Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Yoshikawa Eiji

A Night of Stone Rain

The morning in Furuichi began to dawn with the creak of boat oars and the rumble of carts.

Before long came the shouts of the outcast community and the cries of infants. And as the sun rose higher, the market's clamor swelled with it, until soon the usual daily bustle and dust filled the surrounding area.

“Will they never return?” “...They won’t be returning.”

From one room of the estate’s plank walls, Hino Toshimoto kept his gaze fixed outside. Through the night, Ishikawa no Toyomaro—who had been in attendance—hadn’t closed his eyes once. “A mere bailiff of known capability—it’s unthinkable that those two would fail to eliminate him.” For Toyomaro, there was also self-reproach. The plan to conceal Toshimoto here, lure the persistent Hachihōbō out to the Koya Highway, and have Yoriharu and Kikuou eliminate him—this stratagem had originally been his own proposal, something he had believed to be a masterstroke.

“Though it may be uncomfortable, could Lord Ben please wait here a while longer?” “Where are you going?”

“As a precaution, I ordered my subordinates to deploy in teams primarily along the Koya Highway, but for some reason, not a single one of them has returned yet.” “I myself will go as far as Ishikawa and ascertain how matters stand.”

Toyomaro dashed out.

No—there was no such leisureliness in his departure. The figure dashing away like a bird in flight suggested all too well the guileless sincerity of a youth tormented by self-reproach. However.—That Toyomaro too did not return for quite some time. Already past noon. He had finally returned, but his appearance was even more caked with fatigue and dust than in the morning. “What’s wrong, Toyomaro?” “This has become utterly perplexing. “There are no signs that Hachihōbō was slain, and I cannot ascertain the safety of Yoriharu and Kikuou.”

“So—it was a failure?” “However, according to my subordinates’ investigation, near Amami they found several corpses of bailiffs disguised as false mountain ascetics—not Hachihōbō—and each and every one bore arrow wounds, they inform me.”

“Hmm. “The two shouldn’t have had bows. “Furthermore, if there were numerous other fake mountain ascetics of the same ilk, some manner of mistake must have occurred.” “Therefore, it seems the bailiffs have at last detected that you are hiding here, Lord Ben, and all the local spies who have been stationed here daily are now keeping watch around this estate.”

“What? Even here?”

Toshimoto was shocked.

He could not help but think that everything was collapsing. And now, the packet of poison he always carried deep in his robes became pure resolve, its determination prickling unseen through every pore of his skin. He was a man with a criminal past, having once been imprisoned in Kamakura. If he judged the situation hopeless, he had resolved long ago to reduce the Imperial Decree he protected to ashes and swallow the poison himself.

But was this what it meant to be a court noble? His demeanor appeared as tranquil as ever.

Soon. Evening had fallen, with lights flickering in the plank huts of the outcast community and on the thatched roofs of moored boats. Then, from the town toward the outside of the estate’s long earthen wall, “A fight! A fight!”

A sudden whirlwind of voices surged up.

Fights could well be called the hallmark of the outcast district.

But this evening’s was no ordinary occurrence. It was a clash that had broken out between Rokuhara constables surrounding the estate and the outcast community.

In the daytime, a group had come riding into Furuichi from the direction of the Yodo River. With local bailiffs who had apparently been waiting for this at the forefront, having thoroughly surveyed the terrain up to the estate’s moat entrances and back gates, and then—

“Now!”

Under the constable commander’s chin signal, “We have received word that a person under suspicion is hiding within these premises.” “Those who resist will be dragged to Rokuhara without mercy.” “Don’t interfere!” Seizing the moment, they tried to push their way en masse into the estate.

On this day, the estate’s miscellaneous workers—already seething with murderous intent under Toyomaro’s orders— “There’s no such person here!” “Ask elsewhere.” “You cannot take a single step through here without Sansho no Tayu’s permission.” And with staffs, spears, short swords, hunting bows, and the like, they stood blocking the way. The storekeepers, accountants, boatmen, cart leaders, and others performing various duties at the estate were generally unregistered and stipendless ronin. The lifestyles of those ronin and their everyday speech were quite intriguing. There were those who would say things like, “My ancestors were kin to Lord Komatsu of the Taira clan seven or eight generations back, but after Dan-no-ura, we fell into ruin.” There were those who would boast, “Our house once ascended to the capital with Lord Kiso and flourished mightily in this region for a time,” or “How my great-grandfather distinguished himself in the Mongol invasions.” In the Jōkyū Rebellion, they had lost their family names for siding with the imperial loyalists and were thereafter reduced to semi-peasant status—all of them being fellows who took no pride in their present selves, merely reminiscing about the past.

And one might think they were content to wallow in vice day and night—gambling, drinking, and self-indulgence—but such was not the case. “If the right time came, even I wouldn’t be stuck like this,” and such. Behind such bravado as “The world’s at fault—if proper reforms were enacted, even we could redeem ourselves,” they had considered raising some banner of rebellion, rallying under the sheltering boughs of figures like Ishikawa’s Sansho no Tayu to eventually form their faction.

Not only here—these ronin, now that land divisions under the warrior class’s dominion and the jitō system administered by court-noble landlords had been firmly established, could no longer seize territories through banditry as they once did. Thus they naturally filled the byways of the world, and it was said that even within Mount Hiei’s sacred precincts—that fortress of Buddhist law—quite a number of such ronin had infiltrated the temple’s lay congregations. In any case, since it appeared that over a hundred such fellows were present at this estate, even Rokuhara constables could not easily—

“Crush them!”

they could not break through.

That said, they were not the sort to simply overlook Hino Toshimoto—whom they were convinced lay within—and let him slip away. Their verbal clash ended after just a few words.

“This is tedious.” “Cross the earthen wall.” “Leap in from wherever you can and drag out that villainous court noble!” A brawl erupted.

The Rokuhara constables numbered no fewer than seventy or eighty men. However, because not only the ronin group inside but all the outcasts of the district were allies of the estate, they found themselves surrounded and beaten on all sides in an instant.

Night fell. Above the outcast district of Ishikawara, a large moon rose. It only deepened the eeriness of the clamor below. “This might as well be an uprising.”

The constable commander muttered.

The constables, once routed, had now heard that reinforcements from Rokuhara had just arrived, and their fighting spirit surged anew. But to the ronin of the estate confronting them, the outcast community’s reinforcements were swelling by the moment. “Don’t let a single one inside!” It had taken on all the appearance of a minor battle.

The issue was no longer whether to hand over Hino Toshimoto or not. It was a clash between the common folk and the authorities. Not only today—whenever this kind of clash occurred, it would never subside until blood was spilled. Therefore, even the local jito and Rokuhara,

When it came to the Sansho Uprising, they had to either brace for prolonged conflict or withdraw entirely. There had never been a single instance where legal measures could be applied. Tonight’s situation bore a close resemblance to that very scenario— Moreover, the Rokuhara soldiers who had rushed from Dōmyōji River were likely those directly commanded by the tandai. Unlike the leniency shown by constables and bailiffs, they came surging in— “Lowlifes! Do you value your lives so little?” Suddenly, they showered them with arrows,

“Don’t hold back.” “Turn every last one into vermin mounds!”

With a momentum as if charging into a battlefield, they first set upon scattering the vanguard of the outcast community members.

A mournful howl echoed in response. Countless shadows crumbled and surged. Yet even those who scattered like spiderlings swiftly regrouped and counterattacked, striking the constables from behind, while others unleashed a relentless barrage of stones from unseen directions, denying the enemy any chance to raise their heads.

“Toyomaro.” “Lord Ben.”

The two, eye to eye, shared something beyond words. That place was the De-yashiki’s administrative office.

With no lamps lit, only the pale moonlight streaming in evoked the image of a deathbed.

“...It’s futile now.” “That cannot be.” “Keep your resolve steadfast and entrust yourself to this Toyomaro.”

“I trust your resolve, but…” Even as they spoke, stones began clattering upon the roof like sudden hail. This could only mean Rokuhara’s forces had already infiltrated deep into the estate grounds. “...Neither Kikuou nor Yoriharu have returned. Those constables won’t withdraw until they’ve bound me hand and foot. What course remains?” “Nay—my father Tayu of Ishikawa would never abandon us to this plight.”

“A world where stones fall from the moonlit sky.” “The hearts of men remain ever uncertain.” “Do you suspect my father, the Sansho no Tayu, of being a traitor?” “It’s not that I doubt him—but I am troubled by the Emperor’s decree I carry.” “As for my fate, let it be as it may—but should the Imperial Decree fall into Rokuhara’s hands, this time even an uproar akin to the Shōchū Incident would pale in comparison.” “Ah! “This place is already—”

Toyomaro suddenly took his hand and went outside. And amidst the chaos of rushing footsteps, they ran to one of the distant storehouses. Hiding Toshimoto inside, he himself stood outside the storehouse with his sword’s scabbard tip tilted back.

A miso storehouse, then? The darkness, thick with the pungent smell of salt mold, clung viscously to his skin. Toshimoto sat down on some unknown object. Now that things had come to this, he thought he could only entrust his fate to heaven. "...Well now, even I must say I've led quite an eventful life." Born a court noble, one who served in the imperial court—what had he sought to drive himself into such a wretched predicament? Though such thoughts crossed his mind, he was not one to harbor regrets at this critical juncture.

What welled up within him was rather a faith in convictions diametrically opposed to such thoughts. It was a loyalist’s fervent passion. Even to this darkness of the miso storehouse, death’s hand might already be drawing nearer with each passing moment.

However, he thought that his departed spirit would surely witness the fall of the Hōjō shogunate. And with that thought, the elegy in his heart mingled with laughter. And his own death too now appeared before him as a radiant sacrifice for the solemn nation. “Lord Ben.” Through the gap in the door, Toyomaro outside whispered in a low voice. “Please do not concern yourself. “The sound of fire you hear—the outcast community members deliberately set blazes in two or three locations to mislead those constables. “The flames are distant, sir.”

At these words, he noticed.

When Toshimoto looked up, red firelight was flickering through gaps in the ridgepole and tears in the roof. Though he had said they were distant, even the crackling of flames now reached his ears.

Before long. “Look out!” His entire body bristled. Suddenly, near the storehouse came the sound of stampeding footsteps. He involuntarily lunged toward the exit— “Toyomaro!” He called twice, but there came no answer from Toyomaro.

“So they’ve come at last.”

His hand was unconsciously touching the packet of poison in his breast. Even if the shogunate officials were to break in here, they could not capture Toshimoto alive. They would only stare in bewilderment at the corpse that had swallowed poison.—Toshimoto, envisioning that scene, forced a scornful laugh into his heart. Yet in that instant, he found himself suddenly at a loss as to how to handle the Secret Imperial Decree.

There was no lamp here. Was there no flame to reduce it to ashes?

At that moment, with a loud creak, the storehouse door flew open. Against the crimson dark outside, several shadows became visible there. Toshimoto’s right hand, having grasped the sword hilt, blindly aimed toward them and tried to deliver a sudden strike.

“It’s me!”

One of those who had leapt back shouted. “Lord Ben! It’s me—Kikuou!” “Ah! You’ve returned?”

“Circumstances delayed me. I beg your forgiveness.” “And Yoriharu?” “Regrettably, Mr. Yoriharu has just been captured.” “He deliberately imitated Your Lordship’s appearance and surrendered himself to them.”

“To be Toshimoto’s substitute?” “To temporarily lift the siege here.” “...but soon, the enemy will realize he is not Lord Ben.”

“Now is the time.” Toyomaro also hurried along with them. “Escape this place immediately, hide in the bottom of the cargo boat, and make your way from the moat’s water gate to River Crossroads. Quickly, quickly!” “Not a moment to lose!” There was no time now to ask any questions in return. Urged on, Toshimoto left the storehouse and ran toward the moat.

There was a cargo boat. Kikuou leapt aboard first; then Toshimoto, having his hand taken, concealed himself beneath the thatch—.

Seven or eight ronin from the estate stood facing backward, their eyes darting around in all directions.

Toyomaro threw the mooring rope. “Then, take care wherever you go, and may all go well with your mission.” “Ah, farewell.” From beneath the thatch, Toshimoto returned a hurried farewell. “Worry no more. If my martial fortune allows us to survive here, then our future endeavors too shall meet with success. Toyomaro—when you return to the capital, I shall send good tidings from the city!” Kikuou took the pole and immediately pushed off from the shore. Wrapping himself in a straw waistcoat that lay nearby, his appearance now resembled that of an outcast boatman. Swiftly leaving De-yashiki’s water gate behind, the boat drifted out into a single channel of the river.

No, this area was water’s arteries and veins. Countless large and small rivers converged in the Kawachi Plain. The main stream of Ishikawa—Egokawa, Dōmyōjigawa, Onjigawa, and others—formed what was called “River Crossroads,” while beyond the deltas and reeds on both banks, the roofs of outcast communities could be seen; save for a single large moon, everything lay indistinct.

“Kikuou.” “Yes?”

“An ill-starred full moon tonight.” “Keep us from drifting midstream.” “Even distant eyes pose danger.”

“So—how are we to escape?” “This is River Crossroads.” “If we head west—Suminoe in Settsu.” “If we head north, we’ll reach the Yodo River, but—” “Though we’re bound for Koya, we cannot take the waterway.” “Moreover, there should be river checkpoints along the waterways.” “For now, let’s moor the boat somewhere, wait until midnight, then take to land and proceed stealthily.” “That must be our only option.”

The boat changed direction. They threaded between reeds and proceeded to search for a calm inlet along the river. Impoverished village huts came into view on the bank. However, there were no lights nor any signs of commotion. Kikuou secured the mooring rope to a stake. “…Xunyang River’s bank—truly, this place mirrors the poem of *The Song of Lute*.”

Toshimoto thought to himself.

The master and servant, having finally regained their composure, took shelter beneath a thatch roof that even the moonlight could not pierce and whispered at length about something. It must have been Kikuou narrating the entire sequence of events from the day before. And today, upon seeing the crisis at the estate they had returned to, Yoriharu—as if declaring “This shall be my place of death”—must have recounted in detail how he surrendered himself of his own accord to the arresting officers and was taken away. “...Yet not all is misfortune,” “In the mountains of Kagata, I encountered a hermit who may yet prove an asset to the imperial cause.” “That person—”

And it was just as he began earnestly recounting the discovery of a man named Mōri Tokichika— Suddenly, Toshimoto suppressed his voice,

“Shh…” He thrust his face out from beneath the thatch.

There was another thatch-roofed boat moored at a stake nearby. It seemed devoid of people, but a small light flickered on. And then a feeble infant’s voice pierced through, echoing over the water. The infant’s cries soon ceased, and the night returned to a stillness over the water, without even a rustle from the reeds.

“Phew, it was just a baby.”

Kikuou let out a sigh of relief.

“…They must be a boat-dwelling couple or something of the sort. At least there’s no immediate danger.”

He continued talking.

Mōri Tokichika

This concerned Mōri Tokichika. As for Kikuou, he seemed deeply drawn to the hermit Tokichika, even considering him the discovery of a powerful imperial ally—but Hino Toshimoto would have none of it.

Generally, knowledgeable people first gauge the measure of others’ knowledge through imagination alone. Even if Toshimoto was not so frivolous, he too took pride in his mastery of the new Song Confucianism—pride equal to that of any average young court noble, nay, akin to that of a pioneer. “I see. …So the man is just some country Confucian scholar.” “Not at all.” Kikuou retorted more vehemently to his master’s cruel conclusion. “He did not strike me as such a lukewarm individual.” “Could it be that he possesses what one might call the demeanor of a noble scholar?”

“You’re quite infatuated.” “Even considering that Lord Masashige and Lord Masatsura of the Kusunoki clan studied under him—and seeing how even the young local men of Oku-Kawachi revere him as their teacher—” “If he lives in a mountain dwelling and decks it out with somewhat pretentious books, provincial warriors would surely find that novel.” “Those frauds who put on airs of being hermits while decrying worldly fame and profit—such creatures are all too common in this world.”

Toshimoto was harsh in his judgment. To be sure, through the eyes of an activist like him—one who prioritized action above all—those hermits affecting wisdom through empty words while remaining aloof from society’s turmoil could only appear as contemptible cowards unworthy of respect. For Toshimoto, rather than such men, this night surely brought a flood of tears for Funaki Yoriharu—the warrior who had reportedly been captured in his place. As their conversation paused... From the thatch-roofed boat moored at a nearby stake came again the shrill cries of an infant, their echoes rippling across the water.

“Tch. That brat sure knows how to wail.” Kikuou clicked his tongue.

"My lord, if you don’t take this moment to rest a bit—dozing with your arm as a pillow—your weariness will never heal."

“A crying child cannot be helped—especially someone else’s child.”

“Shall we move the mooring rope elsewhere?” “That’s acceptable, but what of our surroundings? Are they secure?” “There must be uninhabited shores beyond this one.” “Ah! That shrill, convulsive wailing again.” “This simply won’t do!”

Crawling out to the stern, Kikuou untied the mooring rope. And as he pushed off the boat, gentle ripples slightly disturbed the dim light of the neighboring thatch craft, and from its side— “Excuse me…” A young man called out in a pleading voice toward them. “To strangers such as yourselves, this is a bold request indeed, but I find myself compelled to leave 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 boat in my absence?” “For I shall return straightaway.”

“Well…?” ...was all Kikuou could manage in response. Even then, he merely— “That must be quite a predicament for you,” muttered under his breath before turning questioning eyes toward Toshimoto’s shadowed form beneath the thatch.

Toshimoto watched intently from his position, observing the young man from the neighboring boat through moonlit ripples on the water. The man wore a light blue checkered headcloth and a showy shoulder garment frayed at the edges, his youth's hakama completing an outfit that declared him unmistakably a performer. Yet his features lacked coarseness—if one sought fault, he appeared more nervous than befitted a robust man past thirty. This too might reasonably be attributed to the hardships of a boat performer's meager livelihood, burdened as he was with an invalid to care for and the daily struggles of household survival.

“Kikuou.” “Yes?” “How pitiable. …Very well—inform him he may attend to his errand without concern, but briefly.”

“Very well.”

Kikuou turned to the man from the neighboring boat.

“The master has granted his permission.” “But we’re not anchored here permanently.” “Return swiftly, or it’ll cause us trouble.” “Yes, yes… My deepest gratitude.” “Then I’ll make all haste to come back.” “What business takes you to town?”

“That’s precisely the trouble.” The man ducked into the thatch-roofed boat and crouched by his wife’s pillow. He seemed to be giving her some final instructions. Then he reappeared at the edge of the boat.

“You see, my wife’s breast milk hasn’t come in, so we’ve been feeding the infant with things like kudzu starch and rice powder boiled in water. But this evening, every corner of the outcast community here has been in such an uproar.”

“Hoh… Was there such a commotion?” Kikuou feigned ignorance. “So that’s why you couldn’t run your errands.” “I can see flames everywhere—the Rokuhara forces have moved in, some say it’s turned into full battle, others claim it’s a manhunt. Even the local outcast folk here are pouring out armed with cudgels and such.” “I couldn’t possibly go into town for provisions.” “So I was just gazing at the town’s sky… but the infant began wailing shrilly from hunger, and to make matters worse, my wife’s condition has taken a turn tonight—her illness worse than usual—leaving me at my wit’s end.”

“So, there’s no one else on the boat?”

“Only a newborn infant and my wife lie here sleeping.” “I need to go into town to buy kudzu starch and medicine for them… Just now, I explained the situation to my wife at her bedside, and she nodded in understanding.” “I apologize for the imposition, but as I must make a quick trip into town, though it may trouble you, I humbly ask that you watch over this place in my absence.”

After entrusting them with what followed, the man—his mind as empty as the sky—stepped ashore and ran off toward no particular destination.

Kikuou watched him go, then muttered under his breath, “How pitifully earnest…”

And then he muttered to himself again.

“Though he calls himself a lowly boat performer, he seems a gentle man devoted to his wife.” “They say outcasts are rough, but seeing there’s a couple like this, perhaps that’s not entirely true.”

Then, beneath the thatch,

“Kikuou.”

Toshimoto was calling again. Had he too recalled his wife Kousukei, left behind at home? “Why don’t you take a look at the neighboring boat for a moment.” “The infant suddenly stopped crying too—inside that thatch-roofed boat feels unnervingly still.” “I see… If you say so.”

Kikuou too had apparently been concerned. Quietly, he crawled over to the neighboring boat.

In the depths of the dark thatch-roofed boat, a pungent stench of illness hung heavy. A small oil lamp hung from a crossbeam. On the straw mat lay thin bedding spread out like a ragcloth. The boat tilted slightly under Kikuou’s weight—the patient sensed this sway through her body and abruptly lifted her face from the wooden pillow. Half-hidden by black hair, the woman’s face remained unseen, but its pallor resembled moonlight caught upon willow branches. Those eyes—startled as if flinching from some unseen threat—struck Kikuou so sharply that he felt guilty, as though he had witnessed something forbidden.

“…………”

Stealthily, as quietly as possible, he returned to Toshimoto’s side. “There’s nothing amiss. Worn out from crying, the infant seems to have fallen asleep peacefully in the patient’s arms.”

“The woman…” “She startled and seemed to shift her face from the wooden pillow, but—” “Was that all?”

“Yes.” “She’s a patient who cannot even speak.” “Moreover, she’s still such a terribly young wife.”

“When I think of it—how pitiable. “Today’s events too are disturbances born from this Toshimoto. “Even witnessing this confirms how worldly matters ripple—one wave spawning ten thousand. “There’s no foreseeing what calamity might strike whom.” “If you let every last tendril of karma’s reach pierce your heart so, you’d scarcely manage affairs of state.”

“Indeed it is. “I myself have parted with my beloved Kousukei and abandoned a court noble’s splendor—for that I turn a blind eye. Yet none are more pitiable than innocent commoners who know nothing of these affairs... Ah—I have travel medicine on hand. “This contains musk—a precious remedy Court Physician Mitsuasa gave me when calling it such. “Add gold coins and comfort her.” “Eh?” “Give this...to strangers?”

“No, it’s a river’s bond.” “They will no doubt be pleased. Her husband should return soon—before that, let us tell her of your kindness and ease her present fears.” Kikuou took the items and went again to the neighboring thatch-roofed boat. He returned at once, yet told Toshimoto only, “…She wept with gratitude,” offering no further words as his expression grew pensive.

“Kikuou, why are you so downcast?”

“No, I am not downcast in the least—yet try as I might, it will not come to mind.” “What do you mean?” “Regarding the boat performer’s wife I observed at close quarters just now…”

“What does that matter?” “I have certainly seen that wife somewhere before.” “But that moment of realization was fleeting—now I find myself wondering if perhaps it wasn’t so after all.” “Such trivial doubts…”

At that moment, her husband appeared on the bank, breathing heavily. And as soon as he returned to the neighboring boat, he bowed his thanks again and again. “Oh. That was quick. Did you manage to get the arrowroot powder for the baby?” “Thanks to you...”

With that, the man bowed courteously once more.

Though street performers and boat performers were both entertainers, he wondered if the artistic essence inherent in them still emanated differently. The lines of his figure, slightly bent at the waist along the narrow boat’s edge, were truly elegant. Precisely because he had regarded them as part of the local outcast community, his eye was suddenly caught.

What’s this?

Kikuou once again found himself thinking of the man’s ailing wife. But try as he might, he still couldn’t recall. That said, this was no situation to while away the night in boat talk. He immediately took up the pole and began putting distance between their boat and his,

“After all, life on a boat must be difficult. Take good care—both the baby and your wife.”

“Thank you very much.” “Thanks to you, I can now prepare arrowroot powder for the infant right away.” “Though I know not where your journey leads, please take care, your lordships.”

“Ah, the night has deepened its hue.” “The moon has grown hazy too.” “Up ahead at the sandbar, even river folk often pry up boat bottoms.” “Take care.” “Oh! Farewell!”

Upon the pale mist creeping over the river’s surface, the shadows of their respective boats had already grown hazy.

For some time, Kikuou's pole wandered through the water's flow, probing and probing along the mist-shrouded bank devoid of people.

It still felt too early to go ashore and begin their midnight infiltration. Yet the river’s center had a swift current, the shore offered no respite for complacency, and his nerves were frayed to their limits.

Then, amidst the haze, the sound of oars could be heard, followed by—

“Traveler— Pardon me.” “Traveler— The one from earlier.” And then, just moments after parting ways, the voice of that very man drew near.

The boat’s outline came into view at once. The man, with an oar handle in one hand,

“Please wait a moment.” “I must apologize for this repeated presumption in stopping you.” “Still—what business?”

“What an oversight on my part,” “After we parted, my bedridden wife informed me through tears that she had received such valuable medicine and money.” “So you came after us to offer thanks?” “No—that was you who spoke of it as a riverside kindness and gave it to your poor wife.” “Such excessive gratitude might instead prove burdensome to my lord.”

“Yes,” “I cannot help but realize the trouble this may cause you.” “...Yet I must humbly observe that this medicine pouch given to my wife could only come from the court’s medical bureau.” “In truth—” “What?” Kikuou’s water-seasoned pole shuddered violently beneath the surface. Had there been even a hair’s breadth of hidden malice in the man’s words, that pole might have sent him plunging into the river with a spray of droplets.

“What nonsense! That medicine was given to you by others. Such needless conjecture…” He broke off abruptly. “But regardless—how could one of your outcast bearing notice such minutiae?” “Pray do not take offense. Normally I would never remark on such things,” Uroji replied, his voice lowering. “But when last I visited town, I chanced to catch wind of… disquieting rumors.” “Wh-what? You mean… because of rumors heard in town?”

“Yes.” “Is it about us?” “I could not help but wonder if perhaps…” “Wh-what kind of rumors?”

Though seen through night-dimmed eyes，Kikuou’s tone bore no ordinary countenance． Yet the man clung unwaveringly to his own goodwill，his manner suggesting he believed others would interpret it through equal benevolence． “Well…” “That concerns precisely this matter．” “We deliberated whether we ought to part ways here without ceremony，or whether frank disclosure would prove more proper—my wife and I found ourselves conflicted even about our own standing．”

“…”

“Yet if we were to overlook this chance encounter and you were to meet some irreparable calamity at your destination, this humble couple would spend our lives gnawing at regret in the depths of our hearts. …Since my wife also speaks thus, and I too have resolved myself accordingly, we hastily took up the oar and chased after your wake as you see.” “Hmm.”

For what purpose? And what did he know?

It was no longer within Kikuou’s sole discretion to formulate a reply or reach a decision. His ambiguous grunt served as a placeholder while awaiting Toshimoto’s decision—the lord listening from the boat’s hold.

“…Kikuou.” “Hah!” “He does not seem ill-intentioned.” “That is my understanding too, but…” “Let us settle tonight’s affairs. Voices carrying between boats show poor judgment. At any rate, why not invite that man to our thatched shelter? Sit knee-to-knee and hear his tale properly.” Then from the man’s boat came: “Then might you come ashore at yonder sandbar? Moor your craft briefly to the bridge pilings.”

With that, he rowed ahead, guiding them to the shade of the reeds. On the river island stood what appeared to be an ayu hut. When Toshimoto settled himself on the nearby ground, Kikuou—wary of any eventuality—pressed close to his lord’s side and knelt on one knee. Nor did he neglect his combative stance, keeping his left hand poised at the scabbard opening of his tachi. “Now. What do you mean to tell us? Out with it.” “Go on—say it!”

“Yes.” “I must not detain you further.” “Therefore I shall speak plainly—the noble lord before me would be Lord Ben, Hino Toshimoto Ason, would he not?” “You—!”

Kikuou could not remain kneeling. He instinctively jerked upright. “You wretch! What evidence do you have?” “Ah, please…” “Do not conceal it. The town rumors and the precious medicine my wife received. Putting the two together, I came to realize—ah, so that was it. Moreover, having met you in such close quarters now…” “Kikuou, stay where you are.”

Toshimoto restrained him and turned to address the man. “I shall not conceal it. Indeed, I am Hino Ushōben—but what true intent do you wish to convey?”

“Yes. According to what I heard in town about the Rokuhara forces’ movements, they will soon sweep through every waterway. Also, they have set up checkpoints at various points along the Koya Highway. I beg you to alter your journey’s course and depart this place without a moment’s delay.” Toshimoto did not doubt the man’s advice. If he had ulterior motives, he would have secretly informed the authorities and led Rokuhara soldiers here. If that were not the case, he must have felt gratitude for our small act of compassion.

“I am in your debt.” he said sincerely.

The man grew flustered at his courteous thanks.

“No, no—if we speak of gratitude, it is this humble one who must express it in full. Rather than that, please make haste and decide upon your plan to depart this place at once.”

“Are you of this place?” “As you can see, I am but a boat performer. First and foremost, the residents of the outcast community are also of similar station.” “Then, you must be familiar with this area’s geography—but if both the Koya Highway and waterways are blocked, how might a cornered rat find an escape route?” “Is it not absolutely necessary for you to proceed to Koya?” “I will now speak plainly—bearing an imperial mission, I must first travel to Kishū Koya, then sequentially to Hōki’s Daisenji and Echizen’s Heisenji, after which I must hasten back to the capital.”

“Then your change of attire has been arranged, I see.” “To reach Koya without encountering river checkpoints or crossing the steward’s domain, there remains but one narrow path—crossing Amanosan Kongōji’s rear peak from here and emerging at Kokawa via Katsuraki.” “Ah, we shall choose that route.” “Yet being strangers to this river island’s east and west—how might we evade the pursuers’ eyes?”

“This humble one shall guide you until we reach a place of safety—but in your current guise...”

With that, the man peered into the ayu hut and brought out a tattered sedge hat and a waist-worn straw raincoat. “With these, please conceal yourself for the time being.”

“But… what will you do with your sick wife and infant during that time?” “Please do not concern yourself. The infant has also fallen asleep, and I will now explain the details to my wife.”

The man returned to his boat and immediately emerged again from beneath the thatch.

The sandbar had become an island, but the man led the way across the shallows, then pushed through a reed plain without a path, and soon reached the shore of an outcast community.

It was already late at night, but the three simply walked on without exchanging a single word. The man skillfully wove his way around the back of the outcast community, then briskly crossed a highway—beyond lay nothing but an unbroken field path. When that too ended and they saw the mountains at the edge of the field, “Then I shall take my leave. …That mountain yonder is Iwamuro. Soon you will reach Kokubun Pass west of Kongōji Temple, and from there it is nothing but mountains all the way south to Kokawa.” “May no harm befall you.”

Kikuou too had now completely cast aside his suspicions and was sincerely thanking the man for his kindness. At the same time, he was anxious not to let this opportunity slip—

“Now, wait a moment.” “To part like this seems rather…”

With that, Toshimoto and Kikuou sat down on a stone in the field path. And then, he brought up the matter of his wife—something he had been wanting to ask about all along. "Certainly, there's no doubt she's a woman I've seen somewhere before—yet try as I might, I cannot suddenly recall where. Moreover, given your bearing—surely you and your wife are not true-born boat performers, could it be?" "You flatter me too much..."

The man, questioned by Kikuou, abruptly wore a bashful expression. “From the start, I have been nothing more than a mere boat performer.” “We are but rootless outcasts.” “And my wife is of the same station.” It was less an air of reluctance and more one of outright refusal. “No, if it’s inconvenient, I shall refrain from improper questions.” “However, at least your stage name—”

Then, Toshimoto took over and asked—

“Oh, had I not mentioned that yet?” “Oh no—I must apologize for my rudeness.” “I may call myself a Sarugaku performer, but in truth I am but a humble street artist—Uroji of Suginomoto, at your service.”

“Uroji?” “Yes.” “Is Suginomoto the name of your birthplace?” “That it is.” “So—Iga then.” “In Iga’s Ichinomiya, they say there has long been a Yamada Sarugaku troupe.” “Do you trace your lineage to Yamada Sarugaku?” “G-good heavens, no!”

Uroji became flustered when Toshimoto's knowledge had uncovered so much about his background. "As I said before, I am but a humble street performer making ends meet—not one who could claim even the slightest connection to the Yamada Sarugaku tradition."

Then Kikuou, from beside him, “And your wife’s name?” Kikuou pierced through his evasion.

Whether he had no intention to conceal his wife's name or simply couldn't fabricate a lie on the spot, he answered with the name he habitually used— "My wife is called Ukogi." he answered. "Lady Ukogi?" Repeatedly, Kikuou muttered.

“……Lady Ukogi.” “That name too feels familiar somehow…” “Well, to pry any further would be imposing.” “Having learned this much, we may yet meet again through fate’s design.” “Then farewell, Master Uroji—or whatever you are.” “I am most grateful.” “Should destiny permit our reunion…” “Farewell.”

Uroji turned and walked briskly back alone toward the path he had come from. After parting with him, the master and servant crossed Iwamuro and took rest in a hall of the next temple, Hachigamine, as dawn approached.

“...Ah?” At that moment, as Toshimoto was loosening his travel garments and let out a strange cry, Kikuou too found himself startled for no apparent reason— “Damn it!”

he repeated. “Kikuou, what have I done? Though unwittingly done—last evening, had my mind truly been so disordered?” “…It seems I mistook the poison I always carry against my skin for travel medicine and gave it through your hands to that Uroji’s wife.” “What?!” “The travel medicine from the Imperial Medical Bureau remains here, but the poison I secretly carried is gone from my person.” “Then… that substance was poison after all?” “Y-you’ve kept such a thing upon you... all this time?”

Kikuou was also stunned.

It was Uroji’s wife, who had been weeping tears of joy so profusely. By now, she must have already taken it. When her husband Uroji returned, how bitterly she would resent him. The two men shuddered, but there was nothing to be done. Struck by the sudden toll of Hachigamine Temple’s bell that pierced their ears, both pressed their pale faces to the ground toward where the chimes faded. Through invoking Buddha’s name, their cold sweat became a moment of contrition, repenting their unconscious sin.

Parent of a Butterfly

"It must be about time the infant grows hungry and begins crying for milk..." Such thoughts lingered ceaselessly in the heart of the man hastening along the wild path. It was Sarugaku performer Uroji who, after escorting Toshimoto and his retainer partway, now hurried across Kawachi Field under cover of darkness to return to his thatch-roofed boat home. Before long, the Eigawa River widened, and the still-sleeping outcast community came into view. He splashed noisily through the shallows he had previously crossed. And when he finally returned to the former sandbar in the river, there for the first time—

“Ah,” he exhaled as if released from an extraordinary tension.—Wringing water from his hakama hems, he remained gazing at the sky for some time.

Last night’s full moon had vanished without a trace. That moon, the figures of Toshimoto Ason and Kikuou—all of it felt like a dream from a single night. Somewhere along the eastern mountain ridges, dawn had probably begun to break. Only the water’s surface around River Crossroads shone starkly white. From within the dim reeds where reed warbler chicks and larks nested, faint chirping had already started…

He did not know. He was not yet aware of the fate that awaited him just ahead. However, Toshimoto—who had parted with him—was at this very hour in a hall of Hachigamine Temple, having become aware of his unintended mistake from the previous night and now stood aghast. He had only learned that morning that he had mistakenly given the poison he carried to Uroji’s wife in place of travel medicine—but it was unlikely he would come rushing back merely to inform them of this fact.—And as for Uroji having no premonition either? There was nothing to be done.

“...Ukogi”

When he saw his family’s thatch-roofed boat, he was already calling his wife’s name from the riverbank—in his voice overflowed, beyond words, their usual marital bond, that daily rhythm where even a moment apart found them waiting for and being waited upon by each other.

“I’m back now. …You must have been so anxious.” “Has the baby still not woken? …Wait, wait—I’ll make the kudzu starch right away.” He stepped onto the boat’s edge.

And as he made his way around half of the thatch exterior, did he perhaps notice something amiss? He hurriedly crouched low, crawling as he pressed himself down, “Ukogi”

he called again. But there was no reply.

The lamp inside the thatch was extinguished, and there was no sign of that sharp-eyed wife stirring. Uroji tumbled inside. And in the pitch darkness, like a madman, he groped around the wooden pillows and bedding,

“Ah—she’s gone!” “Wh-where did you go?” At his feet, a vessel shattered as he reeled back—his staggering body rocking the boat violently. “Ukogi!” “Ukogi…”

He went outside again, pacing restlessly around the thatch exterior, and shouted hoarsely toward the water. In the end, even that voice erupted into nothing but a loud sob as he blindly scrambled up toward the sandbar’s shore.

Then, as if they had been lying in wait, a cluster of shadows concealed behind the ayu fishing hut came swarming out and engulfed him in an instant. Needless to say, these were Rokuhara agents. Without permitting protest, they blanketed over him—twisting Uroji into submission, snatching ropes—amidst the jostling throng, "What are you doing?!"

And he too was not faring well. In such moments, his true self inevitably surfaced—there was no helping it. Unlike his usual self, he employed footwork techniques against two or three captors and in an instant leapt back from beneath their crushing pressure.

“You’ve got the wrong person.” “I’m but a boat performer from these parts.” “This humble one is called Uroji of Sarugaku.” “By what charge would you presume to haul me away?” “Liar!”

A sneering voice rang out. So that was the capture squad leader. “Hey, you there—Uroji or whatever you call yourself! “You’re a samurai, aren’t you?” “Those moves aren’t something a boat performer would know, are they?” “…No—we’ll get to that later.” “Anyway, you’re coming to the outpost.” “The outpost?” “Need you ask? “It’s where our men from Rokuhara are mustered—those who rushed here specially and set up base at Fujiidera.” “I’ve no business being dragged there. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“If you want to explain yourself, state it at the outpost.” “Why would you—claiming no wrongdoing—moor your boat at this sandbar and hide from sight since last night?” “A boat dwelling is like birds that sleep afloat.” “Night after night, one doesn’t necessarily sleep on the same shore.” “Then, what about that empty boat moored to the same post?” “...And who had you put on that one?”

“I know not,” Uroji deflected. “No doubt it’s just some ownerless drifting boat or such.” “I won’t let you claim ignorance,” the commander snapped. “That’s a cargo boat from Deyashiki outpost. The bow bears a brand as well. You must have piloted the villain who escaped through Deyashiki’s sluice gate here and moored it.” His voice hardened. “...And after guiding them along an escape route from here to somewhere, you must have returned. We were lying in wait for your return.” He leaned closer, ropes creaking in his grip. “If you fear the ropes, state here and now where Hino Toshimoto has gone.”

“Don’t be absurd!” Uroji paid no heed. “I’ve never even heard of Hino Toshimoto. Take your questions elsewhere,” he jeered defiantly.

The commander once again loudly hurled the mockery back at him. “I see. If you won’t talk, I’ll get it from your wife’s mouth instead. …Fool of a husband.” “If you’d just confessed here without fuss, your sickly wife wouldn’t have suffered and could’ve been sent straight home from the outpost.” “Hah...!” “Then…!” he exclaimed in shock, “What about your wife Ukogi?” “She was already taken to the outpost a step ahead.” “And yet here you are, still thrashing about?” “Still intend to keep resisting, do you?”

“Y-You’re merciless...”

“What do you mean ‘merciless’? If you pity your wife, you should stop lying! Enough of this nonsense—quit the backtalk and bind him tight!” At his command, the subordinates shouted and lunged, forcing Uroji’s body back to the ground. He no longer resisted.

Night gave way to dawn, and at River Crossroads, the daily sound of oars came and went as usual. Even a mere hundred soldiers—when an army took station—could transform a tranquil garden into a battlefield crossroads overnight.

However, while temples of authority would never permit such intrusion, Fujiidera remained in ruins ever since a flood years past. The venerable visage of Ishikawa Kannon, its principal image, was barely protected within a thatched-roof hall. Ever since yesterday, Rokuhara soldiers and spies (informers) had reduced the place to utter disarray—strewn with traces of cooking fires, horse dung, and other such chaos.

“Tch, how noisy.” It was a man with a beard resembling a tiger’s who appeared to be the local commander. He sat on the rain-dampened veranda of the main hall, barking orders. “How long will you let that brat keep wailing?” “A baby’s cries stir up pointless sentiment.” “Enough dallying—tear them apart and bring just the woman here!”

One of the soldiers ran up and answered that. “It’s due to hunger, they say. She says she’s asking for rice flour or kudzu starch.” “Can’t she produce milk?” “Due to postpartum illness or such, she’s so frail and delicate that she can’t walk without clinging to something.” “Troublesome prisoners. Well, it can’t be helped. Tell the back hall keeper to give them some gruel broth or something.”

The commander was Honjō Oniroku, an Emon no Jo and one of the generals of the Rokuhara Kendansho. He had every reason to swagger. “Hey!”

With that, he immediately swung his chin toward the soldier beside him. “In this downtime, have one of the spy unit members summoned here.” Before long, a man with large eyes and an owl-like face emerged from the spy unit gathering spot and knelt before him. “I am Gonzo of the spies.” “Are you the leader of this unit?”

“Indeed.”

“What’s wrong? “For two days now, your spy unit hasn’t produced any results at all, have you?” “My deepest apologies. “Well, you see, ever since Chief Shinobi no Ōkura disappeared two days ago...”

“Still no sign of the corpse?” “It hasn’t been found.”

“What nonsense!” “A man who holds the title of Chief of Spies—” “We were certain he’d been tricked by Funaki Yoriharu and met some fate near Amami, so we’ve been torturing Yoriharu since last night, but he won’t talk.” “That wretch is a samurai of stature.” “He won’t spill secrets under some spy’s questioning.” “We’ll beat the truth out in Rokuhara’s white sand courtyard.” “Until then, keep watch day and night without lapse.”

However—

When word arrived that Funaki Yoriharu had just bitten off his tongue and killed himself inside the temple storehouse being used as a makeshift cell, Honjō Oniroku—astounded—immediately rushed to the scene.

…but it had already ended. Oniroku, having lost his sole living witness, berated the guards and stamped the ground in frustration as he returned to his former position.

And then, suddenly—

A moment ago, in front of the damp veranda of the hall where he had been, he saw a single straw mat. On the straw mat lay a young wife, her black hair like drifting waterweed tied back swiftly, lying prostrate as though the morning light were too harsh to bear. "...That's right. Now, the only living witnesses who know Hino Toshimoto's whereabouts are this woman and her husband." "We must keep her alive with care... then press her relentlessly." Oniroku gazed at the black hair as he sat back down in his original seat.

“…Woman.”

“Yes.” “Your name?” “I am called Ukogi.” “How old are you?” “…………” Honjō Oniroku found himself momentarily captivated. But.

Regaining his composure, his voice abruptly shifted to the booming tone used in the Rokuhara Kendansho’s white sand courtyard. “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 don’t want to suffer, do you?” “I am twenty-six years of age.” It was a voice like thread.

"Twenty-six—a woman in her prime," Oniroku thought. He wanted to add, "...Raise your face more," but restrained by a twinge of conscience, even he couldn't bring himself to say it. It must have been her long illness in the thatch-roofed boat's hold. She bore no resemblance to the wife of such a man through her delicate grace. Her skin resembled pear blossom. No—if one were to drape her in layered court robes, crown cloud-like tresses with jeweled pins... Oniroku became entangled in a vertiginous fantasy. This very notion kindled a morbid curiosity about his own interrogation methods.

“I hear you and your husband make your living as sarugaku boat performers, but you’re no ordinary outcasts.” “Where were you born?” “…Yes.”

“That’s not a ‘yes.’ Where? Your birthplace?” “In the vicinity of the capital.”

“I thought as much.” “That capital-bred bearing shows through.” “Now—your husband’s family name?”

“He is called Uroji.” “That’s a stage name.” “Give me his real one.” “No no—he’s been but a poor performer from the first among the hut folk at Shichijō Kawara.” “He bears no other name.” “You’re certain of this?”

“……Yes.” “Well. “We’ll scrub that clean later. “Now then—that Uroji left you there alone on the boat from last night until this dawn—where exactly did he go? “I won’t accept ignorance. “Where did you let escape the man from that other boat moored on the same sandbar? “……Speak.” “…………” “Confess this truth plainly and I’ll release you here. “Otherwise I’ll have both husband and wife sent to Rokuhara’s office for interrogation at the white sand courtyard.”

“By no means do I know anything.” “…I was sleeping in the boat’s hold holding our infant, and as for where my husband went…” “Very well!”

Oniroku’s tongue-clicking transformed into open hatred. Suddenly, with glaring eyes, he looked around at the surrounding soldiers and muttered.

“The rest of the men still haven’t dragged Uroji here yet. When you bind and bring that bastard here, line up the couple on the mat and make them spill their guts.—Meanwhile, tie up the infant and leave it on the back veranda of the Kannon Hall or somewhere.”

That morning. As a commander, he must have had urgent matters pending elsewhere—no sooner had he left instructions than he led his subordinates and galloped off from Fujiidera toward the Furuichi outpost.

It was shortly after that Uroji was dragged to Fujiidera. Of course, he was confined separately from Ukogi. For some reason, that day and the next as well, the couple were not dragged out to the interrogation mat either. The conflict between Rokuhara soldiers and the outcast community showed rains of blood and rains of stones everywhere, both yesterday and today. By now, the focal point itself lay outside the bounds of what constituted the problem.

Only their mutual hatred fueled each other's growing madness. Not just in Furuichi but throughout Tamate, Kashiwa, Ega, and Takayasu too, the outcast communities rose as one, “Remove the river blockade!” “We can’t earn our keep!”

“Do you mean to leave us to wither?” “Lift the crossroad barriers!” “Drive out those bailiffs!” Their solidarity left the soldiers’ actions deadlocked at every turn. Even Honjō Oniroku, dispatched by the Kendan Office, could find no way to act in the face of this daily worsening situation. If they mobilized troops to suppress them, the outcasts would only grow in number; yet if they tried to appease them, even the Fujiidera encampment risked being surrounded by their surprise attacks and ambushes, leaving supply lines perilously close to severance.

“A troublesome lot.”

He muttered.

Yet he remained utterly unaware that his own figure already appeared to the outcast community as an agent of power inciting their violent frenzy. On the contrary, he was convinced that Sansho Dayu Yoshitoki of Ishikawa—that very man—was the monster pulling strings behind the rioters,

“Now then—to strike at the Furuichi Outpost and Ishikawa Castle...”

As for executing it, even he found himself hesitating. The troops at his disposal were few, and even had they possessed adequate forces, confronting the Sansho leader would instantly ignite open warfare. The maneuvers of court nobles and temple alliances—once those elements entered play, all outcomes grew unforeseeable. And naturally, lacking any directive from the Rokuhara Tandai, such an endeavor lay beyond feasibility.

“Now all that remains is to await our leaders’ august decision…” Oniroku waited, stamping the ground daily as though it were routine while seeking Rokuhara’s directives. Before many days had passed, the swift messenger horse returned. But against all expectation—

“Withdraw at once.”

Such was the directive. “『As per Lord Hōjō’s policy, you are hereby directed to avoid escalating any local conflicts, regardless of their nature.』” “Therefore, cease pursuit of Lord Hino Toshimoto immediately, release all outcast community members captured here, and withdraw your forces at once.” To Oniroku, this proclamation from the messenger came as both a surprise and a personal affront. However, during his assignment to Kawachi, the traditionally hardline militant policies of Rokuhara had been significantly revised under Kamakura’s directives—rumors of an imminent major reshuffle of officials down to the Tandai level were things he too would come to hear about only later.

In any case.

In exchange, Honjō Oniroku must have felt as though he had been saved from an uncontrollable quagmire. That very day, he lifted the river blockade, removed the crossroad barriers, and released all the outcast community members who had been strung together like prayer beads in Fujiidera’s detention pit— “You vermin are luckier than you deserve. “If you were sent to Rokuhara, every last one of you would end up in the pits for the executed—though this too is Lord Kamakura’s mercy. “Be grateful for this mercy.” With that, he released them, making sure they felt indebted.

Among those released prisoners was Uroji the boat performer, and of course, his wife Ukogi had to be among them as well.

“How awful! …They left it looking like bandits had been living here!” The custodian of Fujiidera was fuming alone. No wonder. That day, the scene left behind after Honjō Oniroku and the Rokuhara soldiers abruptly withdrew was nothing short of havoc. However much it might resemble an abandoned temple, they had used every railing and fixture they could lay hands on as firewood, and showed no sign of even attempting to bury the excrement in the pits they had used.

“Well… At least they didn’t take out the venerated Hakuhō-period main deity—the Ishikawa Kannon statue—and use it for firewood. I should count that as a blessing.”

The temple custodian—a monk—grumbled but soon took up a broom and began cleaning. The upstanding citizens of the age were likely all like that, but there was a look of resignation—as if facing a natural disaster—in his figure as he busily set to work.

Silently, with each tsubo he swept, only that single tsubo’s worth of original peace and tranquility was being restored to the earth through his own hands. He seemed to take some meager consolation in making such small prayers. “Hm?” Before long, he suddenly noticed the ruined priest’s quarters and storage shed at the back and called out in reproach from afar.

“Who’s there?” “The one over there.” “Was someone still left behind?” “Mr. Myodatsu?” “It’s me.” “It is I.”

Seeing the man approaching, temple custodian Myodatsu stared wide-eyed. “Oh—it’s you, Mr. Uroji. I’ve been looking for you since earlier!” “Mr. Myodatsu—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! All the other captured comrades were released from this temple gate like scattered trash—figured you must have left somewhere for now.”

“Yes, like the others, my ropes were untied—but that morning, my wife Ukogi should have been brought here as a prisoner too...” “Yet Ukogi is nowhere to be found.” “Ah, so that’s why.” “They shoved me out through the temple gate with orders to go anywhere, but with no place to go even temporarily—and not knowing my wife’s fate—I wandered peering into corners, thinking she might still be somewhere within these grounds.” “I see. Then you shouldn’t be able to find her, Uroji.”

“What?”

Uroji immediately turned pale.

“Has something happened to Ukogi?”

“No, no. “Ah, this was my poor phrasing. “There’s no need to be alarmed. “The reason I said you wouldn’t find her was my arrangement—inside that thatched Kannon hall, where I’d quietly had her lie hidden since earlier.”

“Ah, so she had been placed inside that sacred door? Mr. Myodatsu, I have no words to thank you.” “…But wait a moment. When you’re so pleased… it’s hard for me to bring this up. You said you were alarmed, but in truth, there’s actually one more thing that would surprise you.”

Even calling it a Kannon Hall was generous—it was merely a makeshift structure with a thatched roof. Narrow and dim, upon the sumeru dais, even the halo of the Holy Kannon was gazed upon like a golden spider’s web.

Ukogi had been lying beneath the sumeru dais here all this time.

That too had not been out of consideration by the Rokuhara soldiers. Since he had long been acquainted with Myodatsu the temple custodian, it was all due to his kindness—both opening the sacred door and lending thin night garments. However, while soldiers remained present, even Myodatsu had been unable to come here as he wished. When he witnessed today’s withdrawal, he immediately visited her bedside to offer comfort—yet Ukogi kept weeping without lifting her face.

When he gradually pressed her with questions, the infant—who had only drawn breath a short while after birth—had turned cold last night in her arms where no milk flowed, he learned. Myodatsu was startled, “Then—the one she’s holding—is that your child, now cold and breathless?” Yet faced with that parental heart still cradling the babe as though it lived, he could not help but shed tears. —Having finished relaying all this to her husband Uroji in this manner, Myodatsu...

“Go on. Hurry and go see her. Poor thing—your wife was frantic with worry over what might have become of you.” After hurriedly urging him on, he left to attend to his own business.

Uroji climbed the steps of the thatched hall as if crawling. He had no strength left to walk. Then he opened the dark hall's door. The figure lying there—as if ill in a boat's hold—immediately seized his gaze. But the infant's cries were no longer heard.

“Ukogi…” “There you are… It’s me… It’s me.” “Oh… You…” She clung to him before her husband could even sit down. That hand held the desperate strength of one grasping in dark waters. A gulp swallowed back the rising sob—then voice and tears burst through like a broken dam. “…………” The paired Kannon statues on the Sumeru dais gazed down smiling upon husband and wife—two beings made one. Uroji’s hands stayed knowing the rhythm of her panting against that thin back—a pulse that lingered without end. Even when he tried returning her to where she’d lain, Ukogi refused release.

“...Don’t weep.” “I won’t go anywhere anymore.” “The Rokuhara soldiers have left; the hardships have passed.” “No matter what may happen, I will not leave your side again.”

“That brings me joy to hear, but there’s something I must beg forgiveness for.” “……I must beg your forgiveness.” “The child’s passing?” “…Please look.” “…Look upon him.” “…This face that seems to sleep so peacefully.” “My failing.” “All of this stems from me.” “No—I too…” “Nonsense—the chill of childbirth in a boat-dwelling, compounded by this fresh calamity.” “But in such a cruel world—to be born to parents as powerless as us—that child was ill-starred from the first.” “…Come now—gather yourself.” “At least let us hold our child’s wake here tonight—husband and wife together—for that’s all we can do.”

Evening.

Myodatsu, the temple custodian, appeared at the Kannon Hall once more with a comforting expression. “The Rokuhara presence has already departed; there’s no need to mind anyone now.” “You should stay here and recuperate at ease until your wife recovers.”

And then, when evening came once more,

“This must be some kind of fate. I too shall join you in keeping vigil for the little Buddha tonight.”

And so, he arranged even these token offerings.

“...A fortunate child.”

The quiet midnight Buddhist chants eventually led Uroji and his wife to harbor such thoughts.

Rather, it was the parents who must endure living through suffering that bore deep karma—they thought. When they looked up at the Sumeru dais, their deceased child appeared cradled in the golden hands of Holy Kannon. The couple involuntarily pleaded: “We beg you…” In their hearts, they cried out—May our child never again be born to parents burdened with such heavy karma in the next life. May they be reborn as a happy child. Then Kannon’s smile seemed to answer: “This fretting is needless. This child was mine from the beginning—no, all beings of this world are my children. Now I have merely called yours back to my hand.” So it was declared.

.

At that moment, outside the hall,

“Might Sarugaku performer Uroji be there in that lamplight? The one who was recently brought here by Rokuhara soldiers.” A voice inquired. For some time now, several samurai had been wandering through the pitch-dark temple grounds; their shadowy figures seemed to have discovered this small light here. “Who might you be?”

Cautiously, Myodatsu stepped out onto the veranda alone. Among the samurai, one was strikingly young.

The young samurai said.

“I am Ishikawa no Toyomaro.”

“Huh? Are you the young lord of the Sansho estate? Then there’s no need for explanations. Mr. Uroji is here, but—” “What of Ukogi?”

“Yes. Your wife as well.” “Hadn’t she died?” “What are you saying? The one who passed was the infant—tonight we were holding the vigil for them.” Toyomaro exchanged glances with the retainer he had brought along and looked relieved. Then one of the retainers spoke in his stead to explain the circumstances: A few days prior, a monk from Koya bearing news of Hino Toshimoto had come to Ishikawa Castle to make contact.

Included in that message was: “—I mistakenly gave poison to Uroji’s wife. Though it may be called an error, I cannot endure this remorse. Please find some way to atone for my sin”—so the message conveyed.

But.

That poison had been kicked and scattered at the feet of the officers who attacked the thatch-roofed boat while Uroji was away, and Ukogi had never even held it in her hands. “No, hearing that puts my mind at ease... I’ll send for Uroji properly.” “There is also an earnest message from Lord Hino.” “As for you two, we will take you into the Sansho estate and ensure you live without hardship, arranging everything properly.”

Having said that, Toyomaro soon departed.

“In that case... “……Was that… poison?””

—After Toyomaro had left.

“Ah… We knew not,” they said. “That Lord Hino Ason—mortal though he was—had meant to bestow mercy through an error beyond even his knowing.” “That… was poison?”

The couple shuddered as if only now realizing and were astonished at their miraculous escape from death. If, at that time— If Uroji hadn’t been away and Ukogi had been abducted by the officers—? …… And if there had been no such disaster of being confined for over ten days— Without a doubt, Ukogi had believed that to be precious medicine and would have drunk it.

“Ukogi. This is no ordinary matter, I tell you. Many times, wearied of living—even that night, thinking perhaps we should end it all in a lovers’ suicide…—both you and I found ourselves drawn to death’s ease, but—” “Don’t die… Could it be that something sought to show us, this couple, such astonishment?” “I can’t think of it any other way. I can’t help but feel our departed parents are watching over us—spineless as we are in this world—from beneath the grasses, scolding us to live strong.”

“Now, now—we mustn’t harbor such weakness of spirit as to consider a lovers’ suicide.” “Ukogi will not lose to illness either.” “Ah, even I—my very nature that detests the warrior class has narrowed my world and deliberately made me this weak… but if I set out on the path I favor, I intend to be capable of anything.” “...And if I—who made you lose both your clan and homeland for my sake—cannot even bring happiness to a single woman like you, I’d be ashamed to call myself a man.”

“Such things…” “Please, don’t say such things…” “Love is not a sin for either of us.” “I don’t believe love is a sin either.” “Isn’t this the love we sought?”

“Well said.” “From the start, we never aspired to rise in the warrior class or mimic courtly ways.” “Our only wish is to live with you, no matter what hardships we must endure.” “But… To do that—”

“You were disowned by your adoptive family and could no longer remain in the capital,” “And you as well…” Uroji let out another deep, lingering sigh. Though he had resolved himself to accept the sacrifices made as a man, the self-reproach for irrevocably altering her life remained an unceasing question in his heart. Ukogi, who would shake her head whenever he voiced this, always appeared heartbreakingly vulnerable.

The infant’s remains were quietly cremated that night behind Fujiidera Temple by the hands of the custodian Myodatsu and the father.

A few days later.

One evening, Myodatsu came rushing in. And, peering into the Kannon Hall at the two inside, he made an exaggerated face.

“Mr. Uroji, they’re here.” “Huh? What are you talking about?” “Lord Ishikawa no Toyomaro, who came here the other night, told you, didn’t he? …That he would send someone to fetch you again at a later date.” “The party sent to fetch you has come from the Sansho estate, I tell you.” “Huh? Us?” “Probably your change of clothes—they’ve brought clothing chests, horses, all sorts of things.” “Wh-what nonsense! “Refuse them!” “Refuse them!”

Uroji’s face even changed color as he blurted out in panic. “What?! You’re refusing?!”

Myodatsu looked at him in utter disbelief. "—Mr. Uroji—this may be meddlesome of me—but if you let such fortune slip away, wouldn't that be exhausting divine favor?"

“But for us as a couple, our current circumstances—poor though they may be—are rather carefree. After all, service in a mansion isn’t suited to our station, nor have we sought it.” “But from what I hear, those at the Sansho estate seem to view you two as people of considerable lineage.”

“That’s precisely why it’s even more troubling. Mr. Myodatsu, please find some way to politely apologize and have Lord Ishikawa’s retainers return home.” It wasn’t just Uroji—Ukogi too joined her husband in obstinately refusing.

“I can’t fathom you.” Having harbored nothing but genuine sympathy for this young couple’s circumstances from the start, Myodatsu now found something beyond understanding welling up within him—his face taking on the stern-faced kindness of a well-meaning man.

“...Well now, ma’am—how about you give it some proper thought? I don’t know the details, but someone called Hino Ason or some such has gone to the trouble of sending a messenger from Koya to request that the Sansho estate make you happy, hasn’t he? Such fortune won’t come twice in a lifetime.” “Yes.” “Well now, even being a sarugaku performer might be acceptable. Sarugaku performers range from highest to lowest. If you were among those with positions at Kasuga or other renowned shrines, that would be one thing—but trudging about as outcast performers doing beggar’s sarugaku, you’ll spend your whole life covered in street dust, barely scraping by day after day.”

“Thank you for your kindness, but…” “Is it truly so objectionable? This stubbornly?” “I must beg to decline.” “Troublesome indeed.” “To refuse without even a pretense of reason!” “Are you saintly or simply stupid?” “Even I find this infuriating!”

——But there was no alternative. Myodatsu reluctantly left and conveyed their refusal to the welcoming envoys. Unable to give an honest refusal, he cobbled together flimsy excuses—Ukogi’s illness, Uroji’s excessive humility—and returned after offering perfunctory apologies. "You finally came back. …But listen—the envoys said—" “It’s not just for today—they said they’ll come again another day to fetch you. …Well, in the meantime, you two should have a good talk as a couple.”

Myodatsu returned to the priest’s quarters and went to sleep. For him, it must have been utterly frustrating—and the futility of it all seemed unbearable.

Midnight came.

It was already past mid-April. The croaks of the first frogs sounded. The couple seemed not to have slept since that time either. When their whispers finally ceased, they began adjusting their garments, and Uroji appeared to have retrieved straw sandals for himself and his wife from some hidden place.

“Ukogi. Did you take that?”

“I have it.”

That must have been the small box containing their deceased child’s remains. Ukogi carried it on her back. Clutching a torn sedge hat in one hand, they stepped outside the Kannon Hall. The couple bowed low before the main hall, then pressed their hands together in prayer toward the priest’s quarters where Myodatsu slept. Before midnight deepened further, they left Fujiidera behind—vanishing into the darkness without destination.

The next morning—even Myodatsu the temple custodian, still in the first moments of wakefulness.

At Fujiidera’s exterior, leaving horses and attendants behind, a figure entered through the mountain gate alone. It was Ishikawa no Toyomaro. “Custodian! Custodian!”

At that voice, Myodatsu rushed out from inside the priest’s quarters.

“Well, well—it’s the young master of the Sansho estate.” “The other night—was it you who went to greet the retainers I had sent?”

“Yes.” “It was this humble one.” “Why do Uroji and his wife not welcome the invitation? Could it be that even you have misunderstood our intentions?”

“Perish the thought! I have thoroughly conveyed your gracious intention, and the parties concerned surely understand it as well.” “In any case, I shall meet them personally. I’ll meet them face-to-face and make them see reason! Summon them! The couple!” “Just a moment, please.”

In a fluster, he immediately ran toward the Kannon Hall. But Toyomaro grew tired of waiting.—Then, a certain samurai who had been standing at the mountain gate’s edge watching the situation also came over, whispered something with him, and soon walked shoulder to shoulder with him toward the thatched hall.

And there at the edge, they saw Myodatsu standing blankly, merely rooted in place. ——Hearing from Myodatsu that neither hide nor hair of the couple remained—that even the bone jar containing their child’s ashes, which they had prayed over daily, was gone— “So they slipped away last night.” “……Lord Masasue.” “A bitter disappointment.”

Toyomaro glanced back at one of the samurai and looked disgruntled. ——But as if unable to bear the sight of that samurai—his vacant face still turned toward the hall, looking tragic as he seemed to swallow his tears—he immediately averted his eyes.

“Custodian… Was there nothing left behind by the couple?” Eventually, it was the samurai called Masasue who asked. “Not really…” Myodatsu now said weakly. “Originally, they had nothing—they’re just wandering performers, you see. However, they did leave behind a brief note of thanks addressed to this humble one before departing.” Myodatsu showed him the scrap of paper he had been holding. “Let me see that.” He stared intently at the traces of ink in feminine handwriting, not so much reading as scrutinizing them. Just as his eyelashes began to glisten, he casually rolled them back.

“Custodian. Will you give me this note?” “Yes, please take it.” “You were quite kind to them, I hear. This is my small token.”

Seeming to have nothing else on hand, he pulled out the ornamental hairpin from his sword and gave it to Myodatsu. And to his companion Toyomaro, “There’s no help for it—let us return.” “The news reached my ears too late. If only I could have consulted with you a little sooner…” Forcing lonely smiles, they returned together in dejection.

After seeing them off to the mountain gate. Myodatsu suddenly noticed the hairpin he had received as thanks. On the crosshatched inlay portion of its surface gleamed a gold Tachibana crest. Ah. Then—that person…? He gazed once more at the distant sky beyond the mountain gate. In all Kawachi province, only one house used the Tachibana crest—the Kusunoki family.

*Hatsuse Penitence*

“Ha! Ha! Ha! …Hat! Where are you going?” The monk panicked. He scampered about. The hat rolled endlessly on, tumbling down the slope of the mountain path. It had been an unguarded moment—the traveling monk resting his feet at the descent of Yoshikakushi Pass had been lulled into carelessness by the cool breeze.

“You mischievous wind!” “Flip my hat back!” Peering into the valley below, the monk eventually burst into high-pitched laughter.

It seemed that even he himself found it comical—the pitiful breathlessness with which he’d chased after that whirling hat, nearly tumbling into the valley in his greedy desperation. He had a scrawny, petite build. His face was not large either. His head wasn’t cleanly shaven either. A chestnut burr. Only his eyes were piercing.

No, “piercing” didn’t seem quite the right word. They were eyes that darted about with childlike curiosity. Perhaps he had a habit of talking to himself? He was already walking away, muttering to himself. “Well, this is unbearable without a hat,” he muttered. He took out a sweat cloth and placed it on his head. At first glance, he might have seemed like a spiteful monk, but there was an underlying cheerfulness—almost amiable—beneath his obstinate demeanor that could be glimpsed even in his bearing. As for his age, people might truly take him for sixty, but between the luster of his persimmon-tanned skin and his spry legs, he still seemed no more than forty-seven or eight.

Not long after that.

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

It was the height of the June sun.

This year brought scorching heat unlike any other. Since May there had been no rain; rice fields cracked dry across regions where planting proved impossible, withered seedlings dotting the landscape everywhere. Though farmers cursed the merciless sky, their voices might as well have been shouted at deaf ears—today's expanse showed not a wisp of cloud. Could it have been a festival day? Men and women bound for Hasedera Temple pressed together in dense crowds despite the furnace-like sun. Searching through them for that traveling monk's figure revealed him already utterly absorbed. His eyes mirrored a child's wide-eyed wonder. He wove through the jostling masses—buffeted by shoulders and elbows—gaze darting between roadside stalls stretching from temple town gates to wandering vendors hawking wares along the path, determined not to miss a single spectacle.

“Ah, a face powder seller.” “Aha.”

He walked a little further. “Ah, a comb carver. Oh, so this is how combs are carved.” At each stall—steamed bun vendors, kanten jelly sellers, rosary makers, sake peddlers, blind minstrels’ mats, acrobat performers, clog merchants, mirror polishers, knife sharpeners—he would pause briefly before hurriedly moving on. “Oh! There’s a hat seller! I’ll buy a hat! Here, here! Give me one!”

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

“Monk. Afraid I don’t have any woven hats.” “What’s that then?” “It’s a Hatsuse笠.” “They keep slapping place names on hats—Hatsuse hats, whatever—but they’re all the same. How about I try this Hatsuse笠?” “Will this do?” “Ah, this will do.”

He paid the coins, immediately swapped his sweat cloth for the new hat and began to leave—but then, spotting something, abruptly turned back and stood in the shade of a tree beside the hat seller.

He saw a young couple who had spread out a straw mat under a large Japanese pagoda tree, placed an old desk there, and were selling fans nearby. Just then, a female customer bought a small fan and was requesting as if she wanted something written on it. Since they were plain fans, without exception, customers who bought them would have the fan-folding couple draw small pictures or poems before taking them away.

But. It seemed customers indeed favored the wife’s calligraphy over her husband’s work. The husband was simply folding fans in silence. “Here, fan folder.” When he finally saw that the stream of customers had ceased, the traveling monk counted his coins. “How about giving me one of those fans over there as well?”

“Yes. Would this be acceptable?”

“No. That five-ribbed one over there looks better.” “And could you add some brushwork to it?” “You flatter me.”

The fan-folding wife was still young. Seeing the monk, her face flushed with modesty. "My humble brushwork is hardly worthy of a reverend monk’s approval." "I beg your forgiveness." "Why not?" he pressed provokingly, "I’ve been watching since earlier—didn’t you draw scattered lotuses in red ink for one customer, illustrating a verse from the Universal Gateway chapter, and for an elderly woman, transcribe a section of Kūya’s hymns using reed-style calligraphy?"

“Well…” Her face flushed even deeper.

“Since plain fans alone do not sell, I am merely peddling my embarrassment for the villagers’ amusement at others’ urging.”

“Even I am but a village monk.” “Oh, come now,”

“I must protest.” “Even I am troubled.”

“Hoh, hoh, hoh.” When she finally burst out laughing, “Ha ha ha ha!”

The monk arched his chest and spoke again. “Then let us do this: I shall write too. You shall write too—a contest of shameful brushwork! Let us make an exchange!” Reluctantly she took up the brush. Holding a fan in one hand and sinking into contemplation over what to write—all while being intently watched by the monk—

Eventually, the wife put down her brush and, lowering her face, gently presented the still-damp ink marks to the traveling monk’s hand. “Well then, allow me to see.” The monk offered a slight bow toward the fan before examining it.

In this world, Since I am a woman, I cross the Itaashi River— How could I not cross?

“Oh, this is a poem from the Manyoshu that sings of this region’s Itaashi River.” “A small note like ‘In resonance with the poem’s sentiment’ might have been fitting.” “…Well then, my turn.” “Kindly lend me that brush.”

The monk also wrote something swiftly on a different fan and returned it. “...Huh?”

The fan she had casually accepted trembled in her hands with a start, like a fluttering butterfly’s wingbeat. And then, as she slid toward her husband’s fan-folding desk, the couple pressed their faces together as if paralyzed, their expressions frozen breathless for a moment at the characters on the fan. It was said that Hattori no Motonari and Ukogi—those who had long been lost to the capital— Since their altered forms had been unexpectedly discovered in the vicinity of Hase,

With a preface that read—

Koguchi (an ancient place name) At the foothills of Mount Hatsuse, Lingering clouds— Could they not be my love? And there had been written a single poem from the Manyoshu.

After some time. The fan-folding couple seemed to have finally regained their composure. They stood side by side—though in truth, as if constricted by their own self-consciousness—and came before the traveling monk to clasp their hands in formal entreaty. “Forgive our presumption, but pray tell—who might you be?” “You appear intimately acquainted with our circumstances, venerable monk?” “Does it still elude your recollection?”

“Well… I’m not quite certain…”

As the couple tilted their heads in unison, the monk watched them with eyes crinkled in nostalgic affection. “……So after all, you were indeed Hattori Jirōzaemon?” “We are utterly mortified. “When you mention our former names...” “And your wife, in former times, served within Saikamon-in’s household—the consort of Emperor Go-Uda—as a junior attendant called Ukogi.”

“...Yes.” “I will no longer conceal anything, but Your Excellency—” “Me? …Well, in recent years I’ve been lodging at Jingo-ji Temple in Yoshida within the capital—they call me ‘the Shinbone Monk of Yoshida’ or ‘Kenkō of Yoshida.’ But I suppose those names mean nothing to you.”

“Lord Kenkō, then?” “No, in truth, I am Urabe no Kenkō—third son of Jibu-no-shō Kanetaka. Taking my secular name as it was, I am now called Monk Kenkō.” “Oh! …So you were indeed Lieutenant Kenkō of the Left Guards, who once served in Emperor Go-Uda’s retired imperial villa as a Northern Guard? …My, what a transformation.”

“Ha ha ha ha. Did we not notice each other’s transformed states? This Kenkō too has not once been asked of late whether I am Urabe no Kenkō—that name from former days... Yet seeing you two here now, I find myself strangely nostalgic for when Emperor Go-Uda still reigned over this world. Truly, how things have changed.” “To have met you in such a place—I feel I could vanish from shame.”

“Hmm. What are you so—” “What’s all this?” Kenkō shook his head sharply.

The events of that time—when their scandalous affair had been clamorously discussed within the imperial court and on the lips of Kyoto’s children—still lingered faintly in his memory. Kenkō seemed to think vexingly, wondering if they still felt shame over that now as he compared it to his own renunciation of the world.

Abruptly changing his tone,

“Lord Motonari.” “Though my journey lacks urgency, would you care to share a night recounting paths trodden and those yet to unfold?” “This exceeds our humblest hopes.”

“Does the fan shop roll up its straw mats at dusk?” “No, this livelihood too—the innkeeper taught us, this couple, a way to earn our keep, saying there would be crowds during Hase’s festival days.” “The writing brushes and inkstones, all the fan-making supplies—they too were lent to us.” “Once we return even those to the innkeeper...”

“I see. Then let me phrase it thus: To come this far yet pass by without worshipping at Hatsuse would show a heart bereft of grace. I shall return when the evening temple bell sounds. Might I trust you both to await me here without fail?”

Having said this, Kenkō immediately departed. Like the thousands of men and women ascending and descending Toyoyama Hasedera Temple, there was no trace of worry in his bearing.

Ukogi and Motonari returned once to the inn. And as even that parched summer day finally cooled into dusk, they set out once more and waited beneath the daytime pagoda tree for Kenkō, who had promised to come.

Before long,

“Ah, you’ve arrived.”

It was Kenkō’s voice. Even more familiarly than in daylight. “Isn’t there somewhere we can talk? Somewhere free from prying eyes and cool.”

They left the main road and descended to the banks of the Hatsuse River. On the bridge above, occasional evening figures passed by, but here there was only the sound of rushing shallows and fireflies dancing through the air. The three sat down and shared a prolonged silence. Summer itself seemed forgotten as life’s bitter trials began to recede.

“...The truth is—dear couple,” “Yes,” “Though these monk’s ramblings may invite mockery, even this Kenkō once knew love as you do.” “But she died young.” “This journey of mine too was wholly a return from visiting her grave in Iga.”

“…………” “Then did it not strike you as all the more personal? For Lord Motonari’s homeland is Iga, and you, Lady Ukogi—raised from childhood in the capital’s noble household connected to Gen’e Hōin—I knew him well in my secular days.” “…………” “I too—to the point of shamelessly recounting my confession of love as an offering to a woman—must ask why you both linger here in such a place, reduced to those who dwell in shadows. Will you not enlighten me?”

Kenkō said this and began speaking rather cheerfully of his own motives for taking monastic vows and memories of the woman.

The woman was known as Shōben no Tsubone, who served the empress, and was the daughter of Tachibana no Naritada, the Provisional Governor of Iga. At that time, for Urabe no Kenkō—still merely a young warrior of the North-Facing Guards at twenty-six or twenty-seven—this had been his first love. Burning like fire, he made his way to her. The woman’s father was not pleased. He had no intention of marrying her off to some lower-ranking retainer of the North-Facing Guards.

He withdrew from the palace and concealed his daughter’s whereabouts in Fukakusa. But he continued to visit that Fukakusa as well, Sleeves dampened by the night chill where cloth is beaten, Are drenched— The dew of dawn Fukakusa Village In such verses, he sang of himself and grieved for himself. The woman’s father, shuddering in horror at his deranged passion, finally moved his daughter to his rural estate in Iga. It was immediately after this that Kenkō resigned from the North-Facing Guards and vanished.

But in the end, he could never meet the woman again. In the depths of despair, he roamed the eastern provinces for years in self-destructive abandon—it was only after a decade had passed that he was summoned again to serve at Cloistered Emperor Go-Uda’s imperial villa. The woman had, in the meantime, become one of the departed in Iga Province. —And before long, in the first year of Shōchū, Cloistered Emperor Go-Uda also passed away. “Defeated in love, parted from the cloistered emperor who had shown me favor—it was then that I resolved monastic life was my sole path…”

Thus concluding— “I have visited that woman’s grave in Iga countless times since then. When I find myself suddenly longing to see her, there’s naught to do but go to Iga.”

And without attempting to hide his flowing tears, he smeared them all over his grimy face with his palm.

The couple listened with deep empathy to the monk Kenkō’s confession about love and his motives for taking monastic vows. “...If it’s to this person,” they seemed to have reached a state of mind where even the personal history they never shared with others was something they wanted him to hear.

What follows is:

Uroji and his wife—no, Hattori Jirōzaemon Motonari and his wife Ukogi—that night, amidst the river’s murmur where Hatsuse fireflies danced in fluttering swarms, openly recounted their tale to Kenkō. The couple now spoke without pretense of everything—the terrifying secret of those turbulent times entwined with love, and their true origins.

×　　　　　　　×

Motonari was the second son of Kōjima Nyūdō, a minor lord of Komada in Iga Province, but was adopted into the related Hattori family.

The Hattori, Kōjima, Ōta, and other clan factions in Iga were descendants of Taira no Ietada of Iga, who had prospered alongside his kin during the Taira clan's ascendancy. Therefore, even now in the capital, there remained no small number of families bound by ancestral lineage.

Taira no Narisuke—also simply called Lord Karasuma, and known as Narisuke, the Middle Palace Secretary—was of Taira lineage. It was in accordance with the custom of the time—where sons of provincial warriors resided in the capital’s influential households under the pretext of “disciplinary training” until inheriting their family estates—that Motonari entered the Karasuma household as a court page. However, he was especially cherished by Narisuke, “Just a bit more, just a bit.” And before he knew it, he had ended up serving for over ten years. Moreover, Motonari himself had nearly forgotten his adoptive family in Iga.

Love had begun to blossom.

He met Ukogi, a maidservant serving Lady Motoko of Saikamon-in in Emperor Go-Uda’s court. Sent on errands by their lord Narisuke, the two lovers who had repeatedly exchanged furtive glances were finally united beneath the blossoms during Kitayama Palace’s imperial flower-viewing banquet. At these spring and autumn banquets at Kitayama Palace, the sovereign’s palanquin would always remain for two or even three nights—and so too did the two attendants serving their respective lords linger throughout those days. Under cover of flowering darkness they stole nightly trysts, while by daylight amidst banquets of whirling petals and the clamor of dance performances, they could indulge their love as freely as they wished.

In the first year of Shōchū, during the imperial procession to Iwashimizu Hachiman Shrine as well, Motonari stood as a carriage attendant and, in accordance with his lord’s penchant for extravagance, wore—alongside eight other retainers—a matching kosode of silver-layered fabric dyed with yellow crane crests over a suikan whose form showed faintly through, drawing all eyes. Moreover, at the night banquets encircling bonfires, under Narisuke’s name, “Motonari, present the Iga Dance.” So commanded, he swiftly performed a piece from the Yamada Sarugaku troupe amidst the crowd without changing his attire.

Of course, he was trained in martial arts since childhood, but by nature, he loved dance and music. In Iga’s Ichi-no-miya Shrine and other sanctuaries, spontaneously arising Kagura-like contemporary dances had recently begun to emerge. Motonari merely improvised what he learned through observation and imitation, but his brilliance swiftly drew applause that seemed to outshine the bonfires’ glow, and the people’s praises rang out ceaselessly for some time. “That one is my household’s treasured retainer.”

Narisuke proudly boasted each time people inquired. But for Motonari, rather than anyone’s praise, it was Ukogi’s eyes—she who had been behind the bamboo blinds in the distance—that were his true focus. But that night, unfortunately, they were not blessed with a meeting, and moreover, not long after, their love was destined to encounter a fatal incident.

It was during that time.

A strange incident occurred in which thieves broke into the Greater Imperial Palace—moreover, into the Tsukasa-machi quarter.

That thieves would dare infiltrate the innermost chambers of the imperial palace—of all places—left the public speechless at such audacity. Yet there were those who claimed this proved society’s disorder had finally reached even those sacred halls. Whether this was indeed the case—

From then on, Kebiishi officers patrolled the capital ceaselessly day and night, presenting an appearance as though they were the imperial faction’s intelligence unit countering Rokuhara’s spies (hōmen). Naturally, the claws of such turbulent times would gradually narrow the garden of lovers or transform it into thorns. Yet such was the irrepressible flame of youth—near dawn one day, beneath Saikamon-in’s Imperial Mound, a suspicious young man was apprehended by patrol guards. The young man was Hattori Motonari, a samurai of the Karasuma family.

After about two days, he was transferred from the Kebiishi Office into Lord Karasuma’s custody. Under a confidential admonition that “...Please exercise caution hereafter.”

However, after this incident, their love became openly discussed among the people. “So Lord Karasuma’s prized retainer Motonari and that Saikamon-in servant Ukogi are carrying on a scandalously passionate affair—but would Lord Chigusa’s younger brother simply suck his thumb and stay silent?” they whispered.

There had, in fact, been another who had ardently pursued Ukogi for some time. That other person was said to be the younger brother of Chigusa Tadaaki, who was regarded as the vanguard of the imperial faction. Motonari knew that there was a formidable competitor. But his passionate flame paid no heed to the Kebiishi’s admonitions or his lord Narisuke’s— “Show some restraint.” He paid no heed to even such a restraining order. He could not go even three days without seeing Ukogi’s face. On stormy nights especially, he treated them as nights of granted fortune—sneaking out from the main residence, crossing Saikamon-in’s Imperial Mound, and paying no heed to the howling night sky as he shared intimacy with Ukogi until near dawn before returning. Even I find myself surprised by my own daring.

No—it was in fact his master Narisuke who had secretly smiled at his passion and boldness. Not as a sympathizer to their love but seeing Motonari as precisely the courageous man his discerning eye had perceived, he thought: This man should be employed. For some time now among radical court nobles such as Karasuma Narisuke, Chigusa Tadaaki, and Bōmon no Kiyotada,

“Is there not a suitable man we might employ?”

Such was the unresolved matter he had been keeping in mind. For this was a matter in which even the Emperor Go-Daigo himself was tacitly complicit—should they fail, not only would their alliance of court nobles suffer a major fracture, but it might also give Kamakura dangerous grounds for retaliation. Thus, in selecting whom to entrust with this secret mandate, they had taken care upon care.

At last, on a certain occasion. Narisuke closed himself in his private chamber and, in secret, disclosed it to Jirōzaemon Motonari—the man he had personally selected—after...

“Well? Will you do it?” With a gaze so intense it was frightening, he pressed him for an answer. “Primarily for His Majesty’s sake.” “Secondarily, it is for your own love.” “Should you succeed, Lord Chigusa and I shall ensure your bond with Ukogi lasts until the end.” “I shall do so.” Motonari answered resolutely—though the task was that of an assassin ordered to kill, with this singular resolve he saw no impossibility.

As Motonari clearly declared—“I will do it”—and accepted the role of assassin, Karasuma Narisuke too exhaled in relief, loosening the rigidity that had seized his entire frame.

The person who was to be killed. He then went on to disclose the reasons and other details.

Here there was a court noble named Daihanji Nakahara no Akifusa. He too had once attended the faction’s “Bundan-kai” meetings and was among those who had long been privy to the secret plot to overthrow the Hōjō within the imperial court. Yet this same Akifusa had recently— “The plan is far too reckless.” —he had directly remonstrated with the Emperor himself.

“Whether it be the Hōjō clan or the warriors of the eastern provinces—all are children of the sovereign of the realm. The people’s misdeeds should be attributed to Your Majesty’s lack of virtue. Moreover, should rebellion arise, the suffering of turmoil will befall the good people. Your Majesty—precisely because one prays for the people that chaos may never come to pass is one worthy of being called Emperor! Yet for the occupant of the Ninefold Throne to condone these young court nobles’ conspiracies… I cannot help but foresee this as the world’s ruin. I entreat Your Majesty to abandon these reckless reforms and devote Your Majesty’s heart solely to virtuous governance.”

It seems he had dared to report matters quite painful to His Majesty’s ears. However, this was Emperor Go-Daigo—not one to heed such counsel in the first place. If these were remonstrations— The Emperor’s milk father, Yoshida Sadafusa, had also faintly suggested as much. Moreover, Mikohidari Tamesue, the Dainagon and father of the late favored consort Tameko, had earnestly admonished the Emperor. Even that incurred the Emperor’s wrath, leading Tamesue to take Buddhist vows and seclude himself in Renge Valley of Kōya—such was the extremity of his retreat. “How much less should a mere Daihanji overstep his station with such audacity!”

And so, Akifusa’s repeated remonstrations were, as expected, summarily dismissed.

But.

For the anti-shogunate court nobles who learned of this, it was not something they could ignore. If Daihanji Akifusa remained so vehemently opposed, there was a fear the matter might leak to Kamakura. Thus, before the Emperor, the drastic measure of "...Well then—" had been tacitly agreed upon in the hearts of Karasuma Narisuke, Chigusa Tadaaki, and Bōmon no Kiyotada—the three nobles. "That Akifusa, having realized the failure of his overreaching position, has since ceased attending court and appears to live in seclusion—yet he still makes pilgrimages to Kiyomizu Temple." "If you watch closely, there will be ample opportunities to strike." "Succeed."

With eyes gleaming, Karasuma Narisuke fanned the flames of Jirōzaemon Motonari’s youthful resolve as he listened.

And, as for the reward—

“I shall grant you leave with this opportunity,” he declared. “Take Ukogi as your wife and live out your days in lasting peace.” Yet regarding Ukogi—it seemed Lord Chigusa’s younger brother had also fallen for her and was vigorously campaigning to take her as his concubine. This ambition his elder brother, Lord Chigusa Tadaaki, compelled him to abandon. Lord Chigusa too had consented to this as part of their exchange. “We shall petition Lady Saikamon-in, whom Ukogi serves,” he continued, “and see that all matters are settled amicably with Abbot Gen’e—her guardian—and her kin in Kawachi.” Narisuke made this pledge.

“I shall do so. Without fail, I will assassinate Lord Daihanji Akifusa and present him to you within a matter of days.” Motonari, even as he listened, felt sweat pooling beneath his arms and swore in a voice like one possessed.

Ostensibly having taken leave from his main house, the Karasuma family, Motonari thereafter concealed himself in the city, single-mindedly staking out Daihanji Akifusa’s comings and goings.

Akifusa’s residence was located on Imadegawa. However, now— It was no easy task. Motonari, now an assassin, came to realize how truly difficult the objective of killing a human being—devoid of any personal enmity—truly was.

It was not a matter of courage or skill. Nor was it because the opportunity refused to come. It was something within himself. In the unfathomable darkness of his heart, there was an unbearable sense that the shadow of his yet-uncommitted self was already stained with black sin. Is this... myself?

With each passing day, his features grew more forbidding. The hollowed gauntness of his cheeks could even be felt by his own hands. "This demonic face... Ah—never let Ukogi see this." ...Never—must Ukogi never see this.

Therefore, during that time, he had not once visited Ukogi’s dwelling. Single-mindedly, “Daihanji, show yourself!”

And so, he made the demon’s shadow wander through the vacant lots and grounds outside the mansions nearby. Futilely, as over a month slipped by, he began to hear unpleasant rumors—rumors concerning Akifusa’s reputation in society. “He is a rare and virtuous person in this age.” “In his official duties, his judgments are razor-sharp, yet he never accepts bribes even in passing and shows compassion for the poor”—such were the whispers circulating about him. This cowed Motonari. The ears of a demon would not accept any trace of the other’s goodness.

Even so, he himself gradually began to doubt his own courage. The boldness and passionate nature that he himself had once trusted—and that Lord Narisuke had relied upon—were flames kindled solely by shadowed passions from stolen meetings at a woman’s dwelling; they held neither surging courage nor single-minded resolve fit for killing. This wouldn’t do.

He rebuked the timid, quivering, petty imp within himself.

The opportunity came.

The evening thrummed with insect cries. Had the moon lured him out? Daihanji Akifusa himself walked alone along the unlit riverbank, unattended by retainers.—Now! Parting the dewy grass, he crawled forward. The target’s back was now within arm’s reach. But just before that moment— “Who’s there?!” Akifusa’s eyes flashed vividly as they turned toward him.

The moment—he must not let it slip. Yet Motonari leaped backward. He had already lost his qualification as an assassin. However, there before Akifusa’s eyes, Motonari—in his bizarre masked guise—lay prostrated like a shattered specter. At some point, in his true heart, he had come to respect the man that was Akifusa. Overcome with shame, he confessed. “Wait… Take care.” “Your life is being targeted.” “I am unfit to be an assassin and shall vanish, but the world remains a troubled one.”

Then, behind him as he departed, Akifusa’s laughing voice could be heard.

“Assassin, do not be so rash. “I am grateful for your warning, but it comes before my resolve. “Without resolve—could I have spoken such things before His Majesty?”

——And so the scene shifted.

The night when Ukogi’s absence was first noticed in Saikamon-in’s chambers came several days after Motonari’s incident—a night that dawned following dark autumn rains that had stormed through. Given the long-standing scandals surrounding her, Ukogi’s disappearance became a rumor that intensified them further.

“Such an audacious escape from the retired empress’s service—she couldn’t have conceived of it alone.”

“A man must have assisted her.”

"Looking back now, there was a sense that Ukogi had secretly developed a preference for sour flavors about a month prior." "Could it have been after being driven to utter despair?" Within the Retired Empress’s court, they buzzed with gossip—a subject of both fascination and envy.—But no one was more astonished by this incident than Karasuma Narisuke. Immediately, he dispatched his household retainers in all directions to inquire at any possible leads and secretly even enlisted the aid of the Kebiishi to investigate, but the whereabouts of the man and woman remained utterly unknown.

He even sent people to Jirōzaemon Motonari’s home province and to Iga.

It was reported there had been no activity. “Now—to the woman’s connections.” Then he turned his scrutiny to Ukogi’s affiliations. First, Narisuke personally visited Gen’e Hōin—the scholar-monk of Kita-no-Ōji who had raised her before she entered Saikamon-in as a low-ranking attendant.

“She… has not shown herself. “No… Given such a disgraceful blunder, she would not come.”

It was Gen’e’s answer.

In the current era, the name of Gen’e Hōin suddenly became widely known. He was the leading authority of the new Song Confucianism. He was particularly popular among young radical court nobles. The clique of court nobles’ so-called “literary discussion meetings” summoned this elderly scholar and, under the guise of gatherings to attend lectures on the *Zizhi Tongjian*, deceived the public.

Gen'e attended the meetings obediently, whether he knew or not that they were using him, and when appointed as the Emperor’s instructor, he assumed that role as well. However, he maintained an attitude of complete detachment regarding how greatly his new theories stimulated the Emperor and the rising court nobles, or how extensively they spread through society. A scholar-monk was ultimately nothing more than one devoted to scholarly pursuit—a man who humbly positioned himself as such.

“As her guardian, I hear it was you, Venerable Monk, who recommended Ukogi to the Retired Empress—what connection led to that?” Narisuke probed. “Therefore, Ukogi’s maternal family in Kawachi—the Kusunoki clan—and my own house are distant relatives by marriage, you see.” “This is the first I’ve heard of it. Then, between Kusunoki Tamonhyōe Masanari and yourself, Venerable Monk—”

“No, our connection dates back to when the late Kusunoki Masatō of former times resided at the Tamakushi-no-Shō estate in Kita-Kawachi and governed those outcast settlements.” “And regarding Ukogi—” “She is Masatō’s youngest daughter.” “Since Masatō has long passed, tracing Ukogi’s maternal lineage would necessarily lead to Kusunoki Hyōe—the present head who succeeded to the estate at Mizumari.”

“Exactly. “After Masatō came his eldest son Masanari, then his younger brother Masasue…” “Beneath them, whether there were still any daughters or not…” “In any case, Ukogi is considered Masanari’s sister. However, having raised her under my care since she was a girl not yet ten years old—for her to end up in such a state, even this foolish monk cannot help but feel somewhat responsible.” Having let slip this reminiscence, “I must promptly send a letter to Kawachi and apologize for the inadequacy of my upbringing.”

he muttered. Upon returning to his residence, Narisuke immediately dispatched a messenger to Mizumari in Kawachi to inquire whether the missing man and woman had shown activity there. Though by birth a warrior, Jirōzaemon Motonari—having realized he lacked the capacity for killing, discarded his mission as an assassin, and abducted Ukogi from Saikamon-in’s court to go into hiding—soon found himself struggling to survive each passing day. To Iga Province, he no longer had the face to return.

In all likelihood, his adoptive family in Iga Province—the entire clan—

“Disown.” It was clear they were furious.

Even so, he could not possibly bring himself to shamelessly seek refuge with Ukogi’s family home either.

Now they had truly become two people adrift at world’s end, with nowhere to turn. Yet they felt no regrets. For Ukogi had declared this to be her deepest wish. But after Ukogi swiftly sold off what few possessions she carried, Motonari found himself perpetually consumed by terror for his life. ……Was it now his turn to become the assassins’ quarry?

He was constantly consumed by such fear. Why? Because he himself had also inadvertently been informed by Lord Karasuma of the conspiracy among court nobles centered around the Emperor within the palace. Because there was a fear that it would be leaked to the world, Daihanji Akifusa was targeted. If that were the case, then naturally, even Lord Bōmon and Lord Chigusa would take action, "The subordinate of Lord Karasuma who failed his assassin’s mission and even stole away a woman—he’s a man who must be eliminated even more urgently than Akifusa."

They must undoubtedly have been covertly ordered—"Search every blade of grass!"—by their superiors. For Motonari, having been deduced as such, a dark despair welled up within him.

In times like these, for men and women—

Death

Death was always alluring. The blending of death and love within the crucible of anguish brewed an even stronger, sweeter wine.

Moreover, from her time at Saikamon-in, Ukogi’s body had already shown signs of pregnancy. Once aware of being a parent, she could no longer die.

Winter came with sleet falling.

Late December.

It was a commotion at Sannen-zaka below Kiyomizu Temple. “Someone’s been killed!” “No—someone was just stabbed and collapsed there this instant.”

“The perpetrator.” “The perpetrator?”

“How should I know? The killer wouldn’t be hanging around here.”

Motonari had hidden his wife Ukogi deep in Otowa and was on his way back that evening carrying food and other provisions. The crowd was a clamoring black mountain of people. The voices flowed into his ears against his will.

—A man who looked like a court noble had just come down from Kiyomizu Temple. Perhaps having had a palanquin or horse waiting at the foot of the slope, he was descending Sannen-zaka holding an umbrella. Then, suddenly, from beneath the great ginkgo tree’s shadow emerged a warrior—a conical bamboo hat pulled low over his brow, a half-straw raincoat draped about his frame—who swooped like a swallow to crash bodily into the courtier’s umbrella before fleeing. Oh? When the passersby gathered to look, they found the mud already turned crimson, and the courtier—stabbed through the abdomen with a sharp blade—already dead. So it was.

Casually, over the crowd’s shoulders, Motonari peered at the corpse lying in the mud. “……Huh?”

A shudder ran through him, and Motonari’s legs began to tremble uncontrollably.—But assailed by the illusion that he himself was the culprit, his subsequent steps were frantic. The dead man’s face was unmistakably that of Daihanji Nakahara no Akifusa. In the days that followed, the town— The Daihanji Murder The town was abuzz with rumors of the Daihanji Murder. Precisely because Daihanji Akifusa had been well-regarded even among the commoners during his lifetime, his unnatural death drew widespread sympathy.

In official circles, they had lightly floated theories like “Perhaps resentment from someone who lost a lawsuit against such an upright Daihanji?”—but among commoners there lingered an air refusing to accept such simple explanations. “...Could there be deeper reasons behind this?” The murmur stubbornly persisted.

But the truth was not something they could possibly comprehend. The roots of the atrocity committed in broad daylight amidst the bustle of the city lay within the imperial court. Those who knew were limited to a person of exalted status, three or four court nobles, and the perpetrator alone. No—there was one more: Jirōzaemon Motonari.

That Motonari— Will the next violent death be my turn?—

Day by day, he was driven into a terror so absolute that even beneath the winter sun there remained not an inch of ground where he could place himself. Moreover, whenever he heard the voices of society, "If only I had become the assassin myself back then—if I’d carried out the killing of Daihanji Akifusa with my own blade—" he also considered. For him, that alternative was in fact a terrifying recollection.—Even if in the end it would have led to such circumstances and terrors, he could not help but feel that choosing this path had still been the better choice.

If one tries to live, the claws of struggle will grasp something.

The couple finally found their way to live.

At the edge of the capital, below Keage and behind Imakumano, there existed a peculiar village within the city that defied easy description.

Amidst the constant clatter and clamor of their lively existence, they worked diligently, sang heartily, and on certain nights—the entire village, old and young alike with children among them—would chant Buddhist prayers while striking bells and dance through the nenbutsu odori in harmonious unity, forming a most peculiar fellowship. In society, they referred to that place as: the Jishū Amishū Order

Society referred to it as such, using terms like "Amishū" or "Jishū followers" when addressing village workers, ordained women, or men. This was a recent phenomenon.

Not only here, but Jishū followers were beginning to appear in various places, showing signs of gradual spread. As for doctrine, it traced its lineage to Kūya’s nenbutsu practices, blended with influences from Hōnen’s Jōdo sect, and was fundamentally shaped by Ippen Shōnin’s teachings—seeming quite complex—but the vows between fellow practitioners were simple and remarkably free. This world is not to be relied upon. Tomorrow remains uncertain. Let us establish a different Pure Land. In the single path of nenbutsu, shall we not live together in harmony? Those who wished to don clerical robes could do so; those who preferred secular attire were free to remain so. Occupation, class, age, or gender—they made no distinctions.

They did not refuse those who came.

Those who leave are not pursued. In essence, their teaching seemed to be this: Do not be swayed by this world’s ugliness; enjoy life as humans truly are, and when your life ends, entrust yourself to Amida Buddha’s welcome to reach the Pure Land in the next life.—Even those who did not believe in the Pure Land appeared to view existence with resigned acceptance: life itself was paradise, and death too was paradise. Motonari and his wife hid here. —And his wife Ukogi gave birth to their first child. The Amishū villagers were kind. Moreover, with a unity and solidarity that could be called extraterritorial, they finally felt revived. But the couple’s first child soon died in the village.

Be that as it may, the extraterritorial Amishū village had been an ideal hideout for Motonari and his wife—yet even there, safety could not last forever.

They do not refuse those who come.

Those who leave are not pursued. Being a diverse religious order of men and women who adhered to this principle, it had been inevitable that disguised government agents would infiltrate their ranks. Moreover, the paired figures of Ukogi and Motonari stood out far too conspicuously in this Amishū village—a place that seemed dredged from the muddy depths of commoner society—like a crane among sparrows.

“Be careful now.” There were also comrades who subtly warned the couple. “For some reason—I don’t know why—there are shady folks here who’ve got their eyes on you. More than a few.” “More than a few.”

The couple had also realized. Thus having stayed in the Amishū village for less than a year, they could do nothing but leave behind the capital and set out into wandering. Yet through watching their Amishū comrades’ tenacious way of life for nearly a year—"If humans strive to live through any means,"—they had grasped this conviction: "They can survive." Confidence at least was something they had managed to learn.

It was after this that Motonari, having turned the path he loved into his livelihood, joined the ranks of street performers.

That said, the two of them had only just timidly drifted away from their lives as court nobles and the refined world within the retired empress’s household. They found themselves unable to blend into survival’s tempestuous seas, nor into the very flesh of commoners who clawed and bit merely to eat. Moreover, they lacked even the courage to abandon forever the capital they had long called home, their wandering confined to Settsu, Izumi, and Kawachi.

In the meantime, Ukogi became pregnant with another child. They had acquired a rotting boat and moved their household onto it thereafter—all for the sake of the expectant mother and infant. Before long, during a night in Furuichi, an unexpected calamity robbed them of their floating household, and both husband and wife were bound and taken to the Rokuhara soldiers’ encampment at Fujiidera, ultimately leading to the loss of their second child as well.

Reflecting—the firstborn child and the one who died at Fujiidera—by what karmic bond had they been born to such ill-fated parents, disappearing from darkness into darkness without ever knowing a single smile?

Was their love, from the very beginning, an ill-fated union bound by a promise that would never bear fruit? Was that why they found no acceptance in the human world—why even the gods and Buddha seemed to despise them? That was all they could say. Having finished speaking, "Our wretched circumstances and petty complaints..." "We've gone and told you everything." "Please do not mock us." With that, they let what remained dissolve into tearful laughter.

×　　　　　　　×

Before long, even the sound of the Hatsuse River had grown late into the summer night, the hour so advanced it carried a chill. “Ah—upon hearing your tale,” he said, “I suppose one might say your circumstances and this Kenkō Hōshi’s are not so dissimilar after all.” “Indeed,” he added with a dry chuckle, “it seems people in similar straits are hardly uncommon in this world.”

He had been listening with deep absorption, but upon hearing their tale to the end, Kenkō Hōshi let out a dry, mirthless laugh.

That was not mockery of the couple’s lament, but rather his characteristic optimistic derision toward fate—one that included himself. Not only that—Kenkō Hōshi—

“Good, good”

What exactly was supposed to be good about it? he wondered, yet kept nodding in self-satisfaction. “Your love, your circumstances, your current situation—all these tales you’ve spun out in such detail—upon hearing them, seem nothing but auspicious.” “By no means are you unfortunate or anything of the sort.” He also said this. “...How enviable—compared to this Kenkō’s love, and compared to this Kenkō’s current sulking half-secular state.” “…To my eyes, you two appear as a man and woman blessed by fair days… Wait—no, perhaps not… Do you yourselves perceive your existence in such terms—or not?”

“Well…?” The paradoxical remarks wielded by Kenkō Hōshi. To Motonari, those words rang true. All the more so for Ukogi—the woman seemed to grasp even less. Rather, it was as if someone had uttered cruel taunts—words like roadside jests that toyed with those worn down by ill fortune—until at last they seemed pressed to bitter tears. “You seem discontented.”

Kenkō muttered to himself.

“No, that’s only natural. Any person who swims awhile through adversity’s waves tends to think none in this world suffers as they do. How could one know? The abyss of suffering has no bottom. Layer beneath layer lie others buried in misfortunes beyond imagining. Yet compared to them—what blessed youth you two enjoy! In truth, I must confess I found myself envying you.” “Lord Kenkō. What reason have we to be happy?” “Are we not both fellow renunciants here?”

“No, though we endure this world perforce, we have not taken monastic vows.” “Well, in the narrow sense, renunciation might be limited to Buddhist disciples, but what I, Kenkō, mean by renunciation carries a far broader meaning.” “In other words—you have renounced the warrior class, and Lady Ukogi has renounced that false happiness masquerading as courtly splendor within the imperial household—is this not so?” “To put it another way—the aspiration to entrust oneself to Amida Buddha is also renunciation.” “To make the far shore of love one’s original vow is also renunciation.” “You both have achieved renunciation through love, I should think.”

“Ah, if that is the meaning of your words…” “Not only that,”

Kenkō stirred up a spark of passion—like buried embers smoldering in the depths of his chest—allowing a glimpse of it to flicker through his tone at that moment. “When you consider tomorrow, today can only be called an extraordinary age.” “In the capital or the provinces, among court nobles or warrior houses—even within the sacred gates of Buddhist temples—there exists no sheltering boughs to rely upon.” “Soon enough, the conflict of egos will bring down upon this earth a tangled, hellish realm of asuras—I can almost see it before my eyes.” “…………” “To have been abruptly expelled from this averted hell and now wander the fields of freedom with your beloved—is this not rather an auspicious youth?” “I became this resentful monk due to unrequited love, but you both are young and have achieved love’s fulfillment… You will not end up decaying as some shadow-dwelling resentful couple.” “Why not, as lives that have lived in the wild, make flowers of paradise bloom all across these fields? What do you think?” “If you hold hope, opportunity lies right before your eyes.”

Kenkō’s words too had at first sounded somewhat eccentric.

But Motonari was surprised to realize that even in the offhand edges of his words, raw truths would spill out unbidden. Moreover, he realized that his true self—which had long lain dormant in a stunted state within him—had been roused awake by his voice.

“Thank you for your words.”

Motonari suddenly made even his eyes come alive. “Truly, I was the one forcing myself into obscurity. Though I had long resented such wretchedness within me, I could never again bring myself to rely on martial houses or aristocratic powers. With no other talents to speak of—let alone the capacity to harbor ambitions—I barely clung to this dew-like existence. So when you told me, ‘Make flowers bloom in the wild,’ what meaning did you intend by those words?”

“According to your earlier account—though born to a military house—did you not declare that dance and music were your true path by nature?”

“There is no falsehood in that.” “If that is so, why do you not charge headlong toward the path you love? Do you still shrink from it—this notion that performing arts beyond *gagaku* are merely the trades of lowborns?”

“No—it’s a matter of quality. In those street performances I’d been doing until yesterday—mere survival acts—there was no one who truly appreciated my art from the heart. And I... responding only to tossed coins, felt not just my craft but my very self coarsen into wretchedness—it all became too pitiful to bear.” “No—I didn’t mean you should simply keep trudging along as street performers, calling that ‘wildflowers.’” “Well, actually—Lord Motonari—as I listened to your circumstances, something else suddenly occurred to me, you see.”

After saying this, Kenkō told the two of them about the following observations from his travels.

One day during this journey, hearing there was to be a Sarugaku Noh performance at Ueki Shrine in Iga Yamada-no-Sho, I went to see it—and indeed, it surpassed all I had heard. Yamato Sarugaku was already renowned, but this proved by no means inferior. Especially did the artistic style of Yamada Kominō, the troupe leader, linger in one’s memory. By the way, people said the Yamada Sarugaku Troupe had soon thereafter been commissioned to perform at the Rain Prayer Ritual of Kawachi Takemikumari Shrine.

“Now—for you both—this could very well be called an unparalleled opportunity.” “In any case—would you not consider joining such an established troupe? Hone your artistry and strive to elevate Sarugaku Noh—this art that has only recently begun to flourish—into a perfected form? Even if unachieved within one or two generations—such labors undertaken with hope would give purpose to your lives.” “...Moreover—it *is* your beloved path,” interjected Ukogi softly. Kenkō pressed on: “And consider Yamada Sarugaku rising now in Iga.” “There must be connections through karmic bonds.” “Why not seek out Kominō—their troupe leader—and petition to join them?”

Kenkō urged them. Motonari and his wife Ukogi exchanged glances for a moment. It was like a voice from heaven, stirring the couple’s hopes—yet almost immediately, they found themselves ensnared by their weak habit of brooding: *We’re just shadow-dwellers…*

The next day.

Three figures could be seen departing Hatsuse’s inn and heading toward Miwa’s Oiwake. Since Kenkō too was returned to the capital, they had likely left the same inn together with Motonari and his wife to travel part of the way. Before long, “Farewell.” With utmost simplicity, he bid farewell.

In stark contrast, the young couple stood frozen, their expressions brimming with unbearable parting sorrow. Moved by Kenkō’s words, even after returning to the inn last night, the two had earnestly discussed the course of their lives together. And so, their final resolve had become this morning’s departure.

Therefore, for the two of them, this Oiwake Crossroads was also a lifelong fork in their path. Parting with Kenkō must have suddenly drawn them into a loneliness akin to straying from that guiding principle.

“Thanks to you—” Motonari said formally, expressing his gratitude. “From now on, I will strive to wipe away the dark habits of a shadow-dweller and live each day with hope.” “Last night—that night of rebirth—Ukogi and I swore together never to forget it.”

At this, Kenkō appeared greatly flustered. “Oh, bother bother.” “I ended up spouting nonsense, but no one else can engineer happiness for you two.” “After all, it’s something only you two can grasp.” “I am no monk who can do even one thing to contribute to people’s happiness.” “Even I am but a beggar monk in such a state.” “The rest—I don’t know.” “Though it may sound irresponsible, that’s precisely where its worth lies.”

“And may you too stay well.” “Indeed, if it’s praying for each other’s well-being—that we can certainly do.……From the shadows, I too shall pray.” “When you happen to come to the capital, do visit my hermitage on Yoshida Hill.” “While the uproar hasn’t yet died down, we can rarely set foot in the capital—but someday, perhaps…” “And so—where will you two go from here?” “In truth, after much deliberation, we have resolved to seek refuge with my wife Ukogi’s family, Lord Kusunoki, and intend to formally request admission into the Yamada Kominō Troupe that you mentioned last night.”

“Ah, indeed—the Takemikumari Shrine where the Yamada Sarugaku Troupe was dispatched lies within Lord Kusunoki’s domain.” “With everything so favorably aligned, you’d best make haste now.”

Kenkō turned northward and drifted away, airy as thistledown.

After parting with him, Motonari and Ukogi set out over Taima Pass and entered Kawachi the following day. Even after June had begun, the drought-stricken sky—as if utterly indifferent to the parched mountains, fields, and their inhabitants—continued to blaze relentlessly day after day, while the Ishikawa, Iwami, Tōjō, and Mikumari Rivers all lay parched and shriveled. “Ukogi. Are you tired?” “No.”

“No.” “Your legs seem weary.” “But soon—” She touched her fingers to the sedge hat’s brim. The two-ri wilderness of Tomitashiba (now Tomidabayashi) offered no shelter from the sun’s glare. Following the parched riverbed upstream, one’s gaze collided with Mount Kongō’s massive bosom. The foothills of her childhood home—where Ukogi had dwelled until thirteen or fourteen—now loomed near. Yet with each step closer, unease tightened her chest.

What would her brothers Masanari and Masatsura say? What words of contrition could I possibly offer? A sudden foreboding ached within her.

The House at the River’s Source

“Lord Masatsura!” “Are you there?” It was an absurdly loud shout.

The surroundings were a deep cypress forest.

It was a samurai entrance amidst a cicada downpour where all those cypress trees seemed to be screeching. Unless one’s voice was quite loud, it seemed their calls wouldn’t reach the inner quarters—

“I am Tenmi no Gorō.” “Wait—is Nakanoin’s administrative officer Toshihide not present?”

The two were shouting.

This was the western foothills of Mount Kongō. Though far below mid-slope areas like Chihaya and Akasaka, it already touched upon one edge of the mountain's skirts. They called it Sabi District's Ryūsen Village. While his elder brother Kusunoki Masanari maintained an even larger mountain residence as the "hon'ya" main house in nearby Mikumari, his younger brother Masatsura separately kept one estate here.

“Ah, gentlemen.”

Before long, Masatsura himself appeared. “Please come in.—Today, from the samurai down to the lowest servants, all have gone to prepare for the rain prayer festival at Takemikumari Shrine. As you see, the residence is deserted and pleasantly cool.” “No, we shall not enter.” “Why?” “In truth, we came here on our return route due to a message from Master Mōri of Kagata.” “With various matters keeping you busy, so...”

“Oh, not at all—the busy days have already passed. Beginning tomorrow, the Yamada Kominō Sarugaku Troupe will perform at Takemikumari Shrine’s dance hall as part of the rain prayer rituals.” “In short, the preparations are complete.” “Well, regarding that matter—”

“What? Is this message about the rain prayers?” “Yes.—Today when we visited Master Mōri’s mountain villa in Kagata—Master Mōri Tokichika—he said that though those drought-stricken farmers have been begging to hold a Sarugaku rain prayer at Mikumari starting tomorrow, we must go at once and have it postponed.” “……Now of all times?” Masatsura’s face clouded with bewilderment.

“Why would he say to postpone it?” “It seems to be a matter of ill timing.” “The rain prayer…” “This sky shows no sign of bringing rain.—Even if natural moisture were to cycle through, how could the Takemikumari deity possibly make it pour? They clutched their bellies and laughed.” "...And then again—" “Well, well—it seems they know nothing of military strategy.” “Military strategy?” “Hmm. "In warfare as well, one may worship stars and observe divination, but miracles and reliance on gods are not dependable." “‘As a technique for winning over the people, there’s valid reason for it’—we endured quite the lecture on the matter.”

“So are they saying we should postpone things like the rain prayer?” “No, no. “It’s not such an unreasonable command. “It is merely a caution: The Kusunoki clan, which has for generations based itself at this strategic point of the Mikumari River—whose source lies in Mount Kongō—to provide water rights to dozens of villages’ peasants across the downstream Kawachi Plain in exchange for collecting their taxes—what will they do if they fail to grasp even this level of military strategy?” “I see.” “So henceforth, if meteorological signs indicate that rain is imminent, Kagata will notify you immediately; from that day onward, proceed with the rain prayers. “These are his words: do not perform inept prayers and lose the lord’s dignity. “You understand now, don’t you—given this.”

“Mm, understood. I am obliged.”

As soon as the two left, Masatsura immediately ran toward the stable. Along the parched mountain village road’s ascent, Masatsura’s horse clattered onward, panting. The Mikumari River along the road flowed without sound; the farmhouses stood silent like dead insect cages. The paddies and fields of dozens of downstream villages that had relied on this single river for irrigation all teetered on the brink of desiccation.

"Cruel sun…" Even when he happened to see listless peasant men and women bowing toward his figure with an “Oh… The honorable branch family of Ryūsen,” Masatsura felt accused by their eyes.

“……I don’t have the power to make rain fall.” If things were to go as he wished, then precisely at such a time as this—unless he could make rain fall upon them too—he felt he could not be called a true lord. He found himself questioning whether he even had the right to receive their prostrations.

The Kusunoki clan. Masatsura pondered this.

After all, it was ancient. That it was a family long settled since a very distant past was something even he could believe. It was said their distant ancestor descended from Emperor Bidatsu through Tachibana no Moroe, but such remote blood remained as unknowable to him as droplets in the Mikumari River’s waters. However—having adopted Tachibana as their clan name and Tachibana as their family crest—there could be no doubt that from the time of the Genpei War onward, generation after generation of Kusunoki ancestors had built their status as local magnates through countless hardships.

Otherwise, under the subsequent Hōjō shogunate, they could never have abruptly seized such a foothold or intruded from other provinces.

This was proof their lineage had deep roots. It was also residual virtue from generations of ancestral stewardship.

One of these was the water rights to the Mikumari River.

Of course, income was not limited to that one alone. For instance, much like the Tōyū of Ishikawa’s outcast settlement, the Kusunoki clan too had once established branch residences in Tamakushi-no-shō—levying private taxes on transportation, lending troops to temple disputes, vigorously exerting the authority of an outcast daimyo—an era when they had amassed wealth. However, in recent years, having abolished the branch residences in Tamakushi-no-shō, the income from the outcast settlements had markedly diminished.

Why?—For this, there was much discontent within the clan.

Masatsura understood. In essence, while this stemmed from his brother Masanori’s character, it lay in a weakness—his excessive leaning toward scholarship prevented him from fully becoming the villainous outcast settlement lord who should have committed to a bloody struggle for survival. And while it had been characteristic of Masanori to strive to be a virtuous lord over pure commoners, Masatsura did not consider his brother’s approach wrong.—Yet in such a drought-stricken year of calamity, he found himself questioning how effective it truly was. “Even my brother Lord Masanori cannot make rain fall.”

In bountiful years, they collected tribute from every corner of their domain reached by the Mikumari River’s waters—but when drought came, could they simply turn a blind eye? No—for that very reason, the Kusunoki clan had resolved to invite the Yamada Sarugaku troupe and conduct a three-day rain-prayer ritual. Yet even this, it was said that drew mockery from the hermit Tokichika of Kagata: “—They know nothing of military strategy.” “Master Tokichika’s opinion was ‘The timing is premature; postpone it,’ but now that today has come, what will my brother Lord Masanori say?”

Eventually, Masatsura dismounted his horse at the base of Mikumari Shrine’s stone steps. Every pine stood in graceful form. The shrine, imbued with divine solemnity beneath the pine shade, was situated atop a single peak, overlooking the roofs of nearby mountain villages. “Oh! Lord Ryūsen has arrived!” For the preparations starting tomorrow, the craftsmen who had been working in full swing, shrine priests, and even villagers all temporarily ceased their work upon seeing Masatsura and bowed in greeting.

In local parlance, they apparently referred to him as "Lord Ryūsen."

“You’ve worked hard.” Masatsura acknowledged them all before turning to one of the priests. “Where is Brother?” “My lord—Lord Gonbō has just returned to the main residence.” “Already?” “After reviewing tomorrow’s preparations and exchanging formal greetings with Yamada Kominō’s Sarugaku troupe lodging at the shrine, he departed in good spirits.” “Onchi?” “The magistrate remains present.”

“Call him here.” Deep within the shrine precincts, lively voices could be heard. It was the Yamada Sarugaku troupe lodging there. He must have been keeping those people company. Onchi Sakon—the Kusunoki clan’s steward, beloved by all for his knack of making people laugh—moved his snow-settled white eyebrows restlessly over his ruddy face as... “Oh! Younger Brother Lord is in such a place?” he hurried over to the base of the large pine tree at the stone steps entrance where Masatsura was sitting.

“Old man... We’ve got ourselves a problem.” “What do you mean?” “Postponement. Tomorrow’s rain prayer—” “What a strange thing to suggest.”

Sakon furrowed his white eyebrows. When stared at with those grape-pulp-like eyes, Masatsura found it somewhat frightening. For since his mischievous youth, even as a retainer, this old man had been branded in his mind as someone fearsome. “In any case, since you’ve been appointed rain prayer magistrate by Brother, you should act accordingly.” “Then—if we postpone—when shall we perform the ritual?”

“I cannot speak to that.” “This is absurd.”

“Old man.” “Come closer.” “A secret stratagem.”

Masatsura lowered his voice. —And using Nakanoin no Toshihide and Amami no Gorō as messengers, he briefly conveyed the plan that Mōri Tokichika of Kagata had gone out of his way to advise. But Onchi Sakon made no effort to hide his displeasure. He was a man who never doubted the efficacy of rain prayers. Not only had he made these preparations and even invited a great number of Yamada attendants, but he now vehemently insisted that it was impossible to do such a thing at this point. “Here we go—the old man’s stubbornness has begun.”

Masatsura clicked his tongue. “But if even Brother were to command postponement, would you still proceed, old man?”

“Hah!” “What a foolish question!”

With visible irritation, Sakon stretched his back, tapped his spine, and turned away.

“If it comes to that, there will be no alternative.” “Very well—then I shall have Brother convey this to you.” Masatsura too was growing 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 dismounted before his brother Masanori’s residence.

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

“Hmm.” “Has Brother not yet returned?” “Yes.” “At the shrine, they said he had just returned—so I rushed here.” “Then he must have gone to inspect the villages downstream.” “To what end?” “In this drought, he must now prepare countermeasures against famine—lately he often travels even to distant parts of the domain.” “Between settling water disputes and encouraging farmers in parched fields, it’s hardly rare for him to return well into nightfall.”

“Oh, that’s a problem.” Masatsura did not settle into the cool study here long enough to forget his sweat, but instead suddenly looked perplexed.

The person before him was his sister-in-law. She was Masanori's wife, Hisako. Hisako wore a smile at the corners of her lips.

“Lord Masatsura. “What has you in such haste?” “Tomorrow’s rain prayer—the timing is too early. “These past few days observing the weather suggest we should wait for rain’s approach—so advises Master Tokichika of Kagata.” “Perfectly reasonable.” “I must obtain my lord brother’s consent at once to postpone it.” “Then rest assured—even should night fall, he will return. There’s no cause for concern.” “Yet crowds will gather for the Rain Prayer festival. “Particularly those awaiting the Yamada Sarugaku Troupe’s performance—they’ll already be massing. “We must issue village notices without delay.”

As though it were all Hisako’s fault, Masatsura snapped sharply. This seemed to often coax a smile so faint at Hisako’s lips that it was nearly invisible—for she had thoroughly grasped the straightforward temperament of this brother-in-law of hers, as decisive as splitting bamboo. “Let me send servants here and there to check,” she said. “Now please stay cool—have some chilled melon or such—and wait a little while.”

Before long, having calmed him down, she turned to other tasks.

“…”

In the marsh below, an evening cicada cried. The estate was unquestionably vast for a mountain residence of a local warlord. The front faced the mountain highway leading to Kongō, while beneath the rear—a cliff formed by a deep fault—flowed the Chihaya River. From that study, one could take in at a single glance Kongō, Katsuragi, and even the Mizukoshi Pass along the ridgeline—all arrayed as though seated facing one another. “……I’ve grown so weary of this view—the house’s black ceiling, those distant mountain waves.”

Sitting there became unbearable for him.

The cicadas’ cries sounded like dirges for their prime, while the tidal roar of time centered on the capital—contrary to the mountain’s stillness—sent deep waves crashing against his heart. Tap-tap-tap—the sound of swift footsteps came rushing toward them at that moment. “Uncle Ryūsen!”

The energetic eyes of an eight- or nine-year-old boy peered inside. “Oh, are you yawning? Even though Father has returned... Come on, Uncle, hurry up and come!” “Ah, you’ve returned.” Finally regaining his composure, Masatsura stood up from where he was—whereupon the boy immediately circled behind him, pushed at his waist, and urged him into a brisk dash down the long corridor. This was Masanori’s eldest son, later known as Masayuki, whose childhood name was Tamonmaru. Leaving his beloved horse Aoge and his attendants outside, Masanori, in his usual good humor, proceeded from the entrance platform into the interior through the welcoming faces of his family.

“Oh, Masatsura. You were here too?” “I wished to discuss a matter with you, though I know this comes when you must be weary.”

“Is there some urgent matter?” “Yes. Regarding tomorrow’s meeting...” “Wait... Hisako.” and, looking at his wife, “Is the bath ready?” “It is prepared.”

“Masatsura.” “Why don’t we bathe together?” “After all, there’s all this sweat and dust.”

“Well,” “I shall wait over there.” “Please go ahead first.”

At the bathhouse entrance, Masanori told his wife Hisako to prepare sake for the evening meal, then removed his garments. This was likely because he knew his younger brother’s fondness for sake.

He soaked in the hot water. The gutter’s water dripped in a lonely, sporadic patter. Yet humanity still had water enough for its needs. The crops in the fields withered silently under the drought’s fierce onslaught—but what if these were people? Such a world may yet come to pass. "When I think of it, it’s terrifying." Even after walking just half a day through these mountainous, narrow domains, he could feel it. The times were harsh. People's hearts were parched. All circumstances strove to render society combustible. The world seemed poised, awaiting the arrival of one who would light the spark.

"Even here, a bird carrying fire once visited."

Gazing through the bamboo-framed window of the bathhouse at the evening sky—red as molten metal—Masanori remembered.

Once, a young court noble from the capital had disguised himself as a mountain ascetic, come knocking secretly at his gate in the dead of night, criticized the Hōjō shogunate’s misrule, exhorted the urgency of societal reform centered around the Emperor, and demanded that he seal his commitment with a blood oath. —The answer would come after careful deliberation. At that time, he had barely managed to avoid committing himself, but thereafter received numerous secret approaches.

It was Hino Toshimoto Ason. Indeed, the matter had leaked out, and that court noble was dragged off to Kamakura; but somehow he managed to talk his way free. This spring, he reappeared near Kawachi—though Masanori heard he had departed again before reaching here. Well, that’s a relief for now. In his unfeigned heart, Masanori thought so. Yet unbeknownst to all, the firebird had hatched its eggs among the local warriors here. They had even hatched within his own bloodline. His younger brother Masatsura was one such hatchling.

"Good timing—tonight, I should ask Masatsura what’s on his mind." When he eventually shared the evening meal with his brother in the study, such thoughts had already taken root within him beforehand. But Masatsura first set aside even his favorite cup,

“Let me come straight to the point.”

Abruptly conveying Kagata no Tokichika’s counsel, he sought his older brother’s agreement. And immediately, he said as a matter of course that they must announce the order to postpone the rain prayers to both the shrine and the domain. “Hmm...” “Is that the esteemed counsel from Master Kagata Tokichika?” Masanori did not nod. On the face of one nearing forty—a countenance rich in wisdom and prudence—the lamp’s flicker was dim. Due to an injury from his childhood, his right eye appeared closed, narrower than his left.

“Masatsura.” “Yes?” “Though well-intentioned, we shall conduct tomorrow’s rain prayer as scheduled without postponement.” “Bear this in mind.” “But... even if it’s Master’s counsel...?” “It runs counter to Masanori’s convictions.” “Why?” “The Master says rain prayers belong to military strategy, but to Masanori they remain simply prayers.” “Ah—‘This folly ill becomes Lord Kusunoki,’ he declares.” “Should no rain fall, our prayer becomes mere farce.” “Would we not forfeit the people’s trust?”

“That’s acceptable.” “No—first thoroughly observe celestial signs and confirm impending rain before proclaiming the rain prayer festival.” “Doing so would create an ideal opportunity to seize public sentiment.” “That is precisely what military strategy entails.” “The teaching states there are limits to one’s ignorance of strategy.”

“Ha ha ha ha”

Masanori laughed.

“As a military strategist, your counsel may be sound—but I have my own convictions. Masatsura, should prayers not simply remain prayers?” “Your words… I find them difficult to comprehend.” “Neither peasants nor Masanori possess means to overcome this drought. We can only cling to prayer.—Though were strategy able to hasten rain’s arrival, we would follow strategy too.”

“Then, if we perform the Rain Prayer, will rain fall swiftly?” “It won’t rain—ah. Not until the celestial signs ordained for rainfall naturally come to pass—” “If that’s so, would it not be wiser for a lord to employ Master’s teachings—gauging weather shifts while discerning the people’s delicate sentiments—as strategy?” “Foolishness.” Masanori’s demeanor darkened slightly.

At such times, Masanori would display a faint spasm in the eyelid of his bad right eye—a quiver resembling how emotion catches in a stutterer’s lips. Perhaps due to his impaired vision, he habitually tilted his face at a slight angle when speaking gloomily, his thick brows and prominent aquiline nose growing more pronounced in profile. When observing these mannerisms—the broad shoulders and long limbs settled like bedrock in cross-legged repose—even Masatsura often mistook his brother for some thick-skinned paragon of composure. Yet he had long understood this man was in truth far more meticulous and principled than himself, who bore the family reputation as its sentimentalist.

“...Understood.” “In other words, Elder Brother, you mean it’s undesirable to exploit divine rituals for personal gain or deceive the farmers.” “That’s right.” “That’s right…” “Then let us disregard Master Kagata’s counsel and proceed with tomorrow’s rain prayer as scheduled. […] If so, I—Masatsura—can finally relax. Even tonight, I’ll be free of duties.” “Drink up. […] Shall we pass some time together?”

He poured for him.

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

“Yes—on lecture days.” “I see. Military strategy has its merits, but you should stop at a basic grasp. It transcends mere scholarship—its true purpose lies in application. Ultimately, it destroys those who wield it. For us mountain warriors, there will never come a day when such knowledge finds practical use.”

“Why is that?”

Masatsura snapped.

Even his brother’s dignified features now appeared as ordinary as those of any ordinary peasant household head. “You say military strategy is useless, yet our house is a military lineage, is it not?” “Therefore, keeping one’s knowledge within reasonable bounds isn’t a bad thing. However, those hot-blooded youths who gather at mountain villas day and night—as if time itself stood still—to debate matters of state, all in the name of military strategy… Well, that seems rather questionable. ...Mountain warriors’ pointless croaking debates. Isn’t it just a waste of time?”

“Then, if I may ask—”

Irritably, Masatsura set down the cup he had been holding aloft. He would debate but wanted no quarrel. "Elder Brother, you did study military strategy too, did you not?" "Hmm, some."

“No, it was no trivial matter. Both you and I studied under Nakanoin Ryūkaku-bō in our childhood, but beyond that—Elder Brother—was it not Kagata’s mountain villa that you frequented throughout your youth?”

“That’s right.” “Did I not attend for over ten years?”

“Then Lord Mōri Tokichika of Kagata should also be your teacher.” “That he is a great man—I have not lost my respect for him even now.” “Nor have I forgotten his kindness.” “Yet how can you claim military strategy brings only harm and no benefit?” “This is contradictory.” “These words of yours tonight…” “I have not.” “No, you have.”

“Ha ha ha.” Masanori also drank a cup.

“Masatsura.” “Yes?”

“Are you so obsessed with military strategy that you actually believe there will be a day when it serves any purpose?” “One cannot say it’s impossible.”

“That would be the day—a day without right or wrong. Ultimate principles that prove useful on such days cannot be called scholarship.” “...supporting such harmony together, planning for the world’s welfare, settling down to live a peaceful life among wife and children—this is what I consider scholarship.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Am I wrong?” “I understand what there is to understand. You have a good wife and are the father of three children. There is no doubt you’re happy. Yet as our warrior’s way demands, one must maintain readiness for unforeseen days. Even I have prepared myself for such times. To call this obsession with useless pursuits—I find your rebuke unwarranted.” “Well. You should marry soon, sire a fine child, and know through mortal flesh the weight and warmth of a father’s lap.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.” “It sends shivers down my spine.”

“You don’t like that?”

“Were this an ordered world, matters might differ—but knowing these tempests where even tomorrow lies veiled, standing in the world’s blackest midnight…” “How can you claim such clarity about tomorrow’s course?”

“…………”

Masatsura fell silent. His elder brother’s conservative—no, even retrogressive—way of conducting himself as he aged was not something he had only just come to realize. And so, he could no longer bring himself to continue the debate, nor did he seem able to muster the will to hurl the fire burning in his chest.

Before long, he left Mikumari Mountain Villa without lingering in drunkenness and silently returned the horse to Ryūsen Residence.

The day Ukogi arrived in her hometown here was exactly the third day of the Rain Prayer Festival.

The precincts of Takemikumari were filled with people. The prayers and dedicatory Sarugaku performances would end today, yet still not a single drop of rain had fallen, and the evening sky remained clear—tomorrow too promised relentless sun. "Ah... that pine... that dance hall." To her, everything connected to memories of her maiden days, leaving her restless with nostalgia.

“Ukogi.”

With that, Motonari approached her absentminded figure amidst the crowd. “When I asked just now, they said there’s still quite some time before the night’s Sarugaku performance.” “Shall we rest somewhere and start fresh?”

Many men and women also began streaming down toward the stone steps in a straggling mass. Mingling with them, the two also descended to Miyashita’s village road. The bustle of vendors and tea stalls thrived more vigorously below the summit than on the peak itself, and the earthy twilight made the villagers forget their drought-stricken woes. Ukogi and Motonari spotted an inconspicuous reed screen and slipped inside. Without removing their hats, they took simmered dishes from food stalls onto their camp stools and waited for the Yamada Sarugaku Troupe’s performance to begin.

“……I must go visit Lord Masanori and proceed to Mikumari’s mansion immediately.” This was something Ukogi had kept repeating along their journey, yet some unspoken trepidation held them back. When they heard today marked the Rain Prayer Festival’s final day—and having already witnessed Yamada Komino’s performance—they postponed their visit and came straight to the shrine instead.

“You’ve come all the way from afar, have ya?” Having received the vendor’s flattery, Motonari acted nonchalantly. “Yes.” “I was curious about what the Sarugaku performance by that Komino-dayu of Iga or whatever they call him would be like.”

“Well now, he’s got a terrific reputation.” “Thinking they might never get another chance to see such a sight, people have come even from distant Furuichi and Takayasu—that’s why you see such a crowd here.”

Upon hearing Furuichi, the forgotten fear and pain must have struck the couple’s hearts at once. Motonari counted the coins and placed them at the edge of the camp stool.

“It must be nearly time for the dance hall performance to begin.” “Oh no, not at all. Before the Sarugaku performance begins, the Gakuza ensemble’s instruments will sound first. Even after that starts, you’ll still have plenty of time.” Dusk deepened completely, and night became a mottled red darkness.

Soon, from the peak above came the sound of drums, flutes, and bells. The black shadows of people scrambled once more up the stone steps. The couple also soon left that spot.—And just as they began to take two or three steps—

From earlier, under the same reed screen, a fearsomely fat man who had been gulping down cloudy sake—looking every bit the townsman—suddenly came chasing after them. “Hey—” the fat man called out in a rough voice. “Oh, no mistake about it. You there—you’re the wife of Uroji, the boat performer from Furuichi. You went by the name Ukogi, didn’t you?”

“Wh-what? Th-that’s not true!” “The hell it ain’t!” “You must be mistaken.” As Ukogi shrugged her shoulders, “Nonsense—that voice’s a dead ringer. Show yer face!” An arm like a wooden crab’s claw suddenly seized her hat’s brim. “What’re you doing?!” A husband’s instinct—the fury at his wife being manhandled proved unstoppable. The crack of Motonari’s palm striking that wooden-cheeked face rang like flint on steel. Pressing down her hat, Ukogi barely slipped free beneath the hairy limb.

“You bastard!” The wooden-crab-like man resolutely halted his own clumsily flailing body. And then, with breath heaving from his shoulders, “You did it, Jirōzaemon.” the fat man shouted Motonari’s real name—Jirōzaemon. Just from that, Motonari immediately realized what this man’s profession was and involuntarily stiffened as if doused with water. “Wha—what’s this?” “Uroji-san… No, if I call ya that, you’d play innocent and answer proper-like. But you ain’t no different from Hattori Jirōzaemon Motonari—the one who served the Karasuma house back in the day.” “How’s that? Ain’t my eyes lyin’, are they?”

Motonari, now composed, declared resolutely—both to steel his wife who had retreated behind him in trembling fear. “And if I were Jirōzaemon Motonari—what then?” “So you’ve come all this way,” “Pardon the trouble—you’ll come with me to Takayasu’s Rokuhara outpost.” “To the outpost?” “Yeah.” “What for?” “Figure it out yourself.” “What an outrage! There’s no reason I should have to go to such a place.” “Hmph. Still playin’ dumb? I’m Shinobi no Ōkura’s sworn brother—after Ōkura vanished, became Gonzo, head of hōmen. Got your faces from Fujiidera burned right here behind these eyes.—Ain’t looked away since neither.”

“If I let this lowlife speak—” “What’s wrong?” “What do you take me for? I have no recollection of being tailed by hōmen spies!” “We’ve got records even if you don’t. Listen. Hey!”

Gonzo took a step forward. “This spring, when we let Lord Hino escape in Furuichi, you two popped up too. And when we dug deeper into who killed Daihanji Akifusa on Sannen-zaka in Kyoto years back—what do you know—turns out some guy named Hattori Jirōzaemon had left the Karasuma house around then and vanished without a trace.” “…We let you slip away at Fujiidera, but no matter how you look at it, that boat performer reeks of suspicion.” “It’s Lord Honjō Oniroku’s order to round you up once more.” “If you’ve got complaints, take ’em to the Kebiishi office.”

“Shut up! These baseless accusations—” “Ain’t you comin’?” It seemed he had allies nearby. Gonzo’s eyes darted about with unnatural intensity. Motonari’s stance had reverted to that of his former samurai self. Perhaps deeming it beyond his control, Gonzo suddenly leapt back to the edge of the stone steps. At Takemikumari Shrine’s dance hall, the Yamada Sarugaku Troupe’s music had already begun resounding across the mountain slopes. Gonzo’s underlings were likely also distracted by it. He suddenly clattered up the stone steps, never taking his eyes off the two below, and from midway up, he looked toward the top.

“Hey! Everyone, come here!”

He shouted—no, even as his voice hung mid-cry, his body met a counterattack from someone who had been standing there all along, was suddenly thrust backward, and tumbled down dozens of stone steps head over heels, all the way back to where he had begun.

The two below were taken aback by the sudden turn of events. Shinobi no Gonzo, who had tumbled down head over heels, lay stretched out on the ground without moving. And who this person was—the one who had pushed him off—remained halfway up the stone steps, gazing fixedly downward.

But— Perhaps frustrated by Motonari and Ukogi’s stunned gazes fixed upward, the figure above finally clattered down the stone steps— “Get away. Quickly.” He waved at the two. Thirty-four or thirty-five? He was a sturdy-built man of some occupation—likely a craftsman. With a start, they snapped back to their senses, “Ah. We thank you most humbly.” As they aligned their figures and began to kneel, the craftsman—his sun-darkened face and the defiant glint lurking in his eyes—kept glancing back toward the mountaintop.

“No need for thanks,” “Leave this place immediately.” “The festival grounds are crawling with Rokuhara spies besides this Gonzo.” “…Ukogi.” “What should we do?”

The couple could do nothing but stand frozen.

Was this place, in the end, not one where they could be accepted? As long as they remained fugitives still pursued by the Kebiishi’s hōmen agents, gaining entry into the Yamada Sarugaku Troupe would forever remain nothing but a dream. Even if they were to secure a place in the troupe, they would inevitably be sniffed out before long and face the misery of being dragged to Rokuhara. “Gah! You filthy toad!” Suddenly, the craftsman’s simian arm shot sideways—Gonzo, who should have been unconscious, had lifted his face smeared with pitch-black blood and begun crawling out. Seizing him by the collar, he slammed him against the base of the stone steps with a wet smack. After confirming he no longer struggled, he returned.

“You two.” “…You seem at your wits’ end.” “Have you nowhere left to turn?” “In truth, certain circumstances compelled us to seek Lord Kusunoki’s protection here. But given present affairs, approaching his gates now would only court future disaster. Yet as you rightly perceive, we’ve no scheme to flee this perilous ground.” “Aye.” “Then—”

The craftsman infused his words with vigor. "This humble one has also been staying at the residence of the honorable younger brother Lord Ryūsen (Masatsune) since not long ago." "Why don't you take refuge within Lord Ryūsen's residence for the time being?" "Well," "And you are...?" "This humble one?" Then he once again turned his gaze toward the motionless figure lying face down at the base of the stone steps before— "I am Gusokushi Ryūsai, an armorer from Sumiyoshi." "In truth, I have been regularly attending to the needs of the samurai families in Oku-Kawachi and Lord Ryūsen, so since some time ago, while assisting with airing out their armor and weapons during this rain prayer festival..."

He began to say, then stopped abruptly.

“No, no—such trifling matters can wait.” “Since you’ve come as far as Lord Ryūsen’s gates—what course do you intend now?” “This place turns treacherous by the moment.” “Then let this humble one guide you there.”

It was a voice of salvation. Like a timely boat appearing when one needs to cross a river, Ukogi nodded with a face that seemed ready to offer prayers of thanks. “The rear is dangerous. Come on, let’s get moving now!” While urging the two on, Gusokushi Ryūsai also quickened his pace.

Rain's Lament, Wind's Resolve

When the rain prayer ended, as anticipated, malicious voices immediately arose from the neighboring villages.

Mizunomi Manor—so incompetent as a local warlord that it avoided conflicts with neighboring districts and merely kept the peace—yet even so, enemies existed. It seemed that aggressive agents (fifth columnists) from other local warlords—ever ready to encroach upon that territory given the chance—were constantly inciting naive farmers to swiftly plot disturbances. Onchi Sakon, the Kusunoki clan’s steward, had these past days caught wind of such matters through hearsay, and with his usual deaf ear to reason, had his aged obstinacy burning hotly.

Today was no different. He returned from escorting the over twenty members of the Yamada Sarugaku Troupe—who, having finally completed their service in this land, were now detouring to Kasuga in Yamato before returning to Iga—to the domain border, puffing and panting atop his horse as he came back.

Just then, from Kanshinji Road along the Ishimigawa River, a group of four or five local warriors descended toward the village, “Well now, venerable elder.”

Immediately noticing him, one among them, Amami no Gorou, called out.

“Where have you been returning from—in this scorching heat?”

“I’ve just escorted the Yamada Sarugaku troupe all the way to Ishikawa.”

“Well, well. To put it all together, I can only say the rain prayer rituals have been nothing but an immense trouble. I did convey the wisdom of the priest from Kagata on Lord Masatsune’s behalf, but ultimately it wasn’t adopted—and still no rain falls.” “What are you—” The old man immediately flew into a rage. Unaware that the young local warriors always found his flare-ups amusing and took pleasure in provoking him,

“Why would one employ military strategy in conducting divine rites? Having perceived Lord Yakatake’s upright heart, this old man was filled with awe. Just wait—through divine response, we shall surely witness a great rain!”

“Hahahaha!” The young faces all laughed. “Just you wait—it’ll come any moment now.” “Indeed.” “Oh, it’s bound to pour any moment now!” The old man did not so much as glance their way. He was already urging his horse hurriedly onward—the large roof of Ryūsen-ji soon came into view. Adjacent to that, the roof deeply nestled within a hinoki cypress grove was Ryūsen-den (Dragon Spring Hall), Masatsune’s residence. “Is he here?” He muttered while tying his horse. When passing through gates, it was this old man’s scrupulous custom to always offer at least a greeting. Upon seeing the arrival, the young retainer at the entrance,

“Ah! Lord Chief Retainer? His Lordship is in the storehouse area, but...” The young retainer pointed toward the west side, deep within the grove of trees. He immediately walked that way.

A curtain emblazoned with the Tachibana crest was stretched between the storehouses. ——Hmm, could there be a gathering at the archery range? he wondered. Drawing closer, he found an astonishing quantity of weapons and armor laid out to dry from the storehouse entrance all the way to the practice grounds. "Ah—airing them out, are we?"

The old man narrowed his eyes. It might have been a shared sentiment—"In peace, do not forget chaos." But. Masatsune was nowhere to be seen; on the insect-repelling mats, several armorers and bowstring makers were examining bows and mending torn sections of armor.

“Hey there. Where might your honorable younger brother be?” At the sound of his voice, the one who abruptly lifted his face from the mat was Sumiyoshi armorer Yanagisai, who had been staying here for work since some time ago.

Yanagisai immediately rose to his feet, “Yes.” “His Lordship is inside the storehouse.” “I shall go and announce you.”

he said, and ran off. From the storehouse entrance, Masatsune soon showed his face. —Advancing beneath it, Onchi Sakon reverently lowered his white-haired head and spoke with a bow befitting an old man. “The Yamada Sarugaku troupe has returned to their home province today.” “With this, all matters pertaining to the Rain Prayer ceremonies have been concluded without incident.—And as I happened to pass by your gate on my return journey, I thought to humbly report the aforementioned matter.”

“I see.” “You must be quite relieved yourself, old man.” “This place also seems to be in quite a bustle.” “It’s airing season.—Armor chests, arrow bundles, things like that. Well, when taken out, they turn out to be surprisingly few.” “Why, with this much military equipment alone, we could provision two hundred soldiers.” “No, I always strive to maintain preparations for about five hundred, but even just preventing insect damage and mold is a painstaking task.”

“Hahaha.” “Here, they’re airing out weapons.” “At Mikumari Shrine—rain prayers.” “With this, even the drought’s sun must be at a loss over which side to take, I daresay.”

“Don’t tell Brother.” “Please do not take offense.” “Ah, right—old man, you’ve come at an opportune moment.”

Abruptly, he began moving toward the outside of the “insect-repelling curtain.” On those mats, bowyers, leather stitchers, decorators, and others were single-mindedly engrossed in their maintenance work. This must have been his consideration to avoid being overheard. The old man Sakon followed along while sensing this. —But only the armorer Yanagisai had already turned toward the retreating figures of those two, as though sensing something. At such moments, there was a depth in Yanagisai’s gaze that the other craftsmen lacked.

——Hmm. How far was he taking him? When Sakon’s white eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment, Masatsune finally halted. Then, gesturing toward the garden beyond the forest path, he whispered.

“Old man… Do you know that woman visible over there?”

“Huh?…”

A single pavilion separated from the main house was visible in the distance. At the desk there, a middle-aged man unfamiliar to them was burying his face in a book. But there was another—a woman leaning on a corner of the railing, lost in thought as she gazed at the dry streambed below where no water flowed.

The woman’s figure was enveloped in dark emerald shadows, her emaciated face eerily beautiful as if she were a statue of a woman in the darkness.

“Hmm... They seem to be a man and woman I’ve never seen before.” “I cannot say I am acquainted with them.”

“You wouldn’t know the man,” he said. “But as for the woman—you, old man, have known her well since her childhood.” “Oh?…” He kept staring into the distance.

“Still, I cannot recognize her.” “Old man, that is Ukogi.” “Guh... L-Lady Ukogi?!”

“Wait, old man.”

Grabbing his sleeve, Masatsune pulled him back further into the shade of the trees. “Leave her be. If you suddenly show your face, Ukogi will revert to her girlhood self and burst into tears instantly.” “Wh-why is Lady Ukogi here?” “This at least was the divine intervention of the Rain Prayer ritual. It was Yanagisai—a man who had come from Sumiyoshi to repair the armor and weapons being aired out—who rescued her from beneath Mikumari Shrine the other night. By a hair’s breadth—just as Rokuhara agents were about to seize her.”

“Faaather!”

It was Tamonmaru's voice. He was likely playing in the Chihaya River below—having spotted his father's figure, he called out from beneath the tree-choked fault far downstream. "I'm coming now."

Masashige began to descend. When he peered down at the lively scene—a boisterous crowd of completely naked children, peasant youngsters mingling with samurai quarters’ kids splashing and leaping about in the parched stream where they’d found some water—his gloom vanished in an instant. Since the drought began, complaints within the domain had been increasing day by day. —And unexpected visitors. Furthermore, that very afternoon three Rokuhara warriors from the Takao Guard Post had come again—without any real business—lingering for half a day with their idle chatter, and only now had he finally gone to stand above the rear ravine along the garden path to stretch his shoulders.

“Faaather….” “There’s water here!” “Come here!”

“I’m coming. “I’m coming.”

The cliff was steep. He could not descend as nimbly as a child. His figure sinking down the emerald slope answered from midway. For once, he too wanted to join the crowd of children and feel water spray against his entirely naked body. Masashige's answering voice was filled with that very yearning. Yet even as he thought this—though he might not have been able to act on it—not just now but whenever Tamonmaru clung to him as his father, he was always pierced by that ache.

Then, above him, "My lord… Where are you going?"

Someone called out.

He was still midway down the cliff. When he looked up, it was Onchi Sakon, the family retainer. Perhaps thinking it was just the old man, Masashige continued shuffling his feet downward while clinging to the tree— “Come too, Sakon.” With that, he alighted to the valley floor.

With no other choice, the old man descended as well. Perhaps due to the setting sun, his face was even redder than usual, drenched in sweat. "I was delayed."

First, he apologized for his delayed return to the residence and gave his report on the Yamada Sarugaku troupe, “In truth, on my way back, when I stopped by Lord Masatsune’s gate, there was an unexpected person present—well, this old man was utterly shocked—and with one thing and another in conversation, I ended up spending time there… And regarding that matter, Lord Masatsune commanded that I thoroughly ascertain your will on it.”

“Sakon.” “Yes?” “When you said you lost your composure, it must have been because you saw my sister Ukogi.”

“Ah! You already knew?” “I figured it out.” “What, here too?” “Those suspicious Rokuhara warriors claimed they’d come to inspect the drought-stricken fields in the villages—but all the while they were surreptitiously spying on the estate. After half a day of idle chatter, they’ve only just left… Since Ukogi’s name was mentioned in passing during their conversation, some premonition-like intuition led me to piece it together.” “Indeed, it is precisely as you have discerned. However, this is hardly the place for detailed discussions.”

“No, here will do.—Though they’ve ostensibly withdrawn, Rokuhara’s underlings are likely still keeping watch over this area without respite.” “This might be called the perfect spot for such talk.…Now then, old man—what state was Ukogi in when you saw her?” For years now, through rain and wind alike, Masashige had carried the memory of his sister Ukogi close to his heart—a weight he could never quite shed. There had been a time— when rumors from the capital had seeped even into these parts: whispers that Lord Kusunoki’s sister had taken a lover and fled the Saikamon-in court she served; that her man was no ordinary fugitive under imperial investigation; gossip swirling thick as dust devils across the domain.

So, if someone were to ask at a gathering—“…How has your younger sister in the capital been lately?”—Masashige found himself compelled to respond thus, even if deliberately, given his position. “I do not consider such a wanton woman my sister.” “Not only has she caused trouble for the households that showed her kindness from childhood, but she has even colluded with the authorities’ pursuers to conceal her whereabouts—she is a woman beyond all words.” “The sister who has sullied even our family’s name.” “Even if she were to come here seeking help, one must not permit her entry.”

And yet, always in the depths of his heart—

Where was she living now, and how?

Be happy. Even if reduced to utter destitution—as long as they could find happiness. And so it was that Masashige too had secretly harbored such prayers within his heart from time to time. Then, this spring, when he heard from his brother Masatsune that she had been dragged off to the Rokuhara garrison in Fujiidera along with her boat-performer husband, he was aghast. However, as that area lay under the jurisdiction of Shujō no Tayū Yoshitane, Masatsune had confided the matter to Yoshitane’s son Toyomaro, and the two had gone together to Fujiidera—only to find that Uroji and his wife had already vanished without a word to Myōdatsu, the temple custodian, on the previous night.

“Do not look for them.”

Masashige had firmly suppressed even Masatsune’s concerns and actions from that point onward. The times were complex.—The man accompanying Ukogi was entangled in some secret tied to these turbulent times.—It was because Masashige feared this. “If by any chance this were to bring trouble upon the Kusunoki family—” He had thought, moreover, that even if someone were to search insistently for them and bring his sister back into the family’s current status, he couldn’t determine whether it would bring happiness to her and her husband. Therefore, even his stern commands—“Do not allow them near” and “Leave them be”—were nothing but love concealed beneath a veneer of harshness.

However,—now. According to what the old retainer Onchi Sakon said, his sister and her husband had been secretly sheltered deep within Masatsune’s Ryūsen residence since the night of the recent Rain Prayer.

“…Ah, they finally came.” No wonder. That’s what he thought. This was their homeland. For his sister too, this was the mountains and rivers where she had been born. The end of wandering must inevitably come.

Whenever he saw the group of children playing and splashing in the nearby mountain stream—as if among them was the figure of his sister in her youth… Masashige’s eyelids painted scenes from a distant past.

“…Sakon.”

“Hah!” “And does Masatsune intend to shelter my sister and her husband resolutely, or what?” “Well, regarding that matter—what should be done?—it was Lord Masatsune’s intention to have me inquire of you.” “As it must be done according to the command of our Lord Brother, the head of the clan...” “Upon me?” Masashige, overwhelmed by bitterness, retorted despite fully knowing his position.—“A hunter does not shoot a bird that flies into his bosom”—even such an old saying felt painfully real to him now. The naked children of Chihayagawa, upon noticing the bats, all climbed up the cliff, looking at the light above.

Evening was drawing near.

Masashige was again meeting with guests.

Minamie Masatada, Matsuo Suetsuna, Hashimoto Masaasu, and others—all relatives residing in nearby villages— “Is everything all right here?” they said in a tone as casual as if paying a visit of concern. “Why do you ask?” When he inquired, it turned out samurai who appeared to be from Rokuhara had also made rounds to their mansions that day, where they had blatantly let slip details about their investigations into matters concerning Uroji and his wife, as well as those who had harmed Shinobi Gonzō.

“I see.”

Masanari spoke as if it were someone else’s affair. “There are no retainers here who appear to have been involved in any quarrel, and while I have long been aware of the matter concerning the Uroji couple, even if they were to come here, I do not intend to offer them shelter.” “Please rest assured.” The relatives soon departed amidst laughter.—They seemed to trust Masanari, their clan’s patriarch, absolutely—in any circumstance—based on his years of governance and benevolent prudence.

For Masanari, that made it all the more painful.

Suppose, now—

If I were to gather a dozen or so clan families and seek their counsel on how to deal with my sister and her husband, what conclusion would emerge? The likely outcome would be this: Ukogi should naturally be brought back into the Kusunoki family and made to live in seclusion. Then we would immediately dispatch a messenger to the capital to formally apologize to Her Highness Saikamon-in through Hokushōji no Gen’ei Hōin, who had long been our benefactor.

Furthermore, if we were to have Ukogi shave her head and take vows—by claiming she had already become a nun—even our apologies to Her Majesty the Empress Dowager would demonstrate greater sincerity. Next came the matter of the man’s disposition. Though it might seem as cruel as splitting fresh wood, Hattori Jirōzaemon Motonari’s proper treatment would be to restore him to his former status and send him back to his original master’s household—the Karasuma family. What measures the Karasuma family might then take was secondary; for the Kusunoki clan, it would be utterly unthinkable to foster any discord with Lord Karasuma Narisuke, whose prestige now stood so high—so he concluded.

“…But”

Masanari agonized.

"My poor sister—I don’t want to subject you to such measures."

That night, even as he lay beneath the mosquito net, he found himself unable to sleep. Old man Sakon and Masatsune of Ryūsen-den too seemed impatiently awaiting his instructions, but keeping silent about it, the unresolved dilemma he carried even into bed made the stifling heat all the more unbearable, causing him to toss and turn countless times. Then midnight drew near.

With a heavy thud... the roof ridge shook once, followed by the distant rumble... of thunder. Ah, thunder? Masanari immediately thought of rain. Involuntarily, he straightened up. The thunder roared as if the mute Mount Kongō had found its voice and begun to speak. If just one good rain were to come now, more than half of these withered brown fields would be saved— As this thought welled up within him, a white streak of tears trailed down Masanari’s cheek. “Hisako! Hisako!” Masanari went out to the corridor and called his wife. He also summoned Old Man Sakon and abruptly ordered preparations for going out.

Incessant lightning was agitating even the horses in the stable.

Even in the samurai quarters, beneath the thunder,

“What’s happening?” Without understanding why, they began making noise. This was because a directive had been issued from Onji Sakon: “Prepare yourselves and gather at the plaza immediately.” To prepare meant going out wearing belly armor. It must be something critical. In the plaza, Masanari and all those under him—from household officials down to low-ranking samurai—had gathered. When Masanari saw that everyone had assembled, “This is truly a blessing.”

Gazing up at the rumbling, roaring sky nearing midnight, “—The rain comes!” he said.

This single word, heavy with emotion, stirred within the hearts of even the low-ranking retainers—without explanation—the same measure of jubilation and profound relief as him. Yet still, “Will it rain?” Skeptical faces looked up at the sky.

The stars of every night were fully visible. But in another part of the sky, the stars too had been erased by a gray veil, and in the cold rain-laden air rustling from Mount Kongō, the nearby plants and trees were abruptly altering their appearance more intensely than ever before.

“This rain-laden air shall grant the land its first rain in ages! I, Masanari, shall now hasten to Takemikumari Shrine’s sacred precincts to offer thanks. Furthermore—divide your tasks, retainers! Spread word of this shared rejoicing to every village headman across the domains. In due time we shall issue decrees to reduce the annual tributes. Go forth and hearten the peasants—bid them take courage!”

This was unprecedented. In such times, there may be instances where village headmen and priests within the domain come to the gates of local lords to offer congratulations, but such a precedent has never been heard of before.

“Listen well—I’ve given my orders.” Ignoring the retainers’ bewilderment, Masanari entrusted the directive to Onji Sakon and particularly emphasized it. “Understood.” Sakon appeared to have comprehended. He opened the gate and sent out Masanari’s horse.

Two of Masanari’s close attendants accompanied the horse as it galloped away. However, when they reached Mizumikawa River’s slope, only those attendants who had understood his intent turned toward the shrine, while Masanari alone descended toward Ryūsen-den and knocked at his younger brother Masasue’s residence gate.

By then, already. Here, upon the roofs and through the cypress groves, large raindrops heavy with wind began to fall with a clamorous sound. Hearing of his brother’s unexpected visit, Masasue came out to greet him holding an oil lamp, but even its faint light seemed nearly swallowed by the rain’s din.

“Ah. “Elder Brother?”

“Brother…” “It’s coming down.” “It’s come at last—and just in time.” “With this, your cherished wish has been fulfilled.” “No—my concerns have not yet lifted.” “That’s why I came.” “I must see Ukogi—just once.”

“Eh. “When you speak of ‘a single glance,’ do you mean…” “Have the couple make haste with their travel preparations… Then bring them to the chamber where I wait.” “This separation may prove long indeed.”

Masanari, having said that, sat down in a room. The sound of the rain, as if to tear through the roof, left him feeling both refreshed and sorrowful as he waited. Masasue had not yet asked his brother’s intentions, but following the order to hurry regardless, he began frantically knocking on the sliding door of the detached cottage. —The two inside were startled.

“Ukogi! Ukogi!” Even Masasue’s voice knocking on the sliding door was soon drowned out by the wind and rain; inside, it was likely heard only in fragments. “Elder Brother from Mizumare has arrived suddenly and wishes to meet you both…” He repeated it over and over, each time emphasizing his point. “Prepare to depart immediately and come to the main house. “Elder Brother awaits to see you just once.” “Prepare for the journey!” “Hurry up!” Inside the detached cottage as well,

“Yes!” “Yes!” The same reply came time and again. “...We will come at once.”

Before long, a couple could be seen hurriedly passing through the glimmer of the rain and dashing out from the sliding door onto the connecting plank. The lamps in the main house all swayed faintly, and somewhere, Masanari’s cough suddenly sounded. Ukogi gasped, her chest tightening—she immediately recognized the owner of the cough as her brother Masanari, yet how uncannily it resembled their late father Masato’s! For a moment, she almost wondered if their deceased parent stood there among them.

“Ukogi?”

From within, Masanari’s voice coaxed, “――Come in.” Beside him, Masasue was also present. Ukogi, as though placed before a tribunal, briefly urged her husband with a look, and together they took hold of a corner. “...This is the first time I’ve received your will.” “I am the unworthy Hatano Jirōzaemon.” When Motokari saw Masanari’s figure, he immediately gasped out these words.

“If it be by your hand that I am to receive judgment, I shall raise no objection to whatever punishment I may face. As for my apology—I have already given a full account to your younger brother Lord Masasue, including all the details up to today.” “Oh…. So you are Lord Jirōzaemon Motonari?”

Masanari slightly lowered his head. “By some strange bond of fate, my sister has entrusted her life as a woman to you.” “Though this is our first meeting, I have never forgotten how matters stand with you in daily life.” “……Lord Motonari, I beg you to remain by her side for all your days.” Hearing this, both Motonari and Ukogi could only dissolve into tears. Outside, the wind and rain grew increasingly violent.

Rainwater overflowing from the large roof’s gutters formed a waterfall at the eaves. Urged by the roaring storm, Masanari said, “...Lord Motonari.” He shook his head and continued, “Do not dwell on such thoughts,” immediately pressing onward. “I harbor not the slightest intent to punish or dispose of you here. I pray only for your happiness... Ukogi.”

“......Yes.” “You’ve grown so much. No—having never known your maiden years, I can scarcely recognize you. Yet as we linger here like this, you somehow regain the face of a child.” “Elder Brother.” “How dearly I have missed you.” “Oh, you have come all this way. I too had long wished to meet you. Do not resent me as your heartless brother. I cannot allow you both to remain in this land.”

“Oh, I understand full well,” she said through trembling lips. “How could I resent you?” “Though it may seem improper,” Masanari replied, his voice deepening with feudal gravity, “it is precisely because I inherited my late father’s domain that I stand here as Masanari—yet to bare my heart, I envy even a single household free to dwell at ease in field or town.” His calloused fingers tightened on his knee. “But Tamonyōe Masanari, bearing his clan’s burdens, cannot claim such liberty.” He paused as thunder rattled the shutters. When he spoke again, his tone held the finality of falling axes: “They say you came here seeking apprenticeship with the Yamada Sarugaku troupe.” The unspoken accusation hung between them—Rokuhara’s spies already knew their faces. “With Rokuhara’s meddling, that hope withers.” His eyes narrowed like drawn blades. “Rather—”

For an instant, he closed his eyes.

The tempest’s claws tearing at the great roof had subsumed even the lamplight and silence here into the raging torrent. Masanari took out a bundle wrapped in purple cloth from his robe and, holding it on one knee, beckoned with his eyes: “...Ukogi, come here.” “...Yes… What is it?”

When she timidly stepped forward, Masanari scooped up his sister’s hand with one of his. And he gazed searchingly at her emaciated face, as if seeking traces of her childhood features within it,

“For you who have neither father nor mother, even your hometown became a bed of thorns.” “Though I hold you dear, you must leave this place now.” “Go far away—wherever you must—and live in harmony with your husband.” “The day may come when you realize this is life’s greatest blessing for those born human.” “...This money comes not from Masanari, but from your departed parents.” “Use it as capital to find your way in life.” “Now—if you would quit this place, it must be now.” “This storm offers unforeseen opportunity—before night yields to dawn.”

With that, he firmly placed the heavy purple bundle into his younger sister’s hands. “Ah... Elder Brother.”

Ukogi remained as she was and prostrated herself in reverence. Not letting go of her brother’s hand, she sobbed.

Masasue, beside them, also bent his arm to hide his face. He likely had his own differing views, but when it came to his brother’s words, there could be no dissent. But. What he thought—

At that very moment raged such a violent thunderstorm.

No—precisely because it was such a night that his brother was driving them onward—but then, would they be safe not only from this storm’s perils but also from Rokuhara’s spies’ eyes?

As Masasue worriedly considered this matter, “No need to worry—up to the domain’s border, old man Onji Sakon has the retainers preparing a ‘diversion plan’,” “And from afar, I shall guard the path of your escape.” And Masanari said.

That his brother had even considered such things—Masasue was astonished at his foresight. Under normal circumstances, he would have laughed at this brother who disparaged military strategy. But there was no time for that. Ukogi and Uroji once again tearfully bid their farewell before Masanari.

Then, outside the corridor,

“My lord…” “The lord of your noble house.”

Then came a hesitant voice. Masasue stood and went over. “Who’s there?” When he peered into the darkness, there stood Yagyū-sai—the armorer from Sumiyoshi who had been hosted in the main house earlier that evening. With the airing out completed and their return to Sumiyoshi planned for the morrow, they had been served wine in appreciation, given travel funds and wages, and put to bed for the night. “...I inadvertently awoke due to this tempest and, without meaning to, found myself privy to your conversation.” “Oh, Yagyū-sai. “You were eavesdropping.”

“Nothing of the sort! I must protest such an uncharitable interpretation—it troubles me greatly. …After all, it was this Yagyū-sai who brought your esteemed couple here on the night of the rain prayer festival. Even if I had eavesdropped, I had already learned of your circumstances that night.”

“Ah, right.” “It was indeed you who put Shinobi no Gonzō to sleep and aided the Ukogi couple. —But even if you are that Yagyū-sai, why have you pushed your way here unsummoned?” “Yes…” Yagyū-sai bowed deeply, “Though this humble armorer thought it might be somewhat presumptuous to make such an offer, given that I am to take my leave tomorrow morning and return to Sumiyoshi in Settsu.” “……Well… actually,”

His words came out haltingly. It was indeed characteristic of a straightforward man.

But for Masasue, this was exasperating.

“Yagyū-sai. “So what’s your point?” “Speak quickly!” “So. “So, it occurred to me on the spur of the moment—this humble one could depart here at once and accompany Lady Ukogi and her esteemed husband.” “What? About Ukogi?” “If I may speak from the outset, there should be little concern up to your domain’s border—but beyond that, on every highway, Rokuhara guard posts stand without exception.” “Moreover, even Lord Motonari—traveling with a woman—could easily meet misfortune like the other night should danger arise.”

“Hm.” “Indeed.” “After all, since I’m returning to Sumiyoshi anyway, at least as far as that area, this Yagyū-sai will surely ensure your safe passage.” “Well… Though this may sound presumptuous of me, if I can be of service in such times, I thought it might serve as some small repayment for your usual kind patronage.” “Ah, well said… That is most kind, but”

He looked back. “Ukogi, what say you? “Yagyū-sai has made such an offer.”

Of course, Ukogi had no objection. Having been rescued by Yagyū-sai just the previous night and having exchanged words with him from time to time since settling here—through which they had come to understand his nature well—there was no room for harboring doubt tinged with unease toward his goodwill. —However, Masanari alone—

Hmm?

From where he stood inside the room, through the dimly lit corridor, he had been intently gazing at the shadow of Yagyū-sai crouched there. “Brother—” Masasue pressed again,

“What do you think? The armorer returning to Sumiyoshi wishes to accompany the couple.” “Masasue.” “Yes!” “Is this the craftsman you’ve been overseeing for years?” “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that—he’s an honest man named Yagyū-sai whom I’ve had perform occasional maintenance on arms since last year through Tenken no Gorō’s introduction. He has visited the Sumiyoshi shop several times; there’s no cause for concern.”

“I see…” Masanari murmured. “This Yagyū-sai fellow.” “Yes…” Yagyū-sai kept his head lowered. “Might this be the honorable Main Hall Custodian of Takemikumari?” “You and I have never met before,” Masanari stated flatly. “You honor me,” Yagyū-sai replied, pressing his forehead to the floorboards. “I beg you to remember this humble one.”

“Come a little closer.”

“Y-yes.” Even when urged, Yagyū-sai only inched his knees forward slightly—sweating and rigid—and as Masanari studied him with keen intensity, he spoke. “I see—you are indeed a man of resolute countenance and reliability.” “Are you returning to Sumiyoshi?” “As you command.” “The timing favors us—we’ve found a worthy escort.” “I entrust this couple’s safety to you, Yagyū-sai.”

—I’m counting on you, Yagyū-sai. The tone of Masanari’s words carried both fraternal affection and trust in those he was entrusting. Yagyū-sai—before he knew it— “Understood!” With that, he prostrated himself. Why had he—who always used the artisan’s customary “Right away”—now chosen to respond with the curt “Understood!” of a warrior? “Ah, when you speak so courteously, this overstepper suddenly finds himself anxious.” “But oh, please don’t trouble yourself over me.”

Yagyū-sai, flustered, wiped the sweat from his brow sideways. And with that, “Well then, this humble one will promptly prepare and head out toward the gate.”

With that, he rose to his feet. Perhaps accustomed to travel preparations, he swiftly gathered even his raincoat and hat, hurried out ahead, and stood waiting in the darkness beyond the gate. The sky was pitch-black. The rain poured so heavily it reached all the way to one’s lips. The donned raincoat seemed about to be torn off by the wind. “Bring out the horses—three of them. “—In this violent storm, they cannot walk.”

Masasue shouted. Soon Masanari and his men formed a group and came to see off Ukogi and Motonari, undaunted by the rain. "Ukogi—is the horse properly secured?" "Yes." "Lord Motonari—mount quickly!" "Farewell—stay safe." "You two must take care—don't lose your way, Ukogi." "Don't lose your way, Ukogi." "Aye... Brothers." "Aye... Brothers." "Oh, take care on your journey... Yagyū-sai." "At once!" "You've fastened that saddle splendidly. Your horsemanship appears most skilled." "N-no need for praise. Merely a traveler's habit." "Then... Lord Ryūsen, Honorable Main Hall of Takemikumari Shrine... Please set your mind at ease regarding their safety." "Farewell, my lords."

Buffeted by the gale, the three hats gave their final bow from the horses' backs toward the gate. "If you don't hurry, flooding will block you at every turn. Go quickly!"

Whether Masanari's voice had reached them remained uncertain. A stinging rain—so fierce they couldn't even raise their faces to watch—swiftly swallowed the three figures into the distant darkness.

……After silently, endlessly watching that darkness recede.

Masanari let out a sigh of relief. “Masasue. I’m heading back too.” “Let me escort you to the gate.”

“No need for that.” “But...” Masasue insistently rode his horse alongside his brother’s from behind. “Ah—Elder brother, you haven’t taken the wrong path, have you?” “Well, since we’re here—let’s go as far as Nagano to confirm my sister’s whereabouts before returning to Takemikumari. It’s no great detour.” Yet in this black gale and white rain, the three ahead had already vanished without a trace. Before long, torch flames racing beneath the storm could be seen frequently along country paths and villages. Undoubtedly, the shrewd Rokuhara informants who had infiltrated northern Kawachi were now exhausting all their efforts in vain, confounded by this strange turn.

Before long, they arrived at the gate of Takemikumari Shrine.

“Masasue, that’s enough.”

“Truly, I feel quite relieved now.” “Go back and rest peacefully yourself.” “Then you as well, Elder Brother.” “Hmm, tomorrow we shall sleep in to our heart’s content. I look forward to waking up and seeing the revived green rice fields.”

Crash, crash, crash

Sumiyoshi Bay—from the precincts of the Sumiyoshi Four Shrines to Shikitsu and Kohama—was sandy ground covered almost entirely with pine trees, but around Kizuma no Tsuji on the Settsu-Kawachi-Izumi highway, there were many willows.

The year dawned as Genkō’s third year.

Already the flowers had scattered, and spring had entered April. The verdure of willows veiled the “Kizuma Hyakken” district there in a pale, tranquil green, and among the townhouses, the sign of Gusokushi Yagyu-sai could be seen.

Unlike the neighboring shops, the house remained cool and dimly lit even inside its curtained earthen entrance, and Yagyū-sai was always lying about in the back second floor.

The room held workbenches for labor, neck guard cord hangers, tasset racks, and such; scraps of dyed leather and glue pots lay scattered haphazardly. At times, even his permanent bedding remained spread out. He didn’t particularly seem like an eccentric, but at his age, he had no wife and was, for some reason, a single man. “Master.” A dull voice came from downstairs. It was the hired old woman. There were several men as well, but they all seemed to be out during the day.

“A courier has arrived, sir. Shall I bring it up there?” “Ah—there’s no need for that.” Yagyū-sai had been leaning against his desk, single-mindedly wielding his brush on some task, but he hurriedly descended the ladder stairs himself. “Old woman—where’s the courier?”

“The courier is waiting in the earthen entrance for the receipt, sir.” “Ah, right. “Here, the receipt.” “Well... much obliged.” Like a merchant, he had the courier grasp both the receipt and some small coins in his hand, and upon returning upstairs, he immediately cut open the seal without delay. It was a lengthy letter written in small characters—he stared at it until his neck grew stiff from bending over it. The moment he finished reading, he tossed it without hesitation into the charcoal fire beneath the glue pot, where it burst into flames.

And next, even the letter he had been writing—

“Wait. In such a situation—”

Then, suddenly seeming to reconsider something, he threw that into the fire as well.

After that, he rested his chin on his hand at the desk,

“Somehow, it’s close,” he muttered. “It has to be this year... My gut tells me so.” Then, as he let his gaze drift outward—wandering alone among the spring clouds—the well bucket behind the house clattered suddenly. When he lowered his eyes, a pale face was looking up at this second-floor window from beside the well. “Lord Yagyū-sai,” came the voice. “Why do you look so concerned?” “Oh, Ms. Ukogi.”

Yagyū-sai removed his hand from his cheek. “Caught me in quite a state, have you? “Well—the view from this second floor takes in Sumiyoshi’s tall lighthouse and channel markers. An indescribable sight. So uncharacteristically, I thought I might try my hand at composing a poem.”

“Ohoho.” “That is such a refined habit indeed.” “Don’t tease me now. What’s Motonari-san up to?” “He no longer does anything during the day besides his work, not even glancing elsewhere.” “I see.” “He shouldn’t work himself too hard and ruin his health.” “Maybe I’ll go bother him for a bit.” “Yes, please do.” “But you see—since we’ve grown so close, whenever that thought comes, I always end up hesitating.”

“Oh, please don’t say such things.”

The well was shared by the tenement.

Diagonally across the vacant lot, Ukogi hurried back, carrying a bucket of water. “You—Lord Yagyū-sai says he’s coming right away.” At his wife’s voice from the kitchen, “Oh? Why?”

And from inside came Motonari's voice. "It seems he has some free time today." "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 subcontract work for Yagyū-sai the armorer lived there.—Among the various crafts—engraving accessories, leather dyeing, lacquering, decorative work, thread-twisting—Motonari was tasked with underdrawings.—It was not work requiring great artistic skill; merely sketching simple patterns like clients’ family crests, plovers, Genji carriages, cherry blossoms, or irises. By now, he too had grown accustomed to it.

Last summer. —This had been their life since Yagyū-sai brought them here. Nearly a year had passed since that unforgettable stormy night. “Now then. “You don’t mind the intrusion?” “Ah, Lord Yagyū-sai. “Please—this way.” “My apologies… No, truly—yours is the only place like this.” “What exactly merits such admiration?” “Even in the same tenement row house, you keep everything so neat. “Flowers in the vase, your wife still wearing her light makeup.”

“Ha ha ha! What could you possibly mean?” “No—there’s no arguing with plain truth.”

“This too is thanks to Lord Yagyū-sai,” Uroji said. “There was a time I thought we’d have no choice but to flee west.” “Well, that’s good,” Yagyū-sai replied. “If this pleases you, then my care has borne fruit... And this place stays surprisingly undisturbed.” Only a single wall separated them from the neighbors. Yagyū-sai softened his voice. “Even Rokuhara’s informants—swarming like flies—have yet to sniff out this place. You may rest easy now.”

“But I am being careful when going out,” he said. “With Ukogi, we only occasionally take walks along Sumiyoshi Beach, and have yet to even visit Tennōji Temple.” “Well, such cramped hardships will last at most until year’s end,” Yagyū-sai replied. “No—if things worsen, even within this year, who knows what will become of the world.” “Oh? Does that mean some new turmoil is brewing again?” Ukogi asked.

As Ukogi, who was making tea, suddenly turned around and asked, Yagyū-sai masked his response with a laugh. “No, no. No matter what happens, this place will be safe. On the contrary, the work of the tenement residents will only prosper... Ah yes, speaking of that business, I just remembered—”

That appeared to be the true purpose of today’s visit. He suddenly changed his tone here and informed the couple of his impending absence for several days. As a considerable order was likely to come from a certain lordly house, he intended to travel to Tanba. He intended to return in great haste, but as he also wished to visit his regular clients in Kyoto, it might perhaps take around half a month. The old woman entrusted with housework was hard of hearing, and he was asking her to watch over the house regardless.

Whether Yagyū-sai was away or not—or rather, whether he was present or absent— On a daily basis, all tasks—from shop accounting to assigning work in the subcontractors' tenement—were managed by the clerk Tobishichi.

This man had another nickname: Mr. Bald Kite. A fiftyish man born to a blacksmith family—his face reportedly burned down one temple from childhood falls into forge fires—he carried his obese frame while constantly barking at subcontractors. The business seemed prosperous. “Our master doesn’t know squat about business,” he’d declare unabashedly whenever visiting the tenement. “Well now, the capital comes from Master Yagyū-sai,” he’d ramble. “But hey! Who expanded this shop so wide in just four-five years? Yours truly, Tobishichi! So everything’s dumped on me now. And the master? Just stands there hands in pockets—now that’s what I call living cushy!”

However, Tobishichi also did not seem to be in a bad position. As a "part-time clerk," there were days when he came to the shop and days when he did not. Apparently, he was keeping a courtesan in Kanzaki, had her housed around Naniwa’s Gappō no Tsuji, and was commuting from there—or so the entire tenement was saying.

“Oh, Ms. Ukogi. Changing the pickling?” “Mr. Tobishichi. You haven’t been by these past two or three days.” “Caught a bit of cold... But when I came in today, they said Lord Yagyū-sai up and left on a trip night before last.” “Yes—he spoke of urgent business requiring him to go all the way to Tanba.” “That’s what’s odd now. Did he truly say Tanba?” “That’s what I was told.” “Don’t recall any lordly house in Tanba tied to our flower trade clientele though.” “Ah well—Master Yagyū-sai’s a bachelor after all.” “Whether it’s Tanba or Eguchi or Kanzaki—he’ll come back soon enough, I reckon.”

“Oh, please do come in.”

“But this here place—”

“But this here place—” he said, showing his thumb and lowering his voice.

“He’s working—in the back.” “Yes, still as always…” “You two are way too damn serious. Ms. Ukogi.” “Oh?” “Lately you’ve gotten a bit haggard, but somehow that makes your whole diligent housewife routine look even prettier, y’know.” “Oh, that’s…” “Honestly. Wouldn’t that be around three or four months? A pretty married woman’s pregnancy—that sorta thing—it’s strangely got men thinkin’ all kinds of thoughts, y’know.”

Ukogi turned red and, leaving the pickle barrel as it was, began to hide herself in the kitchen. Then from the shop’s back entrance came the old maidservant, who informed Tobishichi of the visitors’ arrival: The guests’ names were— The elder being Shizusaburō Kaneuji.

The younger one was Gotō Sukemitsu.

“...It’s... those two gentlemen.”

"...It’s... those two gentlemen," said the old maidservant. Both Ukogi and Motonari in the back happened to overhear this.

Tobishichi seemed slightly agitated.

“Huh? Is that true? Both Shizusaburō and Gotō Sukemitsu are swordsmiths leading their own schools nowadays. Them coming together like this... What business could they’ve come for, huh?”

Then, he peeked into Ukogi’s kitchen entrance once more, made a request, and left. “Seems they’re important guests.” “My apologies, but could you bring them tea later? It doesn’t have to be right away.” “That old woman can’t even serve a proper cup of tea.”

The guests in the main house stayed long. Ukogi carried tea over twice. Tea remained a rarity, something commoners' households scarcely used. And so, this humble one from the tenement— "After all, my husband doesn't touch even a drop of alcohol," he made excuse. Even now, after serving the shop's guests, the couple sat savoring it quietly while talking by Motonari's work desk. "What sort of people are they? Those guests." "The guests?" "As for one—Mr. Shizusaburō Kaneuji appears to be fifty-two or fifty-three." "The other gentleman—a certain Mr. Gotō Sukemitsu—still looks quite young."

“Both are renowned swordsmiths. “I’ve at least heard their names.” “It seems they’ve placed a substantial order for armor with Mr. Tobishichi.”

“Oh? Swordsmiths, you say?” “With such a large quantity and such a tight deadline, Mr. Tobishichi looked both flustered and delighted—it was almost comical to behold.” “Ukogi...”

Suddenly, pressing a paperweight onto the half-drawn metalwork sketch that was about to flutter away in the wind, Motonari lowered his voice.

“It’s been nearly a year since we came here, yet much still doesn’t sit right with me. Lord Ryūsai has plenty of suspicious aspects about him as well.” “But if that lord hadn’t been here, we—” “Oh, to us he’s undeniably kind—generous-hearted through and through—but…” “When you say it doesn’t sit right…” “However you look at it, he can’t be just some ordinary townsman craftsman. Tobishichi-dono claims he’s the wastrel son of some Wakasa moneybags who bankrolled him—but that’s just that man’s greed talking.”

“Dear…” Ukogi cautioned.—Speak of the devil—Tobishichi came striding diagonally across the vacant lot toward their window with great steps. “This’s huge!”

Outside the bamboo window, Tobishichi immediately saw the couple inside and began to speak. “Just the high-quality armor alone amounts to thirty or forty suits—not to mention full armor sets, haramaki, and others. When it comes to numbers, it’s such a massive order it’s nearly blinding.” “The only trouble’s the deadline.” “I barely haggled them up from a hundred days to a hundred twenty and took the job—but would you believe it? Even now, Lord Ryūsai’s away.” “What a carefree bastard he is!”

Then, once more, “Well, looks like I’ll be the only one busy for a while. Leather, metal ingots, thread, gold and silver—I’ll have to run around procuring each of these.” He paused, then added, “But those two guests today said something too—they claimed this business is about to see a tremendous boom any day now.” His voice took on a lecturing tone. “At times like these, you folks should be working day and night to earn your keep. I mean to build up a proper fortune myself.” When met with silent curiosity about the delivery destination, he pressed a finger to his lips. “Can’t say. Swear it on Kumano Gōō’s Oath!”

With that, Tobishichi mimed sealing his lips and laughed. And then, still in that same spirited manner, he went from neighbor to neighbor in the tenement spreading the news, before eventually heading off somewhere. “A huge boom is coming, they say.” “Will wages for all trades rise too?”

The tenement erupted in innocent excitement. But Ryūsai, away on his journey, had not returned even after half a month had passed. There was no word from him, and what had happened remained unknown.

Amidst such circumstances, one evening.

“Oh, Madam. Could you spare a moment?”

The shop’s old woman came with a request. “...It’s customers again.” she said with a perplexed look. They were not the usual business customers. They were a mother and child who had visited before—the mother a beautiful nun over thirty, the child a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old biwa-playing monk—and they seemed to share an exceptionally close relationship with Lord Ryūsai, having once even stayed overnight at his residence. “Well, that’s rather unfortunate timing.”

Ukogi postponed her household's evening preparations and went to check the shop area of the main house. "Granny, could we have a lamp here too?" "Oh. Right away." Then, substituting for the master, Ukogi repeatedly offered apologies and consolations to the mother-child guests. "Truly, this is most regrettable timing—Lord Ryūsai has been away on his travels for over half a month now... But please, make yourselves comfortable even in the master's absence."

“How kind of you.”

The nun’s bow was beautiful. Not merely her etiquette—could such a beautiful nun exist in this world? Ukogi felt as though she had been roused from slumber. In turn, the nun stared wide-eyed at Ukogi’s appearance. “Forgive my impertinence, but who might you be?” “I am not of this household,” Ukogi replied, “but reside in Lord Ryūsai’s tenement through his kindness—the wife of Motonari, a humble sketcher. I am called Ukogi.” “Ah! Is that so? We mother and child have long been acquainted with Lord Ryūsai since our days in the homeland…” The nun trailed off before continuing: “Yet having dwelt these past years in the capital, we thought to visit during our Shitennō-ji pilgrimage—anticipating the pleasure of meeting him after so long—but…”

“That must be so dispiriting for you.” “Lord Ryūsai should return any day now—please wait here at your ease.” “Well, what should we do?” The nun gazed at her son’s profile—he had sat wordlessly beside her all this while—as if searching his face, “Now… Kakuichi,”

she gently inquired. Kakuichi, orienting himself by her voice, “As for Lady Ukogi...” “Yes.” When he answered, Ukogi realized for the first time that the son was blind, and her chest tightened.

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” “I am called Kakuichi, an apprentice biwa player still in training, and my mother is known as Nun Sōshin.” “Though Lord Ryūsai remains absent, might we trouble you for shelter?”

“Yes, please do. …It’s just a thatched hut, but the tenement’s comfortable enough.” “You may rest at my home as well.” “Thank you very much. Then, Mother, shall we do that?” “Please, make yourselves at ease.”

The women exchanged modest smiles. That was good, and Kakuichi’s forthrightness had also turned out well. Though it was their first meeting, they were welcomed warmly. At Ukogi’s urging, Nun Sōshin moved into her tenement household—and in that narrow single room, they unpacked their travel gear, sharing the evening meal with Motonari and his wife.

But the traveling Ryūsai did not return.

Before they knew it, days passed as they waited—until one evening. Suddenly, the clerk Tobi, who had returned from outside, began proclaiming at the top of his lungs throughout the tenement about a grave incident said to have occurred in the capital the previous day.

“Ruined! We’re ruined! We’re ruined!”

Tobi’s voice was tinged with frenzy. “No matter what, things have gone completely to hell!”

From the end of the tenement, he peered into each door in turn. “Hey, gilder! Stop your work! Lacquerers, carvers, thread spinners, leather dyers—every last bit of recent commissioned work is postponed! …Far from a boom, this whole mess has come crashing down on us!” The edges of his words even carried a tone resembling a sob. At first, the entire tenement had been laughing, but sensing this was no ordinary matter, craftsmen of various trades came rushing out barefoot from every dwelling and immediately surrounded Tobi.

“Wh-what’s happened? Mr. Clerk!” “Mr. Clerk!” “Mr. Tobishichi.” “Why’s the work bein’ canceled, Mr. Tobishichi?”

“There’s no call to cling only to that order from t’other day.”

When they clamored noisily, Tobishichi suddenly swept away the surrounding voices with his elbows and fists.

“Enough! Shut your traps! If it were as trivial as you lot make it out to be, would I be scrambling around like this? Just watch—if you think you can just brush this off and keep stockpiling armor parts like lacing, arm guards, greaves, and full suits, then the Rokuhara Investigation Office’s men will come storming in here shouting ‘You’re under arrest!’” “Crap! They’re saying it’s Rokuhara!” “That’s right. We’ve got to dig a hole or something and hide all the armor materials here by tonight, or they’ll be seized. …Got it, everyone?”

“But... how on earth did things come to this?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have a clue either.” “But… this much is certain.” “Six years back—that volcano they called the Shōchū Incident’s started rumbling again, right in the capital’s belly.” “So it’s the palace again? That’s where this storm’s brewin’?” “Aye—they’re shoutin’ ‘His Majesty’s rebellion!’ all over.” “And get this—some bigwig from our own Imperial Loyalists sold us out to Kamakura! No doubtin’ that!” “Then—bam!—Rokuhara troops split up at dawn, grabbin’ rebel monks and nobles left and right, flushin’ out hideaways till the whole city’s a warzone! Heard it straight from Yodoguchi docks!” “You get me now? After all that?”

“Geez! Then that means… those two swordsmiths who came to place a huge armor order the other day—” “Shizu Saburō, Gotō Sukemitsu. “Those two are Imperial Loyalists too. “At worst, they might get rounded up… Even if they aren’t caught, armorers’ workshops will surely be inspected after this. “Hey, hey! How long you gonna stand there gawping with those dumb looks, crowding around me? “From every scrap of armor material in this tenement to what’s in the warehouse—all of you, figure out how to hide it somewhere. “Right! Take it to Hamanoya! “Move it! Move it!”

The late spring day had sunk deeply into dusk, but throughout the tenement, a commotion like an incoming tsunami had erupted.

The only household that listened quietly to Tobi's shouting and these noises was Ukogi's.

No—not only the couple but also Sōshin-ni and Kakuichi, the mother and son lodging with them, had been listening to the ongoing commotion with faces as if drenched in water.

The entire tenement was in a commotion like that of an evacuation that night. It was the desperate commotion of them beginning to hide all their vast stores of armor materials—to avoid the calamity of confiscation before Rokuhara’s inspectors arrived. Confronted by this utterly unforeseen crisis—Uroji and Ukogi’s couple— “Ah… So this dwelling too was but a shore of floating weeds…”

They exchanged blood-drained looks— "We can’t stay here even one more day." "We must go elsewhere." Thus their fate had forced them into unavoidable resolve—but then, what of Sōshin-ni and Kakuichi, who had been staying here for several days awaiting Ryūsai’s return? This became their immediate perplexity. “Let us take our leave.”

The nun said quietly. Not only that—or perhaps she had some inkling—

“If the capital has once again erupted into turmoil like the Shōchū Incident… Lord Ryūsai will likely never return here.” “To keep waiting would be futile…”

She seemed about to leave immediately after urging Kakuichi.

Motonari was startled by Sōshin-ni’s words.

Why would Ryūsai never return here again? What possible connection could there be between the incident that had erupted in the capital and the armorer Ryūsai? Motonari, who had long harbored doubts about Ryūsai’s true nature, strengthened his resolve—the day had come to abandon this house immediately. “Reverend Nun…” “Would you kindly wait just a moment?” “We too will prepare ourselves in great haste.” “Just during that time.” “What? “You too?”

“We too have circumstances forcing us to leave immediately.” “The details can wait, but Reverend Nun—there’s something I must ask you.” “Ukogi—take only what you can carry on your person.”

And then—it had been less than half a period.

While the tenement residents still milled about in panicked disarray, Uroji and Ukogi with Sōshin-ni and her son Kakuichi hurried through the dark coastal wind. Though pressing forward, they matched their pace to Kakuichi’s sightless steps. “To walk from Abeno and Ikuno to Yodo now would prove too great an endeavor,” Motonari said. “At daybreak comes a ferry from Demi-no-hama to Naniwa. You should board that.” Following Motonari’s counsel, the mother and son resolved to await dawn at Sumiyoshi-no-ura, planning to return to Kyoto through successive boat transfers.

In the bay’s inlet, both Sumiyoshi Shrine’s ritual fires and tall tide-watching lanterns—serving as maritime markers—burned constantly. “Come now, please rest here.”

Motonari searched for a rush mat from somewhere, spread it over the sandy ground nearby, and first had Kakuichi and Sōshin-ni sit down,

“Until dawn when the boat departs, we too shall stay here and spend the night together.” “Though I presume you are of noble lineage, to see you, mother and son, united in purpose as you ascend to the capital for your devoted biwa practice—how enviable.” “I too am one who has been devoted to the artistic path, but unable to achieve mastery, I now wander in vain like this.” Putting aside what he wanted to ask for later, he first began to engage the mother and son in conversation with such topics.

The blind man enjoyed the conversation. When the conversation touched upon artistic paths—particularly when it came to the biwa—Kakuichi began speaking animatedly on his own. Naturally, through this unguarded exchange, details emerged—from Sōshin-ni and her son’s true lineage to the circumstances that had brought them to the capital. As he listened further, Motonari appeared genuinely astonished. “So… regarding Lord Ashikaga of the Eastern Provinces and that figure often mentioned in rumors—Lord Takauji—are they…?” “Yes, that Lord Takauji—”

Kakuichi replied without hesitation, “To my mother here, he is a nephew… Therefore, to me, he is a cousin.” “I see.” With that, Motonari let out a sigh that resembled admiration. “To abandon such a noble status and devote your entire life to mastering the biwa—that must require truly unwavering resolve. As for someone like Motonari—how shameful.” “Lord Motonari. What is it that you seek?”

“I desired to join prestigious troupes like the Yamada Sarugaku of Iga and the Yamato Sarugaku of Kasuga to complete my training, but due to certain circumstances, I find myself unable to achieve that.” “Why is that?”

Kakuichi tilted his blind visage.

“That’s not how I see it,” “I believe that with single-minded determination, no aspiration lies beyond reach. …That’s why even my mother finally relented and came to the capital with me.” “What troubles you, Lord Motonari?” “To explain would take time—we’re an ill-fated couple burdened with baseless suspicions, hounded by Rokuhara’s informants wherever we go.” “If that’s all, you needn’t worry. …Among Rokuhara’s ranks stands a prominent figure—my mother’s kin.” “If you seek their intercession for a fair judgment—” “Right… Mother?”

Sōshin-ni and Motonari both laughed with a tinge of loneliness—what Kakuichi said was undoubtedly true. That simplicity was enviable to the adults. "But Lord Kakuichi, even that is impossible now." "The capital is said to be in great turmoil... If someday, by some fateful chance, we should meet again."

Motonari, having said that, suddenly turned to Sōshin-ni and inquired. “Lord Yanagisai does not seem to have been an armorer from the start.” “Yes, he is a samurai.” “I had a feeling that was the case. His demeanor… and the look in his eyes…” “Given that it’s none other than you, I suppose it’s permissible to reveal this. …Yanagisai is a false name. In truth, he is a samurai named Isshiki Uma no Suke who served Lord Ashikaga and also acted as Lord Takauji’s tutor.” “Hoh? Why would such a samurai be here...?”

“I do not know the full circumstances, but I had only heard that he incurred Lord Takauji’s displeasure and vanished from Kamakura several years ago, taking refuge here in the Sumiyoshi area.” “But in truth, I do not believe he has fully become one of the townsfolk.” “Moreover, with the recent upheaval in the capital.” “Though this is merely the speculation of a humble nun, I believe it is most unlikely that Isshiki Uma no Suke will appear before you both again as Yanagisai.” “……Please take that into consideration, and you too should seek your peace elsewhere.”

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

“Then, Lord Motonari, Lady Ukogi.”

“Oh, it’s already time to part ways.” “Reverend Mother, may you fare well.” “Lord Kakuichi, you must apply yourself diligently to your studies as well.”

The four of them walked together toward the boat.

With a woman’s eye，Sōshin-ni had noticed signs of pregnancy in Ukogi’s body. Thus，she had been frequently showing concern and tending to her due to the midnight chill since last night，but this morning again，

“Above all, take care of yourself.”

Drawing close, she whispered. “...While men who make their mark in society bear their burdens, a woman’s duty to bring forth life is an awe-inspiring trial. To wander rootless in such circumstances hereafter... You must guard your health most vigilantly.” “My gratitude,” she replied. “Whatever may come.” “Though your hardships weigh heavy on my heart—ah, when you behold your child thriving one day, nothing teaches life’s purpose like a babe’s presence. Even for this humble nun... Were Kakuichi not here...” Her voice caught like wind through reeds. “Even raising a sightless child proves this truth.”

Motonari, who had been half-listening to the women’s conversation, suddenly stopped in his tracks. “Reverend Mother… I have heard something valuable. In truth, even our brief respite at Sumiyoshi has ended, forcing us back into ceaseless wandering. I had sunk into dark despair, thinking all our years of aspirations were but fleeting dreams. Yet even Kakuichi—blind though he is—holds such blazing resolve, and you find joy in nurturing that purpose through life… Ah yes—it’s as you say. Just now, from witnessing you both—mother and child—I feel I’ve received a glimmer of light through your example.”

It was a voice trembling as though wringing its own soul dry. At his tone, both Ukogi and Reverend Mother Sōshin-ni halted their steps. Even the blind Kakuichi had involuntarily stilled his expression. “...When I consider it, our failings as husband and wife must be to blame.” “In truth, we have already lost two children.” “Should another be born now, it would be our third.” “This time, we shall cherish them so fiercely they cannot be taken.” “And though we pass our unrealized hopes to our child’s generation, let us walk—with patience—the same path as the Reverend Mother and her son when time allows.”

As if making a vow, he said again to his wife. “Listen, Ukogi… We must not forget Sumiyoshi no Gozen and what happened this morning.” Ukogi’s pale face nodded as pine pollen drifted onto it.

Moment by moment, the beach grew brighter.

Urged by the boatman’s voice, figures of men and women were already lined up on the gangplank. Sōshin-ni too joined the crowd, cradling Kakuichi’s back. ……And once again, she turned around from the ship’s side toward Ukogi and Motonari, who remained behind, “Farewell.” They showed the sorrow of their parting.

The boat soon left the shore. Kakuichi, sensing the vast expanse of waves, drew close to his nun mother,

“Where are they now?” he asked.

The figures of Ukogi and Motonari were already in a corner of pines and white sand, dejectedly growing small. When his mother indicated the direction, Kakuichi stretched up from the gunwale and repeatedly lowered his round head again and again.

It was a tailwind. The boat arrived at the mouth of the Nagare River still early in the morning, passing by Naniwa no Tsu (Osaka)'s flat sands, reeds, and sparsely thatched roofs. “Kakuichi…” “Kakuichi.”

Kakuichi was leaning against the boat’s edge, completely fast asleep.

“It’s from here that we’ll transfer boats to ascend the Yodo River.” Finally rousing him awake, the nun pulled along the hand of this large, infant-like blind boy and crossed the gangplank from the very rear of the passenger line. After walking a short way along the riverside town, there stood another boat waiting hut. It was the landing for Kyoto-bound Yodo River vessels. “How odd today…” Unusually, no people were visible. When they asked at a nearby teahouse with stools, this too was attributed to the capital’s disturbances since two days prior.

The capital was like a fire gone out, and now there was nothing but ominous rumors that a battle might break out. However, the true situation was not understood by anyone at all. Precisely because of this, people’s terror had only deepened, and from travelers to peddlers’ comings and goings, everything lay in such desolation, it was said. “...Then, are the upstream boats not departing?” “Are you heading to the capital?” “Yes.” “In that case, perhaps you should postpone.” “They say you can’t even roam about the capital carelessly.”

“But our home is in the capital.” “In any case, you simply must return.” “I mean…” “Especially with that child.”

In any case, there was nothing to do but wait. Under the eaves, a basket of clams was visible. The mother and child were eating their morning meal with some of those clams grilled for them. Then a young warrior in a cuirass and knee-tied hakama peered inside the reed screen,

“Old man! Old man!” he called hurriedly. “Quickly—prepare seven bentos!” “Right away. Please wait here on the stool for a moment.” “Hurry up—I’ve already made the upstream boat wait.” So, will the boat depart? Sōshin-ni wondered. She stood up and looked out at the river channel before her. On the Yodo River boat, a cluster of figures had already gathered. The nun took Kakuichi and descended to the pier. The boatman planted at the stern responded to her inquiry with a sullen face and grudging nod of permission to board.

However, the only passengers were companions of the samurai they had seen at the teahouse. They were all uniformly clad in belly bands, appearing as robust country samurai. When the nun suddenly noticed this and hesitated with a faltering expression—perhaps interpreting it differently—one among them, “Come on, give me your hand.” Taking Kakuichi’s hand over the boat’s edge, he helped him inside, “Hey, careful there! Sit here instead.” and even cleared a seat in the corner for him. Moreover, all of them,

“So this is the nun’s son? My, my—how pitiable that he can’t see a thing.”

And yet, their eyes held an unexpectedly kind appearance.

Moreover, now relieved, Sōshin-ni could only wish that they would reach the capital. Immediately after that, the samurai from earlier came rushing in carrying the group’s provisions. Taking that as their cue, the samurai rebuked the boatman and made him set out immediately. Overhead, the Yodo River wind suddenly began to flap noisily in the sails. White river waves came surging swiftly. The upstream Yodo route was typically a plodding journey that would weary any boat traveler, but with sails swollen by a tailwind, they passed Moriguchi in moments and soon saw Torikai to their left.

“We’re making good time today!” The seven men, likely country samurai, threw their empty bento boxes over the sides of the boat, barely glancing at their arrow-like trajectories, then set only sake and cups before themselves.

“At this rate, we should reach Otokoyama while it’s still light.” They kept rousing each other’s spirits. Were they so utterly reassured, thinking there was no one aboard but the boatman and a nun with a blind monk’s child? In their reckless remarks, terrifying words frequently burst forth. From this, one could surmise. This group—apparently rural warriors of the Kinai region who typically style themselves “Imperial Loyalists” and harbor rebellious intentions toward the shogunate. Fervently,

“To Otokoyama,” “Comrades,” From these exchanges—having heard of disturbances in the capital—it seemed others anxious about the imperial palace’s safety were gathering from various regions, even converging at Mount Otokoyama’s Hachiman Shrine, likely preparing to formulate some strategy.

At the edge of the boat mat, Kakuichi—who had been listening without meaning to—shuddered intermittently from the cold spray hitting his body, his lips turning pale.

“...Mother,” he whispered. “If you listen to what those people are saying, it seems battle could break out at any moment.” “Will we be able to return... into the capital?” “Don’t be absurd.” The nun forced a hollow laugh. “How could something so dreadful happen so suddenly?” “If war comes, we’ll hide deep in Saga—mother and child together.” “You mustn’t trouble yourself over what hasn’t happened.”

However, Kakuichi’s dreadful premonition came true that very day while the sun still hung high. It was the moment they passed Takatsuki. From deep within the reed-choked waves along the left bank, three or four swift boats bearing small flags suddenly came rowing toward their vessel on the Yodo River.—The voices shouting “Halt!” again and again held no ordinary intent.

“Ah! Rokuhara boats!” “Damn it! They’re checkpoint soldiers!”

The seven country samurai all at once— “Boatman, why falter? Keep going straight—now!” “Slow the pace, and you’ll regret it!” This was no empty threat. Two among them drew blades, pressing cold steel against the boatman’s spine. Kakuichi and the nun shrank into a corner of the boat, with barely room to breathe. From astern, borne on the tailwind,

“Won’t you halt?” “Halt that boat!” The sound of oars from the swift boats grew even more intense. The fleeing sails refused to be outdone, their mad wings roaring and flapping wildly in the wind-whipped sky. “Got it!” After some time had passed, someone spoke. The sails’ power had finally left the swift boats’ shadows far behind. “This is Hashimoto no Shuku. Let’s walk the rest of the way to Hachiman. Boatman, make for shore!” Before long, the frenzied prow dug into the riverbed and came to a halt—instantly, two or three of them leapt ashore ahead of the others. However, no sooner had they turned back than—to their other comrades—

“Danger! Danger!” “Rokuhara soldiers are here at this inn too.” “It’s boats after all.” “Take the river—the river’s our way!”

However, by that time, several Rokuhara boats had already surrounded them from behind across the water's surface. The nun and Kakuichi encountered something truly horrifying. Kakuichi sensed it with his whole being; the nun witnessed it with her eyes. From the many swift boats commanded by Rokuhara officials, hooked ropes flew out, bear-claw rakes extended, and simultaneously their soldiers came leaping into this vessel.

And no sooner had a few heated words been exchanged with the seven country samurai than one of them suddenly— “Enough of this hassle!” With that, he cut down one of the officials into the river.

The scream seemed unearthly, and what suddenly drenched the entire boat—water droplets that appeared entirely like blood—was perceived thus by the nun and Kakuichi. After that, the mother and child themselves knew nothing. The narrow deck filled with gleaming blade upon gleaming blade; amidst the tangled shouts and screams, the boat itself was thrown into mad turmoil. Yet it lasted but an instant.—To Kakuichi and his mother, who crouched covering their ears as if beneath lightning's roar, it might have felt interminable. In truth, within moments several wounded men lay cast aside, while the country samurai had already fled ashore.

However, separate Rokuhara soldiers also rushed to the scene on land. Therefore, the fierce battle continued unabated; they must have scattered blood everywhere. And how many of the seven country samurai could have managed to escape with their lives?

...Some time had passed.

Inside the boat, all was now completely still. Yet neither the nun nor Kakuichi could still raise their faces. The hushed silence made them feel as though they themselves were stained with blood—an eerie sensation. Then, on the nearby bank,

“Who are those people, and where are they from?” Then came voices harshly grilling the captured boatman about the nun and Kakuichi’s identities and destination. Of course he could never have known. How had the boatman responded? After some time passed, several soldiers descended into the boat— “Get up.”

With that single command, they drove the mother and son ashore. And because they were about to bind them with ropes, Sōshin-ni—forgetting both the unwarranted bonds and her own fear—shielded Kakuichi and cried out. “At least loosen their bonds—they’re a woman and a blind man.”

The commander had said as much, but Sōshin-ni’s manner of speech and her dignified appearance despite being a nun only deepened their suspicions. “They must have been commissioned by someone to deliver a message to a court noble in the capital.” “That’s why they’re deliberately traveling with a blind man.” “No fool would head to the capital on a day like this otherwise.” “...In any case, let’s have them board that one.”

and pointed at the ox-drawn cart parked at the edge of the highway. When they looked, one of the country samurai who had just been captured lay trussed up on top of the cart. No—inside that shallow wooden enclosure were travelers, monks, samurai, more than ten people in all, piled up like beasts. Not a single one of Sōshin-ni’s explanations was given any heed. ――What was this disturbance in the capital? They were but a mother and child who knew not even a fragment of such truths.

But even such as these—showing no mercy, deeming them somehow connected to the imperial loyalists and unable to rest until numbering them among suspects—even they might now have been verging on frenzy.

The Emperor’s Rebellion

The current Rokuhara Tandai were Nakatsune, Governor of Echigo (Northern Bureau), and Tokimasu, Left Assistant Director of the Bureau of Horses (Southern Bureau). Both were newly appointed young men and, naturally, prominent members of the Hōjō clan. Separated by Gojō Sōmon main road, the Tandai office was divided into northern and southern compounds. This mirrored the Edo period's administrative system which had both North Magistrates and South Magistrates.

But their authority and status far exceeded those of Edo-period magistrates or Kyoto protectors—and Rokuhara, that fated seat of power since the Heike era, even now 180 years later, still loomed before the imperial court as nothing less than a hostile nation. In particular. The situation over the past few days had grown grim. Even low-ranking officials performed their duties half-armed. They had posted spearmen at every gate, stationed soldiers ready to deploy by the horse stations at any moment, and even assigned messengers. Of course, the capital was under martial law—at night it burned crimson with watchfires, but by day lay deserted. May’s fresh leaves hung in vain; the anguished city teetered on death’s brink.

“Where is Lord Governor of Echigo?” There was someone frequently making inquiries all around the office—the Shoshi Gate, the Hyōjōsho Gate, and elsewhere.

the commander of the Investigation Office, Honjō Oniroku, “He isn’t here, is he?” he had been asking at the middle gate as well. The security soldiers maintained an unusual severity. “He is present! He is present, but may we ask your business?”

“I must urgently request an audience.” “That may prove difficult.” “This concerns a pressing matter.” “Might you at least grant me a private hearing?”

At Oniroku’s persistence, the squad leader retreated under the eaves of the middle gate corridor. After a moment. “—His Lordship commands you to wait.”

“I see. In that case.”

Oniroku sat down 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 Assistant Director of the Bureau of Horses (Southern Bureau), and Nakatsune Hōjō, Governor of Echigo (Northern Bureau)—had gathered along with officials hastily dispatched from Kamakura that morning, including Nikaidō, Governor of Shimotsuke, and Nagai, Governor of Tōtōmi, and were now deep in secret discussions.

“This might be bad.”

Oniroku thought.

The problem I brought was unrelated to the current crisis and could even be considered my subordinates’ blunder. I also thought it unwise to deliberately expose my own shortcomings before the esteemed assembly,

“……Maybe I should withdraw.” He had half-risen to leave, but it was already too late.

An attendant came from the inner chambers and commanded Oniroku: “Proceed.” Oniroku was led to kneel at the edge of the main hall’s veranda. The others who had been present were no longer visible; only the two Tandai commissioners remained—the Left Assistant Director of the Bureau of Horses and the Governor of Echigo. “Oniroku. What is this matter?” Nakatsune, Governor of Echigo, was twenty-eight. For one bearing such weighty office, he was remarkably young. “Hah...” Oniroku closed his eyes and expelled the ill-fated report in one breath.

“Last night near Yodo, my subordinates—of all people—ended up hauling into Rokuhara prison a Buddhist nun claiming kinship with Lord Ashikaga and her blind son, along with other suspicious detainees.” “Though this is an inexcusable blunder, I have come to humbly seek your esteemed instructions on how to handle the custody of the two individuals.”

“What? A relative of Lord Ashikaga?” Oniroku’s words seemed not to sit right with him, and Left Assistant Director of the Bureau of Horses Tokimasu tilted his head slightly. And,

“Does Echigo-dono know?”

he inquired quietly toward Nakatsune. “When departing for the capital, Lord Uesugi entreated us to look after her. ...Since she is Lord Uesugi’s sister, would she not be Lord Takauji’s aunt—the reverend nun in question?”

Upon hearing the two Tandai commissioners’ whispered exchange, Oniroku grew increasingly fearful.

“Oniroku. Speak in greater detail.” “What exactly happened?”

“Hah... The truth is,” To listen to his vehement explanation was to hear this account: Though this had long been the case, it would be fair to say that anti-shogunate rural samurai, Shinto priests, and commoners sympathetic to the Imperial Loyalists now filled the countryside throughout the Kinai region. Naturally—they had been significantly impacted by this recent rebellion and were now holding secret meetings everywhere while conducting infiltration activities into the capital. To prepare for this, the Rokuhara Investigation Office had erected gates at the exits of the seven highways outside the capital; whenever they spotted suspicious travelers, they indiscriminately hauled them off, loaded them onto ox carts, brought them to Rokuhara Prison Square, forced each person to strip naked, unraveled their hair down to the roots, and conducted rigorous inspections.

But. The subordinates' grave overreach lay in this: among those detained were a blind boy carrying a biwa and a beautiful nun who, upon further interrogation, shockingly claimed kinship with Lord Ashikaga Matatarō Takauji—brother-in-law to Kamakura's current regent, Lord Hōjō Morotoki. Panicked, Oniroku hastily showed them deference and relocated them to separate quarters. Yet in these dark times, uncertain how to handle their custody, he had reportedly gone to humbly seek instructions.

The two Tandai commissioners exchanged glances and whispered to each other again, but before long, Nakatsune, Governor of Echigo, issued a directive.

“Oniroku. “The reverend nun was called Kusagokoro-ni, and her child was named Kakuitsu?” “As Your Lordship commands.” “Then there is no mistake. You shall accompany them and take them to my private residence in Komatsuya for now. Today I have no time, but after returning to my residence, I, Nakatsune, shall meet with them.”

“Understood.” “I shall escort them at once.” As he began to rise, “Wait, Oniroku.”

The Left Assistant Director of the Bureau of Horses called out to stop him again. “You rank among the top investigators at the Office, yet in this rebellion you’ve shown no achievements whatsoever. That’s why your subordinates must be growing impatient. What are you doing?” “Hah! If you say that, I have no face to show.” “Shouldn’t you have already found some lead on Lord Hino Toshimoto’s whereabouts? Still no leads?” “We have been working frantically to cast our investigative net far and wide, but…”

“In any case, it’s evident he’s hiding near the capital. Until we capture that courtier, this remains nothing but empty commotion. And as for reporting to Kamakura—we’ve made no headway. Even the informants fear you as a demon, don’t they? Show us one proper achievement.”

It was an ill-omened day for Oniroku. On top of the blunder came this reprimand. He retreated in haste. “Well then, shall we proceed over there and take our seats?”

The two Tandai commissioners then crossed the corridor and proceeded to one of the three White Sand Chambers within the compound—the Third White Sand Chamber. From the First and Second White Sand Chambers to all the prison blocks—it was truly the Court of Enma. The prison blocks seethed with resentment—one might say. These were the achievements of the Rokuhara Investigation Office, which had been active throughout the recent rebellion—yet even these seemed insufficient.

Someone like Hino Toshimoto still had not been captured. To begin with, where could the motive and truth behind such a vast number of arrests made within mere days possibly have lain?

×　　　　　　　×

It was the end of the previous month. To be precise, it was the twenty-ninth day of the fourth month. A mysterious envoy of a court noble had come to the Kamakura shogunate with a secret letter to make an internal appeal. The envoy stated only, "-From Lord Sadafusa, the Dainagon of Yoshida," and vanished. When it came to Yoshida Sadafusa, everyone knew him as the Emperor's wet nurse's father. He was currently the father of Emperor Go-Daigo's wet nurse and enjoyed the Emperor's trust without question, being one of the so-called "Three Chamberlains" (Kitabatake Chikafusa, Madenokōji Nobufusa, Yoshida Sadafusa).

“A clandestine missive?” Even this was strange enough, but its contents left the shogunate’s inner circle aghast. Within the Emperor’s innermost council, preparations to overthrow the shogunate were steadily underway. Moreover, the time to put these plans into action was now imminent—so claimed this secret report. “Can such things be believed?” Every senior shogunate vassal tilted their head in doubt, each uttering the same words once: “This is beyond belief!” Yet when shown to handwriting experts, the script was declared indisputably to be Lord Sadafusa’s own. Thus when they proceeded to meticulous deliberation, this possibility could not be entirely dismissed.

Firstly, it did not name the Emperor as the mastermind behind the anti-shogunate plot, instead attributing it to his inner circle.

His Majesty the Emperor himself was troubled, but those around him were recklessly advancing military preparations under his august name. It read as a lamentation over how truly deplorable this state of affairs was.

And.

As for its mastermind— It also clearly stated that they were Imperial Prince Son’un (Daitō-no-miya), former Tendai Archbishop who had entered Mount Hiei in Karyaku 2 as His Majesty’s Third Prince—and Hino Toshimoto. “……Inferring this,”

Thus, the shogunate side interpreted Sadafusa’s true intentions as follows: As both imperial wet nurse’s father and advisor to His Majesty, Sadafusa must have found himself unable to remain idle any longer before such grave circumstances. Should matters be left unchecked, both imperial ruin and nationwide chaos would become clearer than flames before one’s eyes. ——Even if certain sacrifices had to be borne, nothing surpassed seizing this moment to enlist Kamakura’s aid in cutting out this festering corruption from court.

"Exactly. After days of torment, Lord Sadafusa's anguish must have finally compelled him to take this drastic measure." Thus—startled by this unforeseen calamity, the shogunate immediately sent secret envoys to Rokuhara, ordering them to crush the Imperial loyalists' anti-shogunate plot before it could materialize and capture all masterminds and accomplices in a single sweep.

Where could the true intentions of Yoshida Sadafusa—a man of conflicted loyalty who, though an Imperial loyalist himself, secretly reported his faction’s secrets to the shogunate—have lain? In the worst case, his wish could instead result in a situation akin to throwing a torch into an oil vat—such was the state of affairs that had developed.

The name of Daitō-no-miya had until this day hardly surfaced publicly. The reason for this was as follows: At twenty years old—now twenty-four—he had assumed the office of Tendai Archbishop, and even after relinquishing the archbishopric to his younger brother Imperial Prince Sonshin last year, he remained without moving from his residence at Enryaku-ji’s Great Pagoda, secretly training Mount Hiei’s monastic soldiers while awaiting nothing but his imperial father’s command—“The time has come”—and had kept utterly silent all this while. Yet even Rokuhara’s investigative forces could not lay hands upon Mount Hiei. Thus entrusting that matter to future political maneuvers, they made arresting the other mastermind—Hino Toshimoto—their foremost priority; yet his whereabouts were neither at the imperial court nor on any journey, and despite hundreds of informants scouring with bloodshot eyes in recent days, his location remained entirely unknown.

Yet Rokuhara’s standing commissioners and over a thousand eastern warriors had been stationed precisely for such an occasion.—Moreover, reinforcements were streaming in from Kamakura: Nagai Tōtōmi-no-kami, Nagasaki Magoshirō, Nanjō Takanobu, Saiga Hayato-no-suke, and others, all marching into the capital with troops in tow. Merely because they could not lay a hand on Daitō-no-miya and did not know Hino Toshimoto’s whereabouts—they were not idly standing by with folded arms. Rather, precisely because of that, their intense impatience—directed elsewhere—kept the prisons overflowing day and night.

Not only were hidden military supply depots within the capital uncovered, but armorers, swordsmiths, bowyers, and even court nobles’ servants were driven across Gojō Bridge day after day in an unbroken chain and herded through Rokuhara’s main gate. Among these, the most brutal were the arrests of Buddhist monks. On the eleventh day of the fifth month, at dawn, Saiga Hayato-no-suke’s forces bound and dragged High Priest Enkan of Hōshō-ji Temple into prison, while Nanjō Saemon raided Tō-ji Temple and captured Bishop Monkan.

Furthermore, from Yamato, two monks—Chikyō and Kyōen—were simultaneously taken into custody and thrown into the prison cells. Bishop Chien, Hōin Yugā, and countless others had their kesa robes torn and coarse ropes binding their priestly vestments; the usual radiance of their wisdom and the solemnity of their purple and gold vestments had lost all potency in this prison soil, and all lay trembling and groaning in terror.

×　　　　　　　×

Now——. The two commissioners, having ascended the steps from the Rōnokuchi corridor entrance and appeared on the floor of the third white sand interrogation chamber, first fixed their gaze intently upon the large monk bound with coarse rope on the white sand. “…………”

And then. The two Rokuhara Tandai commissioners, Echigo-no-kami Nakatsugu and Sashōgen Tokimasu, exchanged glances and took their seats on separate round cushions, but— ——Ah, so this is the renowned Monkan. —they apparently watched with particular resolve, their stomachs tightened. Any monk dragged onto this gravel would at least give some answer, yet Ono no Monkan alone feigned nonchalance, refusing to let them take even a single statement—the officials found him utterly unmanageable. However, he had boasted that if it were the two commissioners themselves, he would answer.

Thus, Sashōgen and Echigo-no-kami,

“What sort of monk is this?” Thus, with their curiosity piqued as well, they themselves decided to appear at the interrogation chamber. Even now, knowing this, Monkan on the straw mat kept his eyes half-closed like a boulder, maintaining an oblique expression of feigned ignorance. “Scribe.” Sashōgen Tokimasu’s silent signal—a sideways glance—directed toward the scribe’s desk. It meant: Take up the brush for the written statement. Then, solemnly, “Bishop.” and properly called out to Monkan in the white sand interrogation area.

Then Monkan—as though a slumbering arhat had abruptly let out a great yawn— "What?!"

he answered. It would be more accurate to say he barked. At his unnecessarily loud voice, the frigid air of the interrogation chamber momentarily shuddered, and even the jailers at the distant gatehouse appeared jolted. “Ha ha ha. You have quite the loud voice, Bishop. With that voice of yours, why don’t you state everything frankly?” Sashōgen mocked him. Perhaps he needed to adopt an attitude impervious to this insolent monk’s devouring arrogance. “Ask anything. I won’t answer unpleasant things. I’ll answer what I see fit.”

“Reverend.” “Your place of birth—” “Harima.” “Your parents?” “Amitābha Buddha.” “——” Clearly, Sashōgen’s brows twisted with hatred. But perhaps he tried not to get caught up in trivial peripheral matters or emotions. “Your training, and your subsequent path—”

And with that, he pressed the interrogation relentlessly forward. Monkan recounted all at once.

"In my youth, I studied at Hokke-ji in Banshū; in my middle years, I spent several years at Hōjō-ji in Kasei and Shoshazan, deepening my training." "Not long after, I wandered through Nanto and settled in the capital, eventually being appointed chief priest of Tō-ji and abbot of Daigo—this Monkan whom people acknowledge as master of the Four Mandalas and Three Mysteries, and who himself bears that mantle." “……Now behold—you shall come to know this Buddha’s retribution!” “When did you first begin serving at the Emperor’s side?” “I cannot recall precisely, but it must have been nigh on ten years past." “It 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, ultimately establishing the Five Altars Ritual—under the pretense of prayers for Her Majesty’s pregnancy—but in truth conducted invocations to subjugate Kamakura, no doubt.” “Prayers are a monk’s duty. What’s wrong with that? But it’s no curse upon Kamakura.” “No, no. Chūen, Enkan, Yūga, Chikyō—all the other monks have confessed frankly. No matter what you say, Reverend—” “Silence! Their confessions are their own. They are not this Monkan’s words.” “No matter how you feign ignorance, their testimonies all align: that Bishop Monkan is the mastermind behind the prayers; that you constantly lurk within the Emperor’s inner council, participating in schemes to subjugate the East; that you plot to rally warrior monks from every mountain temple to serve His Majesty’s ambitions—and that this black-robed military monk is none other than you yourself.”

“Ridiculous.”

Monkan curled his lip. “Lord Tandai. …Is that all you wish to ask?” “I wish to hear the response of the black-robed military monk Monkan.” “Monkan, what say you?”

“No,” he deflected the interrogator’s tone, “Monkan’s answers end here. No matter what you ask, I will not respond.” “We shall take you to Kamakura!”

“It’s been ages. A sightseeing trip to the Eastern Provinces sounds splendid.” “Take me wherever you please.”

Truly, he was a magnificent rogue monk. He would never speak again. Deeming the written statements to be sent down to Kamakura sufficient for now, both tandai rose from their seats.

Echigo no Kami Nakatsugu returned to his Komatsudani private residence late that night as well. It was the following morning when Nakatsugu met Nun Sōshin and her child in the guest hall, and he himself offered a profound apology for his subordinate’s blunder,

“When did you arrive in the capital? And where do you reside?” He pressed with various questions. “Yes... It has been nearly five years since I settled in the capital.” The nun reminisced as if just realizing it herself. Her son Kakuichi was already eighteen. Pressed by her child, she had reluctantly parted from her elder brother Lord Uesugi in Kamakura five years prior and journeyed along the Tōkaidō. During their crossing of Nakayama in Mikawa, malicious retainers forced them to endure a harrowing night. They were rescued by Isshiki Gyōbu’s faction in a nearby Isshiki village, where they remained through the year before departing for the capital at spring’s first light.

To the capital, Mikuriya no Denji escorted them. And then Denji immediately returned to Kamakura. But. What had become of Fujiyasha since they parted in Isshiki Village? And Takauji’s illegitimate child, Shizaiya Maru—he must have come of age by now as well. Though such thoughts lingered, the nun and her child maintained a modest household undisturbed by others near Shinsen-en in Mibu within the capital, while Kakuichi went to his former biwa teacher. Moreover, the nun commuted to Reizei Tamesada, whom her elder sister Kiyoko had studied under, devoting herself to the path of waka poetry, and thus had spent these past several years almost without noticing.

“So your household in Mibu—is it truly just you two, mother and child?” “Yes—truly just a thatched hut like a nightingale’s nest among the thickets. Even so—” With that, the nun looked at Kakuichi.

“It was good that we came to the capital… we sometimes say to each other so earnestly that we’ve had no hardships at all. But given the dreadful state of people these days… What could become of it all?” “No, this commotion will subside before long. However, the world remains dangerous for now—it’s unthinkable for you, nun, and the blind one to venture out. It would be best if you both remained here in Komatsudani for the time being.”

Even Nakatsugu, as the Tandai, did not now know how the current situation would conclude. For the protection of the mother and child, it was deemed 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 can take up his biwa and reminisce about Lord Tōrō’s elegant pursuits.” “Well then, consider this your home and stay as long as you like.” Having left these words, Echigo no Kami Nakatsugu—busy even today preparing for his official duties—departed the Komatsudani residence on horseback, accompanied by retainers. And as he emerged onto Kuruma Ōji Avenue, right at that moment, a group of Rokuhara bailiffs came charging north from Yamato Kaidō Highway, their eyes ablaze. And at the very forefront, flying like a whirlwind, was Honjō Oniroku of the Investigation Office, so Nakatsugu called out from horseback,

“Oniroku, what’s happening?”

When he asked, “Ah! Lord Tandai! “Please rejoice!” “Finally—early this morning in Fukakusa—we’ve caught Lord Hino Ason’s trail.” “We are about to storm that hideout now.” “By evening, we’ll have him bound and dragged before the white sand court for your judgment.” “Excuse me!” No sooner had he spoken than Oniroku once again went flying through the air and dashed off.

Not long after that. Under Honjō Oniroku’s command, approximately thirty arresting soldiers had spread out in disarray from east of Kamo River and were wading across to the Nijō area on the opposite bank. “Don’t bunch up! “Spread out! Spread out!” Half made their way through the streets on land. Oniroku and his men advanced along the riverbank under the levee’s shadow, moving slightly upstream.

Unaware of this, on this very morning, Hino Toshimoto had undone his hair cord and was having Kikuou bind his hair. The place was the house of a certain musician—one from the gagaku bureau—at the site of Hōjū-ji Temple. And it was Toshimoto who, having knocked late last night to beg lodging, now swore in his heart that come morning he must attend court from here without fail. On the day when Rokuhara had suddenly carried out their large-scale arrests not long ago, he had fortunately been neither at home nor present at the imperial court.

He had learned of the upheaval while away. The swordsmith Goto Sukemitsu, whom he had regularly consulted regarding military provisions, had a separate residence in Fukakusa. He had been hiding there—until just last night.

Yet, hearing daily reports of his comrades being dragged to the Investigation Office and rumors that Rokuhara was finally acting in earnest this time, he could not remain still. Especially—what had become of the imperial court?

His Majesty’s worries. Furthermore, he could not help but feel anxious even about the turmoil in His Majesty’s heart.

According to the rumors he had gathered, was it not said that the one who leaked the critical plan for the Eastern Expedition and secretly informed Kamakura of it was none other than Yoshida Dainagon Sadafusa, His Majesty’s own wet nurse? Having heard this, he could no longer sit still or stay put. Disregarding the danger to himself, "He must attend court at all costs." He slipped out into the darkness and finally left his Fukakusa hideout—but little did he know, being no god, that even now, the informants had already caught wind of the lodging where Toshimoto had settled.

“Good… This purification will suffice. And now, Kikuou.”

“Yes, my lord!”

Kikuou spilled the water from the ear-washing bowl from the veranda railing into the Nakagawa River flowing immediately below. "Next will be your formal robes."

“No, no—I’ll dress myself. You shall go to the neighboring Muryōju-in Temple and borrow an oxcart. This morning, the master here made a request, but the other party did not grant it. Hurry and make the preparations.”

Toshimoto, usually composed, now spoke with uncharacteristic urgency in his tone. “Understood.” Kikuou too departed in a stumbling dash—here at the banks of Nakagawa River in Nijō Kyōgoku, the Ōuchi palace gate lay just ahead. Even an oxcart’s plodding pace would have been but a fleeting delay. Yet that short distance lay exposed in broad daylight.

"If only I could pass through the palace gate—" Though he thought this, the anxiety of reaching that point surpassed even the trials of a hundred-ri journey. Indignation toward Yoshida Sadafusa, speculation about the unrest within the court—waves pounded against his chest, each one sending up its spray without exception.

“Lord… Your oxcart has been made ready.” “Right—I’m coming now.” While tying his cap cords, Toshimoto hurried out from the rear to the cramped entrance’s shikidai platform.

“Ah! Lord Ben!”

Then, immediately from behind him, the master musician of the house (a gagaku performer) hurried after him at a trot, “The stone-studded leather belt of your formal robes is twisted around your waist. You should adjust it.”

cautioned. “Ah—so it is.” Toshimoto brushed his hand over the back of his robes and said, “Kikuou. I’ll change clothes—while I do, keep watch around the alleys as a precaution.” Leaving those words, he hurried back to his room and, with the musician’s assistance, re-dressed his sokutai formal robes. He suddenly remembered his wife Kousukei’s hands. On mornings when he attended court, her white fingers had always tied even the cords of his hakama trousers for him. How was his wife spending this morning?

Abruptly approaching the small desk, Toshimoto dashed his brush across the poem paper. He entrusted it to the innkeeper and asked if he could have it delivered to his wife Kousukei when the opportunity arose. On the poem paper was a single poem— Once more, To stay or not to stay— A drifting reed’s lured out by the water of Nakagawa —so it was written. In the meantime, Kikuou—who had run back after checking the nearby alleys—now approached Toshimoto’s figure visible beside the oxcart,

“There appears to be no disturbance outside. Now, please proceed.”

Urging him on, he immediately grasped the oxcart’s reins. The oxcart was jolted and jostled by the rubble of Hōjō-ji Temple ruins and the muddy alleys, soon emerging onto the main road. The dense forest of the palace grounds—then spanning over twenty chō*—loomed so close it seemed to brush against their brows. However, no sooner had they emerged onto the main road than someone somewhere let out a startled “Ah?” When Kikuou sharply turned around, an armored man hastily pulled his head back into another side alley. But that fleeting impression lasted only a moment, as four or five soldiers immediately came swarming out,

“Halt that oxcart!” They surrounded the shafts.

Kikuou muttered "...They're here!" Though resolved, he couldn't prevent his expression from changing. But inside the oxcart, all was quiet. He drew strength from that. "What is this?! Halt, you say?!" "There’s an inspection. We require the person in the carriage to show their face." "Shut up! Who do you take this noble lord for? You lowly foot soldiers dare—" "Even if we’re lowly soldiers, we’re agents of the Investigation Office. It’s precisely because we don’t know that we’re asking you to show your face. Can’t you comply?" "S-such manners! And toward a noble!"

“A noble… Heh heh heh. Nobles come in all sorts, you see. What a nuisance.” “Enough of this bother!”

Suddenly extending his arm, the soldier grabbed the edge of the carriage curtain before moving around to the back of the vehicle. As Kikuou seized one by the collar and slammed him down by the ox’s feet, the troops clinging to the rear were abruptly kicked by Toshimoto from inside the canopy and sent tumbling off to either side. “Kikuou! Don’t mind them! Drive now!” Under a violent whip crack, the ox sent the cart wheels clattering forward in a dash. They had meant to follow the frenzied beast diagonally across the main road toward Hasshōmon Gate, but finding Taikenmon Gate open before they could complete the detour, they veered toward it instead—desperate to slip through.

Hearing his subordinate’s shout, Honjō Oniroku came tearing from the riverbank. When he looked, a lone oxcart was clattering away in a frenzied gallop ahead of his pursuing soldiers. “Damn!” With wind shearing against his body, “Hino Ason, halt!” he too gave chase.

They were already beneath Taikenmon Gate. A single step beyond lay the palace grounds. The dismounting decorum went without saying. At that boundary, Kikuou—as if cursing his luck—landed another sharp crack of the whip across the ox’s hindquarters.

No soldiers of the Investigation Office may enter within the palace gates.—If they could just take one step past this point— —And whether this was divine providence that Taikenmon Gate, usually closed, stood open today, he shut his eyes and whipped the ox. “Ah!” “Who goes there?!” “Dismount at once!” Those were the voices of the Left Guardsmen of the Left Guards Office. In unison, they grasped the carriage shafts and ordered them to dismount. By now they were within the palace gates—surely safe at last—and both Kikuou and Toshimoto in the carriage must have felt with a sigh of relief that they had narrowly escaped peril.

Toshimoto cut through the curtain and revealed half his body from inside the carriage, “Ah, how careless of me! This is Hino no Ushōben Toshimoto. I am on urgent business to attend the palace, but in my haste I overwhipped the ox. My attendant could not restrain its frenzy, leading to this blunder… I beg your forgiveness.” Having said all this in a single breath, “Kikuou! My shoes!” he urged impatiently as he jumped down from the front of the carriage.

With hurried urging, he jumped down from the front of the carriage. With a swish, the long hem of his court robes parted from the carriage curtain—and behind them— “I saw you, Lord Hino!”

Honjō Oniroku and his men’s cry came with scarcely a hair’s breadth between. “Outrageous!” Needless to say, a ferocious struggle instantly erupted between the Guardsmen trying to block them and the blindly obedient Rokuhara forces.

In the days of the Heiji Rebellion, this ground too had been trampled by warriors' straw sandals and horses' hooves, but such lawless intrusion today was unforgivable to the Kebiishi. Their desperate resistance was only natural. Even the brutal arrest soldiers had been somewhat daunted by this—but for Oniroku, this was Hino Toshimoto, who had eluded and outmaneuvered him for years. —He had now seen the man's true form with his own eyes. There could be no mercy.

Moreover, within the hearts of these Kantō warriors lay both a backlash against "those fancy blue-blooded courtiers" and an arrogant confidence that "even the imperial palace now lies under the shogunate’s watch." “What the—?” Oniroku spurred himself on and cut through the guardsmen blocking his path as he— “Lord Hino! That’s underhanded!” “You think you can escape? This Oniroku won’t let you slip away!” He lunged forward and kept pursuing. Toshimoto fled barefoot, trailing the hem of his sokutai robes like a long-tailed rooster’s plumage, past the Daizenryō kitchens toward the Nakatsukasashō. ――He seemed intent on rushing into the inner gate of the Eight Ministries.

But between him, dragging his robes, and the lightly clad, hardy Oniroku, there was no comparison. In the end, when Toshimoto tripped over a large pine root, Oniroku had already closed in close enough to reach his back. “Got you!” the voice of Oniroku thundering at his ear and the arm beneath it, “Bastard!” Toshimoto barely managed to slip through, “This is the palace grounds! “This place is the palace grounds!” “Back! Back!” Once more, twisting his body around and tearing his gaze to the side, he shouted.

Oniroku scoffed derisively. He continued to roar. “What’s this ‘palace grounds’? You mean the imperial palace where the Emperor resides?” With the momentum from his leap, “Palace grounds—got it!”

With that, he lunged to grapple him. And instantly, like two fighting cocks scattering feathers in combat, the men tangled together, kicking up every grain of pristine sand spread across Taikenmon Gate's grounds. It was a struggle of life and death. With a thud, Oniroku found himself thrown over the shoulder. For Oniroku—precisely because he needed to capture him alive—could not unleash his full martial might, creating an opening in his stance. “Tch! Careless—” Thus he cursed himself. The moment he sprang back up,

“Did you think I’d let you escape, evil courtier?” Cursing all the while, he persisted in pursuit like a leopard on the hunt. By now, panting and straining a voice that could barely emerge, Toshimoto— “Come out… Come out…!” As he ran, time and again,

“Come forth!”

He kept calling for help in all directions. And he fled from the Bureau of Yin-Yang to the front of the Ministry of Central Affairs. Undoubtedly, he must have intended to stumble into the court hall from there—for within the inner courtyard of the Eight Ministries of the Court, numerous court nobles and officials were conducting their duties.

But unfortunately, the side gate (Waki no Mon) leading there was closed.

To reach Shōkeimon or Ōtenmon would require covering no small distance. No—there was no time for such thoughts. Toshimoto was already a man with death in his eyes. Both the May greenery covering Ouchi Mountain and the splendid roof tiles were pitch black. "No good!" Startled, he began to flee toward the Imperial Palace. The hem was stepped on by Oniroku’s foot, causing him to lurch forward—but the long hem tore away from somewhere, and his near-death figure continued to flee, crawling unsteadily.

“Come forth…!” “Someone come…!” However vast the inner garden of the Imperial Palace might be, there was no way this cry had not reached somewhere. Nearby were indeed buildings such as the Chamberlain’s Office and the Inner Bell Office. And yet, save for the whisper of pines, all lay silent—not a single court noble came rushing to his aid.

Finally, his strength gave out, “Ab...surd!”

On the chest of Toshimoto, who had collapsed onto his back, he too saw the tiger-whiskered face—panting heavily in triumph—drawing near.—For an instant, he shut his eyes. —as if waiting to become a self that could quietly surrender to death—it was but a fleeting moment. “Jailers, loosen your grip. Release me, just for a moment!” “Th-that’s absurd!” “No, I will not flee…… We are already near Shōmeimon Gate. We are also in close proximity to His Majesty’s seat. This is hallowed ground. I beg you. Be silent.”

“What? You won’t run anymore? Good!” “If that’s true—”

Oniroku flaunted his victory. Grabbing the stone belt of Toshimoto’s robes and yanking him up, he then swiftly twisted that skilled arm—

“Come here!” With a grating scrape—dragging him along the ground—he ran out about a hundred paces. However, this was not an act of Oniroku being daunted by the proximity to His Majesty’s seat. Because he had ventured too deep into the imperial garden, the figures of his subordinates were nowhere to be seen. So he called out loudly in all directions, “Hey!” Immediately, upon learning Oniroku’s whereabouts, a great number of his subordinate soldiers came swarming in from all directions. And upon catching sight of Toshimoto, they all burst into commotion.

Then, Oniroku’s pride was immediately expressed as scathing rebukes toward his subordinates. “Hah, you fools! Wandering about—what were you seeking out there?”

“No—while we were fighting the Palace Guards, we ended up letting that Kikuou escape.” “What?” “You let him escape?” “We cannot find where he has hidden himself.” “With that many men?!”

Spat contemptuously, “Enough, enough! —This court noble here is what truly matters! “Now, drag him away immediately!”

They were, of course, ignorant common soldiers. With a roar, they swarmed in and tried to bind Toshimoto’s body with ropes. But Toshimoto furrowed his stern brows and repelled them. He refused resolutely. “—I will not flee,” he stated as a premise, making them listen. “There is no law that permits binding ropes over court robes.” “All the more so—is it permissible to take one bound with ropes out from within the palace gates?” “If you absolutely refuse to yield, then Toshimoto will bite through his tongue and die here and now.” “Then your achievements will come to naught, and you shall not escape Kamakura’s censure.”

And so, without another word, “Forget the ropes. Just surround him as he is.”

Oniroku now began to walk ahead. “Wait a moment.” Toshimoto still did not move. “...I will not die, and I will obediently walk wherever you wish. But while I request a brief leave, you all must wait there quietly.” Adjusting his disheveled hair and slightly straightening his court robes, Toshimoto sat down on the ground. And then, toward the great roof of the Imperial Palace, he prostrated himself for a long time. “……”

What inner cry he directed toward His Majesty’s abode remained unknown even to those watching. Yet the tears streaming down that ghastly visage had even silenced the callous ruffians of the Kebiishi. Especially within this palace garden, where there should have been many people. The eyes of numerous courtiers must have secretly witnessed this scene from somewhere.

Before long, Toshimoto raised his chest and spoke a single word in a voice that carried to all around. “...I would like to say I have no regrets left, but Toshimoto cannot claim that.” “Especially toward Lord Yoshida no Sadafusa—that Toshimoto cannot cast off even a single word of resentment—this is what makes it so bitter.” Abruptly rising to his feet, he declared again as though shouting a triumphant cheer to the Imperial Court. “—However, it is May.” “The young leaves will not cease to bud.” “Even if Toshimoto alone perishes, would the summer of the realm turn its back?” “Those who remain!” “I implore you who remain—live on ever more strongly in this world!”

The moment Oniroku—

“Stop it!” he barked, thumping Toshimoto’s back as one might drive a stubborn ox onward. “Tch! That prisoner’s whining scrapes my ears raw. Move! Keep moving!”

After the group that had seized Toshimoto departed through the Taikenmon Gate, a commotion—both mournful and furious—suddenly erupted throughout the palace grounds.

And then, once again—even deep within the Imperial Palace—came the sound of footsteps: thud, thud, thud...

“This is terrible! Just now, Lord Hino—” “To the Rokuhara tribunal.” “How cruel! He is being dragged away!” “Alas, alas.” “He seems so full of resentment…” All voices strained with emotion. The sixth-rank chamberlains and lower courtiers had clustered in the shadows to report their witnessings to the senior nobles of the Inner Palace. The senior nobles had already known. The Left Guards’ Office had swiftly relayed news of the Kebiishi soldiers’ lawless intrusion—all the way to His Majesty’s very chambers—this went without saying. Yet on this day too, they were packed into the Middle Hall—

Kazan’in Morikata Madenokōji Nobufusa, Fujifusa Kitabatake Tomoie Karasuma Narisuke

In addition to Chigusa Tadaaki, Bōmon no Kiyotada, and all the many courtiers,

“Ah. “Into the palace gates?” “How unreasonable!” They could only bite their lips, not knowing what to do in the moment—or rather, it would not be wrong to say they were paralyzed by the terror of anticipating what atrocities might follow this precedent, and whether the claws of danger would close in on themselves as well.

Thus now, when they heard from scattered servants—“The intruding Kebiishi soldiers have already seized Toshimoto alone and departed”—the courtiers’ faces could not help but betray a hint of relief. ...and both their rage against Rokuhara’s tyranny and their bitter tears at the realization that those muddy boots had now defiled even the Imperial Palace came afterward. “Withdraw, for now.” “You lot—even after withdrawing, keep your mouths shut and do not stir up commotion.”

“However, keep silent and be even more vigilant about the various gates and any suspicious comings and goings hereafter.” —After they had been dismissed—

“...Now then. We must humbly report this to His Majesty.”

No one in particular muttered gravely. Whoever it may be, delivering this report seemed agonizing.

The elderly Nobufusa stood in silence. Even without this recent turmoil, His Majesty’s distress since the incident’s outbreak had gone without saying. It was said in the Daizenryō that even the imperial feasts had been reduced. Here, all events and imperial outings had been abandoned, leaving even the Seiryōden Palace—its halls by night and its throne by day—no different from a giant icehouse. Even now, with faint light from the latticed shutters to his side, he had placed a large desk beside the bedrest, resting his weary cheek on his hand as he sat slightly slumped in posture.

“...Nobufusa.” Then, Kenshi, the favored consort at his side, quietly cautioned His Majesty. After much worrying, had he perhaps drifted into a doze, even dreaming? His Majesty, startled by Nobufusa’s approach, wore an 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, a look of intense fury visibly came over his imperial countenance.

“Unacceptable treatment.” He muttered under his breath.

Though His Majesty’s loathing for the shogunate was of long standing, Nobufusa had never before seen such intensity in the Emperor’s eyes as he did now. His Majesty was drenched in tears of grief. But, as if resolved to endure it, His Majesty kept his eyes tightly closed.

“Nobufusa.” “Yes.” “This marks Toshimoto’s second capture.” “From the Shōchū Incident.” “It would be his second imprisonment.” “He will not survive this time.” “...Most likely not.” “What bitter regret he must harbor.” “...To have come so near the Inner Palace grounds...” “They say he kept turning toward Your Majesty’s chambers as they dragged him away.” “As he would.” “Did he speak?” “Twice he strained his voice, they say.” “‘My sole regret—not confronting Lord Grand Councillor Yoshida Sadafusa!’”

“…………”

Even Kenshi, the Third-Rank Consort and favored imperial concubine, upon merely hearing Yoshida Sadafusa’s name, flashed a glance toward His Majesty—her eyebrows darkened with contempt for a “traitor” and hatred for an “informant,” as though her very body were aflame. However, her anguish and Go-Daigo’s silence differed in essence.

For Go-Daigo, the notion that his childhood guardian Yoshida had informed Kamakura was still, by no means, believed. Originally, Yoshida Sadafusa, the Grand Councillor, had been the “Kanto Affairs Liaison” within the imperial court. Contact with Kamakura was unavoidably frequent.

Someone must have fabricated this scheme by making clever use of his position as Kanto Affairs Liaison. And there must surely be those somewhere aiming to split the unity within the court and even shake the imperial throne itself.

Of course, given the shogunate’s policy, this was only natural, but Go-Daigo’s suspicions lay within. There were elements within the court and the movements of the Jimyōin faction as well.

Suppose. —those elements not in accordance with His Majesty’s will—let us call them the anti-Go-Daigo faction. The anti-Go-Daigo faction itself was divided into two. The first were court nobles who had served Retired Emperor Go-Uda; after the Retired Emperor's passing, most of this faction's members remained in disgrace, either relegated to obscure sinecures or having retreated into seclusion.

Why? From Crown Prince Takaharu's era onward, there had already formed around Go-Daigo a formidable contingent of favored retainers who championed his cause.

Furthermore. His Majesty the Emperor’s own personality was marked by great strength, and his affections toward his subjects as well as the weight he gave to their appointments were exceedingly clear. In short: “The shogunate must be struck down.”

“Restore governance to the ancient ways of the imperial dynasty!” For Emperor Go-Daigo’s throne—bound by a comradely union of those who upheld this principle—the former emperor’s vassals were, so to speak, oil and water. Next—the other major anti-Go-Daigo faction was what they called the Jimyōin line.

Go-Daigo was of the Daikakuji Line.

The eventual conflict between the "Southern Court" and "Northern Court" had this entanglement between the two imperial lines as its distant cause. alternating succession

Now, having reached this point,

The author of this *My Version of the Taiheiki* collided with a "narrative wall." When writing about the Northern and Southern Courts, there exists the troublesome issue of "the alternating succession between two imperial lines" that one must inevitably address at least once. Alternating Imperial Succession

To write it this way may seem complex, but to simplify: at its root, there was a period when a single imperial family split into two factions. Over generations, imperial princes became entangled in struggles for the throne, ultimately leading to an agreement where both sides would take alternating turns in putting forth their candidate for ascension.

Moreover, this agreement was not honored. If mankind had been capable of keeping promises—whether simple agreements between common folk or solemn treaties between nations—the history of humanity would have seen its wars reduced by half or more. The cause of the great turmoil between the Northern and Southern Courts cannot entirely be attributed to that alone; however, at least in part, major matters such as imperial succession— alternating turns That they had left such matters as imperial succession to be handled by this system of alternating turns became an undeniable root cause of conflict.—Thus, even the "unbroken imperial lineage" and "eternal succession" descended into disarray, ultimately leading to the great domestic schism where the Southern and Northern Courts vied fiercely against each other.

Now, to explain under what circumstances this began—

Tracing back from the current era of Emperor Go-Daigo, approximately ninety years prior,

Emperor Go-Saga there was Emperor Go-Saga. This sovereign, being both a pawn of the Hōjō clan and their chosen candidate, showed unwavering compliance toward the Kantō faction from the outset. When the first prince born to Empress Saionji Kitsushi reached four years of age, he abdicated the throne and enthroned him as— Emperor Go-Fukakusa However, later—driven by excessive fondness for the second prince born from the same womb—he forcibly made Go-Fukakusa abdicate at seventeen without cause, establishing the eleven-year-old second prince as—

Emperor Kameyama and had him established as Emperor Kameyama. Later, Because Go-Fukakusa took the Jimyō-in as his imperial residence, it came to be called the Jimyōin Line, and because Kameyama resided at the Daikakuji, people of the realm referred to his lineage as the Daikakuji Line.

And thus, this also marked the beginning of the "Alternating Imperial Succession."

Why? For eventually, his father Emperor Go-Saga had once again appointed the prince of his younger brother Emperor Kameyama as Crown Prince. His younger brother Emperor Kameyama was spirited; his elder brother Emperor Go-Fukakusa was gentle.—Yet even he could not help but grow furious at this. That resentment had lain dormant for many years. Upon witnessing the demise of his father Emperor Go-Saga, Emperor Go-Fukakusa judged the time had come and sought to seize dominion over cloistered rule. However, Emperor Kameyama also interfered here.—A quarrel between younger brother and elder brother.—The Hōjō shogunate, petitioned by both sides, found itself perplexed over which to raise its baton for.

Therefore, they took the approach of having Empress Dowager Kitsushi—widow of the late emperor—be questioned: "Where did Emperor Go-Saga’s final will lie?"

Then, Empress Dowager Kitsushi, without hesitation,

“It was naturally in the lineage of Emperor Kameyama,” she answered. Go-Fukakusa too had an imperial heir. His disappointment went without saying. Thus from this time onward, even the ministers of the imperial court split into two factions.

Cloistered Rule The system of cloistered rule—this was ancient.

Even at that time, the Emperor was a symbol. The true seat of monarchical power that satisfied political control, authority, and ambitions for glory had been held since long before the Genpei era—resting in the hands of Retired Emperors or Cloistered Emperors residing in the "retired emperor's residence."

Therefore, for successive generations, it was an unquestioned common belief that “once one ascends to the position of Emperor, unless they further become a Retired Emperor exercising Cloistered Rule, there is no efficacy in having become the Son of Heaven.”

This made it clear. Emperor Go-Saga’s earlier forced measures had been none other than his own desire to prolong his enjoyment of the authority and glory of Cloistered Rule for as long as possible. Moreover, one could understand Go-Fukakusa’s long-standing disappointment and his fervent desire to seize the seat of Cloistered Rule immediately after his father’s passing—thinking, “Now is the time!”—while it was not impossible to comprehend Emperor Kameyama’s resolve to crush his elder brother’s aspirations with the thought, “I shall not allow it!” If one were to insist on seeking that which remained incomprehensible, it would be the abnormality of the late Emperor Go-Saga’s partiality.—On his deathbed, it was said that Go-Saga had even left behind an imperial edict (will) as follows:

(…The Imperial Throne shall henceforth and forever be succeeded by the descendants of Emperor Kameyama.—In exchange, I shall cede to the descendants of Emperor Go-Fukakusa one hundred and eighty estates across the provinces. Therefore, from this point onward, sever all hope for the Imperial Throne.) Invoking this edict, Emperor Kameyama soon established his own imperial son as Emperor Go-Uda, while he himself seized the long-awaited power. The one left in pitiable circumstances here was Go-Fukakusa.—He declared his intention to take monastic vows. However, should Go-Fukakusa take monastic vows, there would be many retainers who would never find peace in their lifetimes. They tried every means at their disposal to sway the shogunate.

The regent at that time was Hōjō Tokimune. Tokimune had discerned. The root of the two imperial lines' entanglement partly lay in the affections within the rear palace. What a troublesome affair indeed. Truly, it was intricate. Empress Saionji Kishi, consort of Emperor Go-Fukakusa, was the sister of Empress Dowager Kitsushi—the widow of his father Emperor Go-Saga—making their relationship that of aunt and nephew, with the aunt also being his wife.

However, Princess Kishi had no imperial prince. The imperial prince was held by the separate consort, Genkimon'in. However, this Genkimon'in’s elder sister was also an imperial consort of Emperor Kameyama. In other words, the two sisters—the elder married to a younger brother, the younger to an elder brother—formed an inverse cross. Moreover, Empress Dowager Saionji Kitsushi had strongly upheld the late Emperor Go-Saga’s partiality.—There must have also been underlying emotional circumstances, difficult to speculate upon, of the sort common even among the lower classes. After all, even the shogunate could not render a clear judgment on this matter.

Thereupon, Tokimune flatly declared. Nay, he humbly presented his remonstrance.

“The internal matters of the Imperial House should be decided by the Imperial House itself." “However, what I must state is that in any era, unnatural succession to the imperial throne is the root of chaos.” “This requires careful consideration.” The shogunate’s remonstrance still appended further remarks to this. Originally, as the legitimate heir, Emperor Go-Fukakusa had committed no misgovernment whatsoever. Despite this, for him to have been confined for so many years was truly pitiable. At the very least, it would have been proper to next humbly enthrone Emperor Go-Fukakusa’s imperial son to the Chrysanthemum Throne.

As a matter of course, Emperor Kameyama too had no choice but to eventually enthrone his elder brother Emperor Go-Fukakusa’s imperial son as successor following Emperor Go-Uda,

Emperor Fushimi and Emperor Fushimi was ultimately enthroned. The above constituted the circumstances of the two imperial lines.

When illustrated, it forms the following genealogical chart.

Thus.

Emperor Go-Uda was forced to abdicate, and Emperor Go-Fukakusa's imperial son became Emperor Fushimi in the tenth year of Kōan. With this, the long pent-up frustrations of the timid Go-Fukakusa were finally cleared away all at once. However, when this came to pass, the very goodness that defined such an emperor inevitably gave rise to flaws born of that same goodness. Having gained the advantage, Go-Fukakusa's faction retainers, determined not to relinquish the imperial throne to the Daikakuji line again as one measure to solidify their foundation, "The Daikakuji line, centered around Retired Emperor Kameyama, is plotting to avenge the grudge of the Jōkyū War."

spread such rumors. Once, following the failed attempt to restore imperial rule during the Jōkyū era, Retired Emperor Go-Toba had been exiled to Oki Island by Hōjō Yoshitoki of that time, while Retired Emperors Juntoku and Tsuchimikado were sent to Sado and Tosa—the profound nightmare of the imperial loyalists’ defeat remained deeply etched even a century later. Thus, using this rumor in their appeal to the shogunate proved an exceedingly malicious scheme, and the Daikakuji line bitterly regretted ever ceding the throne even temporarily, stamping their feet in frustration.—Moreover, while the Jimyōin line possessed vast estates inherited from Emperor Go-Saga, the Daikakuji line—now removed from imperial authority—lacked any financial foundation for their faction’s retainers.

And so, Retired Emperor Kameyama—unable to contain his indignation—persistently exposed the wrongdoings of the Jimyōin line and appealed to the shogunate at every turn. In essence, this amounted to nothing more than fraternal strife within the imperial household. Yet framed as a conflict between two imperial lineages, its gravity became immeasurable. It risked reenacting—like some dreadful parody—the chaos of the Hōgen Rebellion. Thereupon—finding themselves at an impasse—the shogunate submitted a proposal to the imperial court. This became known as “The Alternating Succession Plan.” The system mandated that every decade—alternating between factions—the Jimyōin and Daikakuji lines would each nominate their Crown Prince in turn and exchange imperial sovereignty accordingly.

Humans are comical creatures. Even such a temporary stopgap measure seemed momentarily plausible to them.—Before long, following Emperor Fushimi’s reign, yet another imperial prince from the same Jimyōin lineage was swiftly installed as Crown Prince, resulting in—for the Daikakuji line—yet another catastrophic blunder that they could not conceal from the eyes and ears of the realm.

That is an account also found in the *Masukagami*. It can be considered credible.

In March of the third year of Emperor Fushimi’s Shōō era (1290). Three fearsome warriors galloped into the palace grounds on horseback and, in an instant, stomped up to the Seiryōden Palace Hall with their muddied boots. They were armored warriors resembling the red and blue demons depicted in picture scrolls. The tallest among them seized a court lady and growled, “...Where does His Majesty sleep?” “Try to hide it, and I’ll knock your head clean off!” he barked. The court lady answered through chattering teeth, “...In the Night Palace northeast of the Central Hall.” When the bandits raced away, she stumbled forward and scrambled into the Emperor’s curtained chamber to urgently relay everything.

That night, the Emperor had been resting at the Empress’s Kōkeiden Palace, but in haste, he had ladies’ garments hastily draped over him and retreated to another hall. Meanwhile, the bandits, finding their target nowhere in sight, were stamping their feet in frustration around the Night Palace. In the meantime, the palace had already descended into complete chaos. Kagemasa, the warrior of the Empress’s palace, crossed blades with the bandits and was cut down beneath the railing, while numerous Takiguchi warriors also gathered around, shouting, “There they are!” “Over there!” “Don’t let them escape!” echoed from the Daibansho all the way to Fujitsubo.

In the meantime, over fifty guards from Nijo-Kyogoku 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 slit their bellies to die.—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, natives of Kai Province. However, when Asahara’s sword was authenticated as *Namazuo*—an heirloom of the Sanjō no Saishō Sanemori family—Sanjō no Saishō too was immediately arrested by the Kendansho.—Subsequently, from his confession emerged a written statement claiming the mastermind behind the incident was none other than Retired Emperor Kameyama. While Go-Fukakusa of the Jimyōin line had been mild-mannered, Kameyama was resolute and prone to roughness. This could only have been Retired Emperor Kameyama’s instigation—so people concluded—born of long-standing resentment to eliminate Emperor Fushimi.—The world considered this a thoroughly plausible scenario.

Particularly, the empress’s brother, Saionji Kinhira, and others zealously pressed the shogunate to punish Retired Emperor Kameyama, so the retired emperor finally sent a written defense to Regent Sadatoki stating, “...This matter has absolutely no connection to me,” and moreover took the tonsure at forty-one years of age.

However, Emperor Go-Fushimi, who succeeded Emperor Fushimi, honored the agreement to alternate between the two imperial lines and passed the throne to the Daikakuji line's Emperor Go-Nijō. Then, following protocol, when the Jimyōin line again proposed Go-Fushimi's younger brother Tomihito as the next Crown Prince, this once more displeased Retired Emperor Go-Uda of the Daikakuji line, sparking a dispute; however, the Kantō authorities steadfastly maintained the alternating succession system and refused to yield.

Amidst all this, Emperor Go-Fukakusa was laid to rest, and Retired Emperor Kameyama also departed this world. Furthermore, Emperor Go-Nijō also passed away after a mere five years on the throne, and the long-designated Crown Prince, Prince Tomihito, ascended to the imperial position. This is Emperor Hanazono This is referred to as Emperor Hanazono. Next, for the next Crown Prince— A son of Emperor Go-Uda of the Daikakuji line—Prince Takauji—was designated as Crown Prince.—This Prince Takauji was none other than:

Emperor Go-Daigo He became Crown Prince at twenty-one. He ascended to the throne at thirty-one. After successive generations had seen only child emperors, here at last appeared a mature emperor—unusually wise and experienced for his age. The ten-year rotation system for the imperial throne naturally became untenable as generations accumulated. When establishing a Crown Prince, one could not simply appoint only the legitimate heir. Cadet branches upon cadet branches had proliferated like offshoots sprouting from offshoots, and by the time of Go-Daigo’s reign, the court officials had effectively split into four factions aligned with four princes.

The Jimyōin line had two retired emperors—Go-Fushimi and Hanazono—while the Daikakuji line also had two retired emperors—Go-Uda and Go-Nijō. However, Go-Daigo alone—having experienced a long tenure as Crown Prince that included a semi-private, free lifestyle—had developed a distinctly different way of thinking.

“The choosing of imperial succession is but a household matter of ours.” “Since Emperor Go-Saga’s reign ninety years past, trembling at the shogunate’s every whim and seeking their approval for each decision—what consummate folly!” Beneath His Majesty’s judgment that “What past sovereigns did concerns me not—I am myself,” he had from the very moment of enthronement nurtured a veiled defiance.

The ten-year reign had swiftly passed. It was the promised abdication deadline. Truly anticlimactic. But for Crown Prince Kuniyoshi (son of his late brother Emperor Go-Nijō), this was the long-awaited season. They repeatedly dispatched secret envoys to Kantō and had already begun covertly maneuvering to bring about Go-Daigo’s abdication. Go-Daigo was not an imbecile. He knew full well.

In response to this, even after ten years had passed, there resolutely remained not even a sign of His Majesty’s abdication. ——Then came the Shōchū Incident. Subsequently, Crown Prince Kuniyoshi passed away. Was this not the moment when His Majesty resolved, "A rare opportunity must be seized"? Emperor Go-Daigo sought to promote his second prince, Shigeaki, as Crown Prince. However, within the Hōjō shogunate, they were on guard, thinking, "By no means let your guard down against this Emperor." They resolutely opposed. "The agreement of alternating succession will not be discarded." "The next Crown Prince should be appointed from the Jimyōin line in accordance with proper protocol." "—None other than Imperial Prince Kagenaga, son of Emperor Go-Fushimi, is most suitable."

Whether he liked it or not, that became reality. Emperor Kōgon, the first Emperor of the Northern Court, was this Crown Prince. Nevertheless, within the Jimyōin faction, “Ten years have already passed.” “His Majesty Go-Daigo must abdicate without a day’s delay.” they covertly maneuvered through back channels to pressure Kantō. However, as had been laid bare by the Shōchū Incident, even the Hōjō clan’s actual power had grown suspect. “The shogunate’s hand has been exposed.” With this established, Emperor Go-Daigo now assumed a defiant stance.—Even if Prince Kagenaga of the Jimyōin line had been appointed Crown Prince, His Majesty had no intention of retracing those foolish ruts left by past generations.

"The time is at hand. Since We have ascended to the throne, how could We ever yield this imperial seat to another lineage again? ... Moreover, We must correct this state of the imperial house—restore the monarchy to the ancient systems of Engi and Tenryaku—and eradicate that den of uncouth warriors in Kamakura."

This was the solemn vow from the depths of his being.

However wise and bold he may have been, it was not that alone. The ambitions encircling him, the new currents of Song Confucianism that served as their catalyst, and the very soil of an era when all things had taken on a combustible nature—these could be said to have bolstered his cause. As for those who ignited these combustible elements—Hino Toshimoto and others—they had already become a lone spark heralding chaos and were now being sent off to Kamakura.

Toshimoto was beheaded.

This occurred on July 7th of that year. A major earthquake struck, centered on the Tōkaidō region, startling even the capital and the entire Kantō area.

In the records, ——Mount Fuji collapsed thousands of feet.

It is written.

At that time, Mount Fuji was an active volcano constantly billowing smoke, but during the great earthquake, it rained down ash over a wide area, and for several nights, the vivid flames at its summit turned even the tides of the eastern sea red.

×　　　　　　　×

“Fuji is burning!” “Nay—this must be the mountain spirit’s wrath!” “What devilry—this bodes no good!”

The Kamakura shogunate was also in an uproar. The shogunate’s buildings had sustained damage, and the number of collapsed houses in the city was immense. Due to the aftershocks, many commoners were still sleeping on mats spread out in bamboo groves for several days. At this critical juncture. In the immediate previous month of June, from Rokuhara to this Kamakura area—beginning with Hino Toshimoto, along with monks deemed major criminals in the imperial loyalists’ conspiracy: Bukan, Chūen, Chikyō, Yūga, Enkan, and others—many prisoners bound with ropes were being transported one after another. And all the more so,

“Just in case,” And so, the shogunate—with wartime-like severity—cracked down on rumormongers and suspicious entrants while stationing troops to block all seven mountain passes. Moreover, judgments for the conspiratorial monks who had been under trial at the shogunate’s court were handed down a mere five days after the earthquake, exiling them to their designated distant provinces. The principal figures were: Chūen to Echigo Province. Enkan placed under lifelong custody with Yūki Nyūdō of Ōshū. Monk Bukan received the harshest sentence: exile to Kikaigashima—Iōjima—where Shunkan of the Taira clan had once been banished.

However, the way this bishop was hated was no ordinary matter. The testimonial documents circulated from Rokuhara had left an unfavorable impression, and even at the shogunate’s court, Monk Bukan—who had spoken his mind unreservedly with remarks like “...After all, there’s no saving my head”—displayed a manner of resignation entirely unlike that of other high priests, his brazen-faced defiance standing out starkly.

Of course, within the shogunate,

“However learned he may be, such a rebellious monk cannot be permitted to live.” Though the death penalty had been deemed certain, it was suddenly reduced by one degree. According to the classical Taiheiki, the reason for this commutation was said to be as follows. In a dream of Sagami Nyūdō Takatoki, thousands of monkeys appeared as messenger simians from Mount Hiei. Greatly fearing this must be divine retribution for having subjected such a venerable monk to cruel torture, Takatoki immediately dispatched observers to check on Bukan’s condition. Then came a messenger’s report that Bukan’s shadow had manifested as an image of Fudō Myōō upon his prison cell’s paper door—suddenly—

“This one is no mere mortal.”

Thus, it is said they ceased the torture, reduced the death penalty by one degree, and sentenced him to exile on Iōjima. At that time, since Mount Hiei—where Prince Ōtō resided—was aligned with the imperial loyalists, the compilers likely wrote with such an embellishment, but as a mere dream tale, it holds little weight. If one were to seek other reasons for the shogunate’s change of heart, it was likely caused by post-earthquake social unrest compounded with Takatoki’s superstitious anxieties.—However, no leniency whatsoever was shown in the subsequent punishment of Hino Toshimoto.

Toshimoto had earlier been escorted from Rokuhara by Honjō Oniroku and was now being strictly confined at the residence of Suwa Saburