected such a revered monk to brutal torture—quickly dispatched agents to have them monitor Monkan’s condition. Then, because the messenger reported that Monkan’s shadow had appeared on the prison cell’s shoji screen in the form of Fudō Myōō’s image, suddenly—

“This is no ordinary man.” And so they ceased the torture, reduced the death penalty by one degree, and sentenced him to exile on Sulfur Island—or so it is recorded. At that time, Mount Hiei—where Prince Ōtōin resided—was aligned with the Imperial Loyalists, so the Classic Taiheiki likely crafted such a narrative. But being mere dream lore, it holds little substance. If one were pressed to seek another reason for the Kamakura Shogunate’s change of heart, it would lie in the public unrest following the great earthquake combined with Takatoki’s superstitious fears—yet in Hino Toshimoto’s subsequent sentencing, not the slightest leniency was shown.

Toshimoto had earlier been escorted from Rokuhara by Honjō Oniroku and was now strictly confined under Suwa Saburō Moritaka’s custody in this Kamakura front.

His sorrow had now persisted for over seventy days. The peak of summer had passed, but Kamakura’s distinctive heat lingered. Inside the tatami cell, even during the day, the buzzing of mosquitoes clung to one’s ears. Perhaps a cave prison would have been better after all. “Guard… The mosquito repellent has run out.” “Could you burn some kaya wood chips again?” “Living is such a nuisance.” “This mosquito onslaught has me thoroughly worn out.”

In the stifling darkness of the cell, he sat facing his desk. Reading and writing materials seemed to be permitted.

From the cell door, one of the guards showed his face.

“Ah, Lord Ben. Today your room change should occur shortly. Please endure it a little longer.” “Hmm… Are they doing the usual room cleaning again? By day mosquitoes, by night fleas. On rare occasions, one could use some outside air. Well then, I’ll await the airing out.” There was no one to answer him. Half of it was soliloquy. Before long, Saburō Moritaka—son of his lord Suwa Nyūdō Shinshō—arrived, had the cell door opened, and addressed Toshimoto inside,

“Please come this way, Lord Ben.” “...as another room has been prepared.” Suwa Saburō Moritaka stood to guide him. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say they surrounded him and led him away. His skin, unexposed to sunlight all summer, took on a plant-like pallor in the bright corridor, and his over-seventy-day-old beard had grown wild and unkempt. The room to which he had been transferred was the annex study adjacent to the guest chamber. As he sat on the round cushion, he suddenly noticed a plain silver folding screen arranged in one corner, where a mirror stand, hand basin, razor, and other items had been prepared.

“Ah…” “So it comes to this.” As he nodded inwardly, Moritaka’s suggestive words were—uncharacteristically—spoken with such politeness. “In accordance with the shogunate’s orders, we have kept you in custody these seventy-odd days—yet this too must be some karmic bond.” “…Therefore, so you may spend this night in some comfort, we have prepared a razor there. Please bathe, shave your beard, and change out of your soiled prison garb in the bathhouse.”

“I am grateful.” Toshimoto slightly inclined his head. He instantly grasped the implication behind Moritaka’s words—this was notification of his execution. If they spoke of granting him “at least one night,” then his death must surely be scheduled for tomorrow. From the day he had departed the capital, he had resolved that death might come at any moment. Even massacres during travel were hardly rare occurrences. That he had been kept waiting over seventy days felt strangely incongruous. “In deference to your command, I shall stretch my limbs and sleep soundly tonight.” “What joy to finally rid myself of this beard.” “Long have I wished to shave off this unsightly growth before my head meets its fate.” “After all, this Toshimoto was counted among the most fastidious dandies at court. Ha ha ha ha!”

“By the way…” Moritaka added another statement that took Toshimoto by surprise. “Though not an official matter, a guest should come quietly here when night falls.” “That said, they’re someone with whom the shogunate finds no fault.” “You may leisurely take your time saying farewells.”

Who could it be? Who would come here tonight to bid farewell? Moritaka, his lord, departed without disclosing the visitor’s name. Toshimoto did not press for answers either. Whatever the case might be, he abhorred clinging to worldly attachments. Soon he impassively commenced the purifying preparations for his imminent death at dawn.

First, he faced the mirror and cleanly shaved off his over-seventy-day-old beard. While he used the razor, two of Moritaka’s retainers sat keeping watch. This was likely out of precaution against any emergency. When he was finished, “Is everything satisfactory?” With that, they withdrew, taking the razors, hand basin, and other tools with them. In the bathhouse, everything from undergarments to a light blue hakama and kosode had been laid out, all new. “Ah… How long it’s been since my body and mind felt like this.” With that, he leaned his freshly bathed body against a pillar on the veranda, letting the occasional gentle breeze—spilled by the rising new moon of a summer night—blow through his emptied mind for a time.

Insects buzzed. In the darkness of the courtyard, moonflowers swayed. He felt as though he were back at his Seventh Avenue residence in the capital. "...Koukyō," he whispered inwardly. Were he to call aloud, he might hear her answer "Yes" from the corridor and see her approach with elegant grace. When he thought of his wife, "Poor soul... What will become of you when I'm gone," he reflected, tears streaming ceaselessly. He did not try to wipe them away. He wished to let his cheeks stay drenched in tears eternally.

——Then, from the other side of the veranda one step lower in the middle courtyard, came the voice of someone unnoticed,

"...There?" he heard someone ask. After dismissing the attendant who had guided him there, the figure quietly ascended the steps.

He was a warrior in a musha eboshi hat wearing a hunting robe of pale blue dyed with dayflowers in mottled shades, with a fine tachi sword at his side. He appeared to be about twenty-six or twenty-seven. His bone structure—characteristic of Kanto samurai—stood out immediately, yet his bearing carried an unexpectedly grand air. Quietly approaching Toshimoto and sitting facing him, he bowed once, then remained silent for a time, surrendering his form to the other man’s puzzled stare. “Truly,” he finally said, “it has been some time.”

Eventually, he spoke, but Toshimoto still could not recall even a shadow of memory and tilted his head slightly. “Who might you be? You say it has been some time—when and where did you meet me, Toshimoto?” “It’s only natural you don’t remember. …That was already nine years ago.” “…Nine years ago.” “On a boat descending the Yodo River.” “What’s this?” “That too was but a distant glimpse you had the honor of. You were in hunting attire, accompanied by a page named Kikuō, and on the boat, you were engrossed in reading. But then you became interested in the worldly chatter of the common passengers and began exchanging drinks with them, appearing quite amused…… Alas, I disembarked earlier that evening at Yamazaki.”

“Ah….” “Then, your lordship from that time—” “The fellow passenger from that occasion.” “Ah, so… Ah, so you are that Ashikaga Matatarō Takauji from back then?”

“That’s correct.” “I am Matatarō Takauji of Ashikaga, now serving in the Kamakura lord’s warrior office, residing in this capital while leaving Ashikaga-no-Sho.” “Well now...” Toshimoto could do nothing but stare fixedly at this unexpected visitor.

This was their first formal exchange of names, yet neither Toshimoto nor Takauji felt it to be their true first meeting. For Toshimoto especially—through lingering impressions from that Yodo River boat journey and tales he had heard of Sasaki Dōyo—there had always been, in some corner of his heart over the years, a man of the Eastern Provinces—Takauji. This man's existence had persisted through the era's turbulence like a constant storm. "Well now,"

Hino Toshimoto spoke in a sigh-like voice.

“To think we’d renew our bond from that single boat nine years ago—here of all places.” “But Takauji—why tonight have you come to visit me, Toshimoto, a prisoner of the shogunate?” “Does it seem strange?” “In truth, I brought a jug of sake as a humble gesture.” “Though summer nights are brief, I shall keep you company.” “I had hoped to hear your endless tales...” “Sake...”

At the same time, he clearly felt a sense of parting from this world. Bowing his head to Takauji’s resolve, “Truly, I had long forgotten even the scent of sake. I shall gladly indulge in your kind offer. Ah, to think I would meet with such unexpected fortune.”

Before long, Moritaka’s retainer brought in a tray of dishes and a flask of sake. Except when calling for sake, they kept others away, and by midnight, it was only the moon at the eaves and the two here. Yet Takauji showed no sign of caution toward anyone regarding his visit to Hino Toshimoto’s cell there. In Kamakura’s capital, his reputation as a “carefree wanderer” remained famous, and though Takauji continued to be nothing more than a member of the warrior office without ever rising to prominence, people naturally came to regard him as exceptional due to his status as brother-in-law to the former regent—his wife Toko’s brother Hōjō Moritoki had resigned on July 7th, and the new regent Hōjō Shigetoki now occupied the position.

Therefore, even today, “To permit Lord Hino—condemned tomorrow—a final purification and ceremonial cup: such mercy embodies warrior compassion.” “All appear reluctant.” “Should others refuse this duty, Takauji means to perform it himself.”

He had deliberately declared this publicly among the Council of State members and had informed the Regent. The regency was nominally held by Shigetoki at that time, yet Takatoki's close associates still strongly supported Takatoki and maintained their grip on power. Moreover, entangled in covert struggles with Nagasaki Takasue of the Naikanrei and others, even within the shogunate, they now concealed from the world the creaking signs of their unsustainable collapse. Thus Takauji directed his usual "carefree wanderer" persona toward this residence, communicated his intentions to Suwa Moritaka, and accomplished this meeting—yet none regarded it with suspicion. In such circumstances, even his sluggish "carefree wanderer" persona's apparent incompetence greatly served his convenience.

The moon at the eaves was beginning to sink. “Takauji. No more sake. I’ve drunk my fill.” “...This humble one too has overstayed his welcome here. Yet you remain unchanged from when I saw you on that Yodo River boat.” “No—tomorrow night I shall drink beneath the moon of the underworld. I mustn’t begin my journey with a fool’s hangover. Hahaha.” “Hahaha. Such refreshing words. Is there anything you wish to entrust to this world?”

“Huh.” “Things I want to leave unsaid?”

As if drawn in, he echoed the other's words, "That—there are mountains of it." Toshimoto wore a self-mocking smile. "Indeed there are."

And Takauji, conversely, absorbed it deeply. “Whatever you command shall be done.” “If it lies within this Takauji’s power, I shall arrange matters in any way.” “Yoshiie—this kindness moves me beyond measure.”

For the first time, Toshimoto seemed to wholeheartedly accept Takauji’s compassion. Until then, he had seemed to harbor some doubts and pretenses, but now cast them aside, reduced to a fragile solitary being. “Before I say what I must say, there is something I must know.” “You are the brother-in-law of the former regent—given that, I presume you are aware of the truth as well.” “As for that—” “To put it plainly—is the claim that Yoshida no Dainagon Sadafusa, the Emperor’s tutor, informed against the honorable plot of the court true, or is it a false rumor?”

“The handwriting on the secret document is undoubtedly Lord Sadafusa’s own, I have heard.” “So it was true…”

This alone seemed to have been what had turned into a flame in his wrath.

Glaring at the night sky beyond the eaves, he assumed a countenance full of bitter regret. But he did not put anything into words.

And before long. “All worldly matters defy understanding, but none more than how people part and meet.” “From His Majesty down to us—to be betrayed by those we deemed peerless allies, yet shown such compassion by you of Kamakura’s inner circle…” “That too must be a karmic bond from past lives.” “I imagine your misfortune lay in being born to nobility—had you been a warrior’s son like us, you might have lived gloriously as some army’s champion general.”

“No, no—even were I to die an untimely death, I have not the slightest regret at having been born a court noble. Even until I am beheaded at tomorrow’s execution ground, I will continue to fervently wish—with undivided resolve—to see the fall of the Kamakura Shogunate.” “Indeed, though Takauji is a shogunate vassal, hearing such conviction from you is rather bracing.—Had Takauji met you during his covert journey to the capital in days past, he might now be sharing the same prison seat as you.”

Letting down his guard, Takauji inadvertently said such things but quickly changed the topic and listened to his final requests. Toshimoto asked that one volume of the Lotus Sutra he had copied in his prison cell and a sheaf of his own waka poems be delivered to his wife Koukyō—and—

“And another thing—” Closing his eyes, he said. “In past years—though Lord Hino Suketomo, exiled to Sado Island, will soon face execution—if the opportunity arises, I ask that you convey this: ‘Hino Toshimoto, before calamity struck, died in Kamakura relying on posthumous justice due to Lord Yoshida’s betrayal.’ …Beyond this, I have nothing further to leave.” “Now, I simply await the cherry blossoms of the afterlife.”

As night had deepened, Takauji soon bid farewell and exited through the gate of the Suwa residence, entrusting his path to his horse beneath the moonlight as he made his way back to his own residence in Ōkura.

In truth, within the Ashikaga residence in Ōkura as well, since the incident, one of the prisoners—Bishop Chūen—had been held there. Chūen too was prepared under the Ashikaga family's arrangements to depart on a journey of exile to Echigo Province within the next two or three days.

That day, under a hazy sky, the hour was past noon. Kudō Takakage, leading a troop of soldiers, arrived at the Suwa residence, presented the writ of condemnation, and took custody of Hino Toshimoto. As if to say he had been waiting, Toshimoto approached the prepared palanquin. The palanquin had a peephole cut into it—just large enough for a side profile to be visible. The town teemed with gawking crowds. Kudō’s retainers walked ahead bearing fresh-cut bamboo poles, flanking the palanquin as a troop of mounted soldiers followed behind.

Along the way, Toshimoto saw desolate Kamakura. There was the devastation from the recent great earthquake, but what stood out more conspicuously was that war preparations had already begun there. Though war had not been officially proclaimed, a wordless tension and emptiness could be discerned on the citizens' faces.

I was betrayed by others, but my death will not be in vain. Just as with Lord Suketomo of Sado.

Inside the palanquin，he counted. The many names of Imperial Loyalists across provinces and mountains that he had once secretly traveled to persuade—there was Kōya，there was Daisenji Temple in Hōki．Hiei and Nara went without saying． Furthermore，anti-shogunate local lords and alliances with discontented warriors—these could number over a dozen． Yet he did not count the Kusunoki clan of Kawachi among them．Even if Ishikawa no Sanjo no Tayū Yoshitatsu were included— Kusunoki was a half-hearted man．That alone might have been Toshimoto’s miscalculation．They could not be relied upon…

he mentally excluded them. And,

“Even if the Kusunoki faction does not join, the Imperial Loyalists across the provinces now only await His Majesty’s single command.” Toshimoto had accomplished what he needed to do. “Soon you shall see—the collapse of the Hōjō is nigh!” And he let out a solitary, silent cry of triumph.

The palanquin left the town’s edge, turned onto a mountain-shadowed path, and soon emerged atop Keshōzaka. There at Kuzuharaoka Hill, a death seat draped in white curtains had already been erected in the wind, while the bamboo of the enclosure clattered in the void with a sound like a demon's laughter.

There already, many figures stood encircling the bamboo enclosure. It was not merely a crowd of curiosity seekers; there were men and women wearing prayer beads on their wrists. The moment Toshimoto emerged from the palanquin and was dragged inside the bamboo enclosure, chanting voices rose sporadically from the crowd. At the same time, near the entrance of the bamboo enclosure, “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” “What a suspicious bastard!”

“No! No! Get back!” “Get further back!” A man was grabbed by the collar by soldiers and roughly shoved away. But he did not resist; while covered in dirt, he continued to plead with a resolute expression. Though indistinct to the crowd’s ears, he seemed connected to Toshimoto, “...I am an attendant who has come all the way from the capital, bearing a letter from Her Ladyship and wishing to witness his final moments... Please allow me to meet Lord Ben—just once.”

he pleaded in a strained voice. “Wait, wait. Do not be rough.” Kudō Takakage, restraining them in this manner, came before the man and listened to what he was saying.

The man was none other than Gotō Sukemitsu, a swordsmith who had long been entrusted with critical matters by Toshimoto and had also undertaken roles such as preparing military supplies for the Imperial Loyalists across various regions. But before Kudō Takakage, he naturally did not identify himself as a swordsmith, “For many years, I, Sukemitsu of the family trade, have served Lord Hino.” Saying only that, he desperately clung to Kudō for a final meeting. Takakage permitted it. Deliberately in a loud voice, “I won’t tolerate lengthy matters.” “I’ll grant you a moment.” “Cherish this farewell.”

With that, he pushed Sukemitsu inside the bamboo enclosure and deliberately struck up casual conversations elsewhere himself. In this age, it was said that warrior customs had declined and the nobility of Kamakura samurai was no more, but not all was lost—this could be seen in how Kudō and the Suwa family comported themselves. “...Sukemitsu?” Hino Toshimoto, seated on the mat, appeared profoundly surprised by his presence and looked visibly delighted.

“...My lord,” was all Sukemitsu could utter before choking back sobs. He had been warned—“This won’t take long”—yet found himself speechless. The swordsman had withdrawn ten paces and stood rigid behind them. The blade already drawn now awaited only the ceremonial water. “Sukemitsu... Is your wife unharmed? Does she live free from ailment?” “Y-yes. Though... Her Ladyship remains well. Th-this bears a letter from Her Ladyship.”

“Ah, how nostalgic!” He cried out. Without any pretense of composure, Toshimoto devoured the letter’s contents. No—he pressed the already-read paper to his face once more, breathing in the lingering scent of Koukyō’s skin. Soon it grew thoroughly drenched. “The inkstone.—Lord Kudō, I beg you lend me your inkstone.” When he called out toward them, Kudō himself brought over a traveling inkstone. Toshimoto took the attached knife, severed a fistful of hair, wrapped it within his wife’s letter and entrusted it to Sukemitsu, then inscribed his death poem on fresh writing paper.

A verse from antiquity: There is no death, there is no life.

The clouds of ten thousand li clear away; The Yangtze River’s waters run pure. “Sukemitsu, this is no empty show. My heart stands exactly as you see it now. Tell Koukyō I departed in this manner. The hour has come. I leave no final words... Only live happily.” He paused, then added hoarsely: “And to you... I entrust what follows.” “I entrust it all!”

Suddenly, thudding footsteps approached from behind. Toshimoto immediately straightened his back and bowed toward the examiners' camp stools—Suwa Saburō and Kudō Takakage. His eyes quietly surveyed the bamboo enclosure. It was a cloudy day, but being summer, many men and women wore hats. Among these figures with hats pulled low, Toshimoto glimpsed a face in the enclosure's shadow that mirrored last night's guest. That looks like Takauji, he thought—but clutching Koukyō's image in his heart, he fought to keep that phantom undisturbed.

“Lord Ben, are you ready?” A voice came from overhead. With a swish, dewdrops flung from the tip of the executioner’s practice-swinging longsword first severed the empty space around Toshimoto’s body. “I’m ready.” He smoothed back his sideburns and obediently stretched out his pale neck. When the execution concluded, the execution ground’s bamboo enclosure was immediately dismantled. With brutal efficiency, bloodstains disappeared into a freshly dug pit as laborers heaped up a token mound of earth. “Good.” Having witnessed this completion, Kudō Takakage, Suwa Saburō, and their retinue of officials departed bearing a single head container. Through the deepening dusk of Keshōzaka slope, ordinary folk trailed downward in a disordered mass.

Afterwards, Kuzuharaoka Hill resounded only with the chirping of insects.—Yet still before the freshly heaped earthen mound, the shadows of men and women lingered reluctantly, scattered here and there. They were all commoners. They could have had no connection to the deceased Lord Toshimoto. It must have been out of pity.—There was a woman bundling early autumn flowers from the field to offer, and there was a nun taking incense packets from her sleeve to burn. All of them whispered Buddhist invocations under their breath, their manner that of praying for the afterlife of a noble with whom they shared no ties, yet for whom they felt “pity.”

Eventually, those people too all scattered away, and before the earthen mound, only a single man remained bowing his head. Indeed, the crescent moon that had shone upon the eaves where Toshimoto and Takauji had shared sake last night now hung above the burial mound tonight.

“……” The reluctance to part was endless—yet as if having resolved himself to bid an eternal farewell, the man soon began to rise. When one looked at that face, it was none other than Gotō Sukemitsu, the swordsmith who had been permitted a final meeting with Toshimoto inside the bamboo enclosure earlier. With the keepsake “lock of hair” in his breast pocket, Sukemitsu departed in desolation. ――Undoubtedly, he would soon return to the capital to convey Toshimoto’s final moments to his wife, Koukyō.――From the grassy path of Kuzuharaoka Hill, he began trudging off westward.

Then.

Where had this person been? Chasing after the shadow, “Sukemitsu.—Sukemitsu!” A voice called out twice. Sukemitsu clearly heard it and seemed to turn sharply around, but for some reason he suddenly quickened his pace and vanished like a deer into the shadows. “……?” The one who had vainly watched the waning evening moon fade and returned along the grassy path now tied a cloth over his face beneath the ginkgo-shaped concealment hat, appearing like some rural samurai—but this was Takauji traveling incognito.

Eventually, Takauji too stood silently praying before the earthen mound amidst the rain-like chorus of insects. Then, as if contemplating something profound about humanity's diverse fates and the urgency of current affairs, he slowly descended into Keshōzaka's deepening shadows. Yet from the path he had taken, another figure followed close behind. It was as inseparable as a shadow from its form.

When he descended the slope, Takauji entered the small temple gate. It seemed he had left his horse there. Before long, he himself led the horse out and emerged riding from the temple’s side path. By then, he had already taken off his hat and face cloth, returning to his usual warrior’s formal hat. In the distance of Ōgigayatsu and Ōmiya, lights were already visible. He suddenly spurred his horse into a gallop.

“My lord…”

Then, a figure suddenly dashing out from the shadows seized the horse's bit, causing the startled horse to kick up the pebbles on the path like a loosed arrow.

To Sado Somewhere, the tide roared. For some time now, those two had been absorbed in their whispered exchange—"Here, we need not fear prying eyes"—utterly losing track of time. They were the pair who had startled each other with an unexpected encounter beneath Kuzuharaoka Hill, then abruptly altered their course to come here.

The location was Kotsubo-no-ura. In the pine winds of the rocky hill where Shichirigahama came to an end to the east. On the aged veranda of the decayed "Yukimi-no-tei" pavilion, Takauji sat down, while a townsman in traveler's garb knelt upon the ground. "Umanosuke." Nostalgically, Takauji addressed the man thus.

“...It’s been an age.” “I remember well—that night we spent here seven years ago.” “For this humble one too, that night’s events shall never fade from memory.” “You were first to voice my secret here—even disclosing that testament from Banna-ji Temple.” “When my lord discovered this Umanosuke had learned of the grave matter you held close, you flew into a rage—striking me down where I stood.” “Yet you showed spine too—cursing me straight to my face.”

“In the end, my lord declared you would disown me, and I too deliberately spoke malicious words I did not mean—thus we parted ways.” “How time flies. “Has it already been seven years…? “The same months and years must have flowed over Fujiyasha and Fuchiyamaru as well.” “Therefore, may the two of them continue to live safely in Isshiki-no-Shō hereafter. And they eagerly await the day when they can openly meet again—whether today or tomorrow.” “No—it is not yet such a time.—Umanosuke. “You changed your name to the armorer Ryūsai in Sumiyoshi of Settsu and spied on the capital’s movements, regularly informing my brother Naoyoshi of them—but each time, I too saw those reports. “…Not only did you protect Fujiyasha and Fuchiyamaru, but also your years of covert service. “Once again, I must express my gratitude.”

“Then, may I at last receive your pardon for the disownment?” “Don’t talk nonsense.” “From the very beginning, Takauji too had known your true intentions.” “You too had understood Takauji’s intentions from the start.” “It was merely a superficial pretense for the world… But Umanosuke, it remains more convenient for all matters if you stay disowned a while longer.” “I still have no intention of lifting the disownment!” “In that case, this humble one too shall humbly request that my official reinstatement be deferred to another day.”

“So where are you hiding now?” “As both the guise of armorer Ryūsai and the shop in Sumiyoshi had already become dangerous, while changing my nest to Shinomura in Tanba within Your domain, the movements in the imperial court and Mount Hiei grow increasingly like clouds whose course cannot be predicted at any hour.” “Hence, this humble one abruptly made my way down here.”

“Who informed you of Takauji’s incognito outing today?”

“No, no—that very thing was an unforeseen coincidence.” “Well, you see, since I’m officially disowned, I couldn’t visit Ōkura, and even when I came to Kamakura, I was idling about—when I happened to catch sight of the swordsmith Gotō Sukemitsu.” “And then I saw that Sukemitsu had gone out to Kuzuharaoka execution ground precisely today.” “So you were tailing Sukemitsu?”

“That’s right… I never even dreamed you, my lord, would be among the crowd outside the palisade. I believe this too must be our late lord’s divine arrangement—he who left the testament at Banna-ji Temple guiding us to this meeting.”

Banna-ji Temple’s testament—

That had now become, within Takauji’s very essence, a true blueprint of his innermost convictions—no longer just a dream.

He continued scrutinizing both the central government's situation he had heard from Umanosuke and the shogunate's internal political affairs. "Without a doubt, this year will bring great turmoil." His conviction in this observation grew even stronger. And tonight, he did not conceal this certainty from Umanosuke either.

In Takauji’s observation. Recently, even the shogunate itself had come to realize that relying solely on passive, avoidance policies could no longer fully maintain Kamakura’s stability. However, the public opinion that simplistically blamed everything on the folly of Sagami Nyūdō Takatoki missed the mark. The nine generations of Hōjō over 150 years—the politics and culture of the Kamakura Shogunate, and the wearied public sentiment—had all become like an ancient pond devoid of life’s pulse. On the surface, one could enumerate countless reasons—the Emishi Rebellion, the land stewards’ caprices, peasant discontent, the capital’s excessive decadence and decline of warrior ethos, along with Takatoki’s hedonistic indulgences and power-struggles over authority—but these were all nothing more than the earth’s crust preparing for its next molting process. Even Mount Fuji, when it did that, had spewed fire for three days and nights and scorched the earth, had it not?

“Listen, Umanosuke.”

Takauji, with a feverish gaze, continued.

“It’s over… Regardless, the Kamakura Shogunate has reached the day when it must face its final reckoning.” “Whether passive or proactive, they’ve no choice but to take the path of self-destruction.” “Since they’ve not only cracked down on Imperial Loyalists but even executed court nobles—it’s tantamount to declaring war on the imperial court.—A cart that’s begun descending the slope knows no stopping.” “Then—” “When do you predict it will happen?” “Now in council—after Lord Toshimoto’s execution—they deliberate how to capture Ōtōnomiya, chief conspirator.” “And privately consider banishing him to some remote island where he’ll never again see daylight.”

“Ōtōnomiya is at Enryaku-ji Temple with Mount Hiei’s monks as his personal guard—they won’t dare act rashly.” “Ah, but during the Jōkyū Rebellion, the Hōjō clan set their precedent—exiling Retired Emperor Go-Toba to Oki and Retired Emperor Juntoku to Sado Island while mercilessly imprisoning other princes through false charges of rebellion.” “Should they attempt it now—even Ōtōnomiya... even His Majesty Go-Daigo himself—they would surely act however they must.... Well then—about that day—” “If those secret deliberations were leaked to our Loyalists—might not His Majesty’s court raise their banners first?”

“If we deliberately spread rumors westward to make the Imperial Loyalists rise up first, the shogunate will be forced into a defensive position—advantageous in justification and aligned with reason.” “That must be their strategy.” Suddenly cutting off his words, Takauji stared intently at Umanosuke’s face. Then he declared: “Will the Imperial Loyalists rise up first, or will the Kantō forces march to the capital first?” “Though I cannot discern which way this balance will tip, in any case, it would be better for Master Armorer Ryūsai not to remain in Kyoto or Kamakura for some time.” “Disappear somewhere.”

“Then, until you require my services, shall I hide in Mikawa Isshiki Village and stay by Lady Fujiyasha and Lord Fuchiya Maru?” “No—in the meantime, though it’s far, go observe Sado Island.” “To Sado? “—Are you ordering me to go to Sado Island?” Umanosuke’s bewilderment was natural. But for Takauji, this conclusion had come after a night’s deliberation. Last night, during his final meeting with Toshimoto in this life, he had been entrusted with two deathbed requests.

As for the request to deliver a hand-copied volume of the Lotus Sutra to his wife in the capital, he had some confidence he could fulfill it eventually. For instance, even his act of calling out to the swordsmith Sukemitsu after today's execution—that too had been done precisely for that purpose. However, regarding Toshimoto's other plea—"I beseech you to inform Lord Suketomo in exile on Sado Island of my death—to let it reach his ears that I perished under such-and-such circumstances in Kamakura"—he found himself utterly at a loss for means.

“Umanosuke, that’s the reason. Go to Sado.” Takauji said this. Not only that, but he had conceived this plan as an excellent opportunity to establish a connection with Hino Suketomo on Sado Island—one that would serve his own future strategies. “This must be the work of the deranged Kamakura Shogunate that has already executed Lord Toshimoto. Next, they will surely dispatch a messenger to behead Lord Suketomo in Sado as well. And I believe that day will not be long in coming.”

“He must still be alive, mustn’t he?” “Ever since the Shōchū Incident, he has been entrusted to Honma Nyūdō on Sado Island—with no word since then, there can be no doubt he still lives… In my heart of hearts, even in Lord Toshimoto’s case, I secretly sought some means to spare his life—but to speak of it would have meant my own ruin… In the end, I could only watch in futility… But Lord Suketomo on Sado—I must save him there without fail.”

“Would such an earnest appeal even be taken up in the shogunate council’s deliberations?” “Futile—utterly futile.” Takauji shook his head vigorously. “Not even a hint of such an appeal will ever be proposed to the shogunate council.” “That would only make Takauji himself be suspected of colluding with the Imperial Loyalists.—What I order you to do is merely prepare for the day when I will openly declare for the Imperial Loyalists.”

“Then, is it your order that this Umanosuke prepare for future plans?”

“That’s right… By now you must understand what I’ve been saying. Cross over to Sado, secretly approach Lord Suketomo in Honma Nyūdō’s custody, and before Kamakura’s executioners arrive, rescue Lord Suketomo and go into hiding wherever you must until the time comes.” “This is an unexpected great responsibility, yet you give me an order most efficacious. I shall undertake it with full understanding.” “Within a day or two, Bishop Chūen—who is held at the Ōkura residence—will also be dispatched to exile in Echigo.” From that monk’s own lips, Takauji had closely inquired about the Emperor’s personal affairs, Ōtōnomiya’s movements, and the true state of court nobles and the Tendai sect—gathering valuable knowledge for future use while remaining stationary. “…Umanosuke, the grand ambition I now harbor beneath heaven is a hundredfold more difficult to achieve than accomplishing it in Lord Yoritomo’s era. With that resolve, do not grow complacent either.”

Suddenly—and not without deliberation—Takauji likened himself to Yoritomo. But Minamoto no Yoritomo, who had risen from exile on Hirugashima to destroy the Taira clan and found a new era here in Kamakura, was truly his ideal.

Alongside the vermilion of Tsurugaoka’s grand torii, he recalled Yoritomo and gazed upon the traces of his great achievements,

“Compared to Lord Yoritomo, this Takauji is…” he would always humble himself. Yoritomo had been exiled at thirteen and rose from having not an inch of land nor a single soldier to his name. Though my domain may be small, I am the military governor of Ashikaga-no-Shō, and in Kamakura, I am said to be the younger brother of the former Regent Moritoki.

Yet, he reflected. Was it not that nine generations of Hōjō prosperity had skillfully usurped Yoritomo’s founding? Moreover, their end was this corruption—this chaos.—As one born into the Ashikaga family, legitimate main lineage of the Minamoto clan, what strangeness could there be in his now attempting to replace the Hōjō? What wrong was there in that? he thought. The “Banna-ji Temple Testament” had awakened his original resolve, but his worship of Yoritomo since residing in Kamakura could now be said to have begun clothing that grand ambition—still in its incubation—with the living form of wings and a beak.

Therefore, even his implicit goodwill toward the Imperial Loyalists was in no way an alignment with their ideology or the realization of their “world-rectifying” goals.—It was merely an expedient to gradually advance his own grand design.

And so, from him now, "To Sado." After being ordered to go to Sado, and, "Don't get careless."

When told this, Isshiki Umanosuke—without probing into deeper implications—accepted with an “Understood,” and departed that very night from Kozutsuura after parting ways with Takauji once more. This decisive action was precisely because Umanosuke had been Takauji’s attendant since the latter’s childhood as Matatarō. As if having entered Takauji’s very mind, he had thoroughly discerned the map of his lord’s inner thoughts. After parting ways, Takauji soon gathered the retainers who had been waiting by the Namegawa River, entered the Ōkura residence, and that night engaged in lengthy discussions with Bishop Chūen—a “custodial detainee” of the shogunate—until late. Judging even from measures like the shogunate carelessly entrusting Chūen—one of these Imperial Loyalist strategist-monks—to the Ashikaga family, it seemed not a single person within the shogunate had perceived even a hint of Takauji’s fearsome grand ambition.

After about two days. Bishop Chūen was sent off with great pomp to the land of exile, Echigo Province. —Of course, among the escort party were Ashikaga family retainers serving as additional officers.

Meanwhile.

As for Umanosuke, he had departed one day earlier, hurrying along the same road to Hokuriku. If by any chance he were caught, it would be problematic. Among the family retainers were many old acquaintances. So, keeping Mount Asama to their left, they crossed the Mikuni Mountain Range, entered Yahiko-no-Sho from the Mito-guchi mouth of the Shinano River (present-day Niigata vicinity), and decided to wait for a ship bound for Sado.

It was already August. Autumn comes early to the Japan Sea side. Perhaps because several days of rough seas had not subsided, the ferry remained unable to depart. In the meantime, he heard something that could not be ignored. There was a rumor that recently, the exiled court noble had been secretly killed by Honma Nyūdō on Sado. "What if the rumor is true?" Umanosuke was perplexed. "...Even if I cross over to Sado, there would be no point now that Lord Suketomo is already dead." "Now that Lord Suketomo has already passed away..." However—even that rumor's credibility remained uncertain. It was said that last month, merchants and Haguro mountain ascetics who had returned from Sado had quietly shared this with a certain monk in Teradomari.

"In any case, this is under the lord’s secret stratagem," he thought. "Without setting foot on that land, I cannot give an answer. In any case, I'll cross over." Finally, the ferry departed. Blessed with calm seas and while the waves lay still as a pillow, the ship had entered a bay of Sado Island by the next morning. He had been told by the boatman that this was a place called Koigaura or Kokufu no Ura. And he set foot on the island’s soil for the first time.—Well, at any rate, he entered the inn and declared: "I am Ryūsai, an armorer residing in Sumiyoshi of Settsu Province."

he proclaimed. For two or three days, he walked around sightseeing the inlets and waited until he had naturally grown closer to the innkeeper before attempting this approach. “Pardon my frankness, but there doesn’t seem to be a single decent armorer or stirrup maker on this entire island." "How does Lord Honma manage armor maintenance, I wonder?" “Ah, I know little of martial matters, but I hear fine blacksmiths and armorers exist in Tsuruga Port and Echigo’s provincial capital. They likely rely on shipments by boat and have them handle it over there.”

“Foolishness. If that were true, they wouldn’t be doing any decent work at all. How about this—since I’ve come all the way to Sado. I’d like to spend at least one winter here, but simply staying would be a waste and rather dull. How about this—could you introduce me to someone in Lord Honma’s clan as a capital-trained armorer with proven skills? ……If any future orders come from it, I’ll make sure you get your cut, old man.”

The innkeeper swallowed. Having had Ryūsai appraise the swords passed down in his family, he now appeared to trust him completely without suspicion. True to his word, a few days later, “Master Ryūsai, I’ve secured you a promising opportunity,” the innkeeper replied. “I spoke with Lord Kanemaru Gorō—with whom I’ve been seeking favor—and he instructed me to bring you along.” “How does that sound?” “The weather looks fair—shall we go together to pay him a visit?” “That’s most generous of you.” “Will you accompany me?”

Along the way, he inquired.

“Is this Lord Kanemaru a retainer of the lord or a member of his family?” “He is the cousin of Lord Honma Yamashiro Nyūdō, Protector of the Island. Though within this Zōta district, his residence lies somewhat apart from Danpū Castle where Lord Nyūdō resides.” “Is that so? Staying within the castle walls would prove confining indeed. This arrangement suits me perfectly.”

Since arriving on the island, he did not even hint at inquiring about the life or death of Hino Suketomo, even to this friendly innkeeper. Moreover, not once did he hear the name of the exiled court noble from anyone on the island. It was indeed simply peaceful. The unrest in Kamakura, the state of emergency in Kyoto, even the plumes of smoke from Mount Fuji’s summit—it was as if none of these existed here.

It was a small island. That day, beginning with his passage through Lord Kanemaru's gate, the name of armorer Ryūsai swiftly became known throughout the Honma clan. "A skilled craftsman from the capital has come to our island, I hear." "Shall we have him appraise our family's armor once?" Invitations came pouring in from numerous households. Wherever Umanosuke Ryūsai visited, he comported himself impeccably. He praised each family's heirlooms and promptly restored minor repairs. Soon enough, they called him a most useful man, to the point of entrusting him with commissioning new armor and appraising swords.

Then on one occasion, Kanemaru Gorō said: “Lord Nyūdō has also commanded that I bring you before him once. You say you wish to stay in Sado through winter, but even if ordered to tend the armory at Zōta Castle, such work would hardly conclude before spring.” Umanosuke thought This is it. Hino Suketomo’s place of confinement likely wasn’t outside the castle walls.

The following day, accompanied by Kanemaru, he went to the castle. This place was likely named Danpū Castle due to its many sandalwood trees. The hazenoki trees had yellowed, the sea was blue, and from the castle gate on the hill, even the distant mountain ranges of Ko-Sado were clearly visible. Honma Yamashiro, the Protector, was a tonsured lay monk who appeared at first glance to be a gentle old man. Five or six clan members surrounded him during what happened to be a drinking gathering—they brought Ryūsai forward, offered him a cup, and after some casual conversation—

“Saburō,” the monk said, looking at one of his sons, Honma Saburō. “You’ve grown lax in regularly airing out the armor.” “How about this—you take charge as commissioner and have Ryūsai inspect the contents of the armory?” “That would be most appropriate.”

Saburō was flushed crimson from midday drinking. He bore the formidable appearance of one who dominated his brothers. Thrusting a large sake cup toward Ryūsai, he declared: “All Sado folk are mighty drinkers. Stay through winter here and you’ll wreck your health.” Thus Saburō warned.

From that day onward, Umanosuke was granted winter lodging in the lower quarters of the residence. Then, with Honma Saburō acting as commissioner, they would supervise the retainers and take out the arms stored in the earthen storehouse within the castle grounds. From time to time, under the pretense of "inspection," he would examine them for damage, insect infestations, and other issues. However, Saburō seemed to have an indolent nature. The days when the storehouse remained unopened were frequent. On such days, Ryūsai was free. He would often drop by the homes of Lord Kanemaru, to whom he owed much, and the old innkeeper at the harbor.

Here and there throughout the island lay many tragic historic sites. During the Jōkyū Disturbance, he also visited places such as the Kuroki Imperial Villa where Retired Emperor Juntoku had been exiled to Sado, and the Tsukahara Samādhi Hall where Priest Nichiren had secluded himself amidst ice pillars.

However, what Ryūsai (Umanosuke) had been searching for was not ancient ruins. It was the real person—Hino Suketomo’s place of exile. What his survival status was. In the midst of this, he became acquainted with Nichimitsu of Myōsenji Temple. Nichimitsu of Abutsubō, a monk of the Nichiren sect deeply trusted by Honma Nyūdō, was said to be the only one permitted by the monk to freely visit the exiled Suketomo’s place of confinement for Buddhist discourse. “What, are you asking about Lord Suketomo?… How tragic… He is no longer in this world.”

When Ryūsai pressed him that day, Nichimitsu closed his eyes and murmured those words.

*Kumawaka Sōshi*

What follows is what Nichimitsu of Myōsenji Temple whispered to Ryūsai that day behind the quiet shōji screens of autumn on the island. Lord Kōmon—Nichimitsu called Suketomo by this name—for Kōmon was an alternate title for Chūnagon (Middle Counselor).

That Lord Kōmon had been confined within the Yakushi Hall of the castle ever since being exiled to the island seven years prior, with all communication to the outside completely severed. However, Nichimitsu alone was made an exception, and since the distance between Myōsenji Temple and the place of confinement was merely a single drawbridge over the moat, naturally they became so close that there was hardly a day they did not meet.

Moreover, Honma Yamashiro Nyūdō had been granting Lord Kōmon rather lenient treatment. A year later, when Hino Toshimoto arrived on this island disguised as a mountain ascetic, albeit through Nichimitsu's arrangement, the two secretly spent a night conversing before parting.

Therefore, until very recently, Lord Kōmon had likely still held hopes for the future in his heart. However, when May of this year arrived, the Honma family’s attitude changed abruptly, and rumors of the mass arrests of Imperial Loyalists in the capital were heard simultaneously. It was from then that Lord Kōmon began devoting himself even more intensely to copying the “Introductory Chapter” of the *Lotus Sutra*, which had been his daily practice until then. By the end of May, he had completed all eight volumes, inscribing at the end: The twenty-first day of the fifth month of the third year of Gentoku.

Copied this for the repose of [my] deceased father. Former Kōmon Assistant Director Suketomo

appended a colophon stating, “Come, death may come at any time.” Thus was his state of mental preparation.

Then, before long, a boy accompanied by a single mountain ascetic crossed over to the island and petitioned Honma Yamashiro Nyūdō. The boy was named Hino Ashinmaru, the eldest son among several children Lord Kōmon had left in the capital. It was heard that in April of this year, Ashinmaru’s grandmother—who was Lord Kōmon’s biological mother—had died of illness in her advanced age. It was a statement that he had come to inform his exiled father of this, and driven by the sole determination to see his father’s safe form even once, he had obtained his mother’s permission and made the arduous journey to the island.

The Honma family was greatly conflicted.

At that very moment, execution envoys from Kamakura had already arrived at Zōda Castle. Honma Yamashiro Nyūdō, sympathizing with Ashinmaru’s sincerity, attempted to keep him within the castle and secretly arrange a meeting. However, due to opposition from his son Honma Saburō and a faction of hardliners, before matters could proceed as intended, Saburō fixed the execution date with the Kamakura envoys and merely showed Ashinmaru the letter from Lord Kōmon’s wife that he had brought. “Do you have any final words?” and announced the execution.

Lord Kōmon, on the eve of his execution, added a few more lines to the end of the Lotus Sutra he had previously copied: For the Forty-Ninth Day Memorial of His Beloved Mother The seventh day of the seventh month, Gon-Chūnagon Suketomo After adding this, he was dragged out to Gumigahara on the Takedagawa River without ever meeting Ashinmaru, ending his life at forty-nine years of age. However, due to some error, a pursuing messenger from Kamakura arrived immediately afterward with an order: "Lord Suketomo’s execution must be postponed for a time." But it came too late. Consequently, the Honma family and shogunate classified the matter as top secret while publicly maintaining that "...Lord Kōmon is currently ill"—even closing the drawbridge connecting Yakushi Hall and Myōsenji Temple as part of this cover-up.

“Thank you,” said Ryūsai. “Though you seldom speak of such matters to others, you’ve told me everything in such detail.” As Nichimitsu’s words trailed off, Ryūsai urged him on like a child begging for more. “Then that Lord Ashinmaru—despite going to the trouble of coming all the way to the island—couldn’t even meet his father, Lord Suketomo? Did he return empty-handed to the capital?” “Hmm...” “Lord Ashinmaru...?” Nichimitsu hesitated. Perhaps regretting having spoken too freely—or perhaps seizing the moment—he now turned the questioning back.

“Master Ryūsai. Are you connected by marriage to the Hino family?” “No, I am not such a person.” “If not, then you must be one of the Imperial Loyalists. To this humble monk’s eyes, you cannot be merely an armorer. You’re hiding something. It is precisely because I saw through you that I have made this confession. Take Lord Ashinmaru and leave this island as soon as possible.” Nichimitsu’s eyes were indeed perceptive. He had already seen through it. However, viewing Umanosuke as an Imperial Loyalist was also a misjudgment on Nichimitsu’s part.

Umanosuke naturally took advantage of this and pretended to be an Imperial Loyalist. And he continued to draw out various aspects of Nichimitsu’s manner of speaking through further questioning.

According to that: Ashinmaru was still being kept within Zōda Castle, with Honma Saburō, the son of Nyūdō, telling him, “...To let you meet your father, the lord, we must obtain permission from Lord Kamakura.” “Until the day that arrives, remain within the castle and wait,” he was told—detained under what was literally a child’s deception. For some reason, Kamakura’s orders had lately been coming from two separate channels. One envoy would come ordering, "Execute Lord Suketomo," and another would follow right after saying, "Wait"—it was such a state of affairs.

Indeed, while there was internal strife within the shogunate, within the Honma family as well, two factions—the shogunate loyalists and the imperial loyalists—had already existed for some time.

Honma Yamashiro Nyūdō secretly supported the imperial loyalists, while his son Honma Saburō and a portion of their retainers pledged loyalty to Kamakura. Therefore, the execution of Gon-Chūnagon Hino Suketomo was promptly carried out at Gumigahara as soon as the first envoy arrived. As for that matter, Ashinmaru—with his boy’s keen perception—seemed to have already realized it. The reason Honma Saburō did not send Ashinmaru back to the capital also lay hidden there—if Ashinmaru were returned now, the violent death of Hino Suketomo would become known throughout the capital all at once. The shogunate’s order had also commanded that this be kept strictly confidential. In other words, Ashinmaru was now being held under house arrest by Honma Saburō’s will.

"That’s right…" "With Lord Suketomo gone, I shall rescue young Ashinmaru in his place."

Umanosuke instantly formulated a different plan. At first, he had been so disheartened that he felt dazed, thinking that even the secret mission he had received from his lord Takauji might have ended in futile effort, but from the next day onward, the way he observed things within the castle naturally began to change.

One day beneath the watchtower passed a lone boy. The castle teemed with pages and servant children from lower quarters. Yet his features held something distinct. Umanosuke thought *This must be Wakko*—and as they crossed paths— “Lord Kumawaka,” he ventured softly.

The boy turned around. And he grinned. However, without answering anything, he hurried away at a trot. After that as well, Umanosuke would occasionally catch sight of the boy’s figure. At times, he was among Honma Saburō’s pages. At another time, he saw a figure that seemed to be standing atop the castle’s watchtower, gazing out at the skies and seas of Sado—said to be so desolate that not even birds pass through. He also learned of the small room where he always stayed. It was a room in the dimly lit corner of a corridor beneath the watchtower.

When he passed by there，he would sometimes find him sitting alone at his desk，reading.

"There was no longer any doubt." Umanosuke bided his time and approached. —But with eyes that seemed to fear others approaching, the boy immediately grew wary. "Who are you?" "I am an armorer called Ryūsai." "What do you want?" "You must be feeling lonely."

“No. Not at all.” “But your mother in the capital must surely be waiting for you.” “Ryūsai. Go over there. Someone might come.” “Go over there.” “Someone might come.” “Might you come in the evening?” “If the Third Son finds out, it won’t be good for you either.” “The eyes of my close attendants watch everything around me.” “Then when the time suits you, please visit this humble one’s quarters quietly, Lady Wakko." "The place where Ryūsai lodges is the servants’ quarters at the western corridor’s end." “In the evening, no one will be present.”

Ashinmaru’s eyes seemed to nod in agreement. Indeed, a few days later, his small figure crept onto the veranda of the servant’s quarters late at night. After talking for about an hour, he left. The next night as well, after watching for an opportunity, he came briefly but left immediately. Umasuke was astonished at Ashinmaru’s agility. He himself intended to be as cautious as possible, but he could not match Ashinmaru’s meticulous planning. The boy exuded razor-sharp nerves. Umasuke doubted whether this could truly be a thirteen-year-old youth. He could no longer be thought of as some fragile child of a court noble.

After his father Suketomo had been captured, the family fell into ruin and came to live in a monks' tenement near Ninna-ji Temple. There were no less than three younger brothers and sisters. It seemed Ashinmaru too had grown up amid poverty. The poverty and tide of the times had likely forged such an intrepid boy.

“Your father has already been executed at Gumi no Kawahara.” “Did you know?” As Umasuke murmured,

“I know. It was Honma Saburō who executed him.”

Ashinmaru said without shedding a tear. “Yet despite that, Lord Saburō still does not send you back to the capital—it is by order of the shogunate. … Should war break out with the imperial loyalists, even you, Lady Wakko, being one of their faction, will surely not be returned.” “Then… am I to be left on Sado forever?” “That’s right.” “But do not worry.” “I, Ryūsai, will accompany you and see you safely back to the capital.” “Ryūsai…” Ashinmaru let out a boyish sob for the first time, his shoulders hitching.

“I… I really do want to go home.” “……I can’t imagine how worried Mother must be.” “Ryūsai, let’s escape!” “Let us escape.” “Please leave it to Ryūsai.” “This Thirteenth Night Moon Viewing will end in success.”

By that day, Umasuke had thoroughly investigated the castle’s rear gate and the geography of the inlets, secretly awaiting an opportunity. The Thirteenth Night’s “Later Moon Viewing” turned out to be an ill-fated evening. At Zōda Castle, the annual moon-viewing banquet for the household had been eagerly anticipated, but from evening onward, the wind and rain grew fierce, and darkness fell completely. As a result, the event had been canceled, and the inner bailey lay silent and still—but Honma Saburō’s entourage— “A moonless banquet will do just as well, won’t it?”

With such remarks, they invited courtesans from the castle town into the western bailey and—as if this were preferable—carried on their drunken revelry from evening until midnight, until finally every last one of them collapsed in a drunken stupor, sinking into sleep like mud. Ryūsai too had been at the edge of the banquet, but seizing an opportunity amidst the disarray of cups and dishes, he retreated once to his servant’s quarters in the evening and whispered with Ashinmaru in the pitch darkness.

“It is tonight… Lady Wakko, are your preparations in order?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Ashinmaru wore a nonchalant expression—as if heading to a game. “I’ve been waiting all day for tonight.” “Ryūsai, are you ready too?” “There are no oversights.” “I gave money to an innkeeper I’d befriended beforehand and have a boat waiting at Kunigawa estuary.” “…But it’s still too early.” “Lady Wakko, please pretend to be asleep in your room until midnight to avoid suspicion.”

“Alright, later.”

“When the Myōsenji Temple bell—the usual one—tolls the Hour of the Ox (2 AM), I will go to the rear gate and wait for you there.” “Ah. I know.”

Ashinmaru muffled his footsteps and then once again got into bed in his own room. Rather, at this critical moment, it was Umasuke who was tense, straining his adult meticulousness. He too returned to the rowdy drinking party and, once again deliberately feigning a drunken stupor, watched until Honma Saburō—along with all the women and attendants—had retired to their respective sleeping quarters. What happened next—Umasuke retreated once to the servant’s quarters, secretly prepared lighter clothing, went to the rear gate moat as planned, and waited for Ashinmaru. ……Before long, the bell of Myōsenji Temple soon echoed.

The rain had lightened, but the wind did not abate; the bamboo thicket in the moat ceaselessly stirred the great waves that clashed with the treetops. "Hmm?" Umasuke grew anxious—he wasn't coming. The promised bell had tolled, yet Ashinmaru was nowhere to be seen. He really is just a child. Could he have accidentally fallen asleep? No—no. However much a child he may be, surely such a thing couldn't have happened. Just as he began to shift his position slightly, wondering if they had mistaken the meeting place—

Shouts arose from the direction of the western bailey. In the wind, the wildly scattering torches were no ordinary occurrence. A multitude of footsteps and some of the shadowy figures were drawing closer this way as well. Damn it. So Lord Ashinmaru was discovered.

In an instant, that very situation became Umasuke’s own crisis. Having no choice, he clambered along a large tree’s horizontal branch and leaped across to the outside of the moat.

Then, right behind him, “Old man, wait!”

Ashinmaru's voice called out. “Huh?!” Umasuke turned around in surprise. When he looked, on the other side of the moat, the small figure of Ashinmaru—who had been fleeing in panic—was clambering up one of the bamboos in the dense thicket with tremendous force. The bamboo bent.

Like a sparrow perched on bamboo, Ashinmaru’s body hung over the moat. Though called a moat, it was merely a narrow gap between cliffs where valley water cascaded down—Ashinmaru gauged the bamboo’s spring and leapt across to this side. “Ah! Lady Wakko.” “Ryūsai.” “They spotted you.” “Yeah, they found me.” “That blood—” “On you—”

“I’m fine.”

“But your entire body is covered in blood!” “This is my enemy’s blood!” “What?!” “It’s Honma Saburō’s blood. He lied to me—wouldn’t let me see Father—then dragged him out to Gumi no Kigawara and cut off his head—that hateful bastard. I’d been planning all along to avenge Father.” “So you did it just now—” “When the moment came, I sneaked into Saburō’s quarters and thrust my blade straight through his chest. But then the woman sleeping beside him screamed—the other warriors woke—I lost my chance to slip away clean. Come—we must flee! They’ll be here any moment!”

Umasuke was astonished. What recklessness! It was precisely the boy’s single-minded resolve that had made this possible—a feat no prudent adult could have accomplished. With no other choice, they fled through the rain-lashed darkness. When they reached the gap in Myōsenji Temple’s earthen wall, something began pursuing them from behind—calling out again and again with relentless tenacity.

In their frenzy, the two naturally assumed that too was a pursuing warrior, but before long—

“Ah! That voice—it’s Kumenai! Kumenai!”

Ashinmaru suddenly came to a halt and waited; he and the approaching figure grasped each other’s hands and burst into tears.

The man was dressed as a mountain ascetic. When Ashinmaru had first crossed over to this island, he had presented himself to the Honma family as a mountain ascetic he had met aboard the ship, but in truth, he was a servant who had served the Hino family for many years. And even while Ashinmaru had been confined within the castle, it was Kumenai who had hidden inside Myōsenji Temple, secretly worrying about Ashinmaru’s well-being while keeping watch over him from the shadows.

“Master Ryūsai.” “I shall explain the details later.” “Change course and make haste for Shioya-no-Iso!” “No—I had a boat for escaping the island moored at the Kokufugawa estuary.” “We must go there.” “In these circumstances, relying on some innkeeper’s boat is perilous.” “There’s no telling when they might betray us.”

“Are there preparations at Shioya-no-Iso?” “Indeed—having long since received instructions from the abbot of Myōsenji Temple and attended tonight’s consultation as well.”

“So even the abbot had been providing such considerable support from behind the scenes.” The sea was raging violently.

From that night until morning. The small boat carrying three people was tossed about relentlessly amidst the spray of raging waves, yet escaped the demon’s maw and vanished into the southern distance.

It could only be called divine fortune. The small boat carrying three people was picked up by a passing vessel amidst the stormy waves and, without being wrecked, once stopped at Kaki Port in Echigo Province before eventually arriving at Tsuruga in Echizen Province. By the end of September, having entered Ōmi Province by land from Tsuruga Port—where they could already see Mount Hira and Mount Hiei in the distance and were just one step away from Kyoto’s outskirts—they finally allowed themselves to relax.

As they heard along the way. This autumn, an edict for the era change had been issued, and it was said that the third year of Gentoku had become the first year of Genkō. Moreover, as they traveled south along the lakeside highway, an unusual commotion was unfolding at each post town they passed.

“Is something happening?” Kumenai, Ashinmaru’s retainer, was asking passersby as they went, but no one gave a clear reply.

However, when they reached Sakamoto, the situation became clear at a glance. The entire Mount Hiei area now seemed to be in a state of formidable military preparedness. At Hiei-no-Tsuji along the highway, barriers had been erected to inspect every traveler passing through, while at Hiyoshi Shrine, the warrior monks’ encampment overlooking the lake was raising some sort of commotion. “Ah.” “This is—” Stopping hesitantly before the barrier and looking back, he saw that indeed, on Lake Biwa as well, numerous small boats carrying warrior monks were surrounding several transport ships, and from Yanagasaki, vast amounts of military provisions and horses appeared to be being unloaded onto the shore. Umasuke suddenly recalled the words Takauji had spoken when they parted in Kamakura,

“This is bad!” he couldn’t help but exclaim. Urging Ashinmaru and Kumenai onward, he suddenly turned back, passed through Katata and Ryūgae Pass, and finally managed to enter Ōhara in northern Kyoto.

Even along that route, they were repeatedly challenged by armed monks wielding great naginatas, but fortunately, having the young Ashinmaru with them allowed passage without encountering any serious obstacles. Thus, by the time they entered the capital, the broader truth had at last come to light. It could only be said that the long-prophesied day had finally arrived.

In early September of this year. Through the hand of Acting Middle Counselor Tomoyuki of the Kitabatake clan, a secret conscription decree under the name of Emperor Go-Daigo was issued to warrior houses across the provinces. In other words, it was a call to arms. Among the warriors who received this summons, there were those who immediately reported it to Kamakura. This had already been anticipated even in Kamakura. They promptly dispatched troops, and rumors spread that this great army was now advancing along the highway.

“—Lord Ashinmaru.” “I had intended to escort you to the gate of your family’s residence at Ninna-ji, but in this turmoil, even Ryūsai cannot afford to linger.” “I will come to visit you again another day.” “…Kumenai—well, it seems things are about to get dire.” “Please take good care of yourselves.” When they came to the Kurama mountain path, Umasuke suddenly bid farewell to the two in this manner. “Uncle!” Ashinmaru called out many times to him, reluctant to part.

Umasuke also looked back. Though his mind now raced toward other matters, he could not forget this extraordinary boy. Even as a memento of the late Hino Suketomo, he thought he could not simply part with him now. “Lady Wakko, we’ll meet again.” “No matter what days may come, live cheerfully as though you were still on Sado.” “Don’t give up now.”

He hurried from peak to peak toward the Ashikaga family’s territory in Tanba Shinomura, treading through the clouds as he went.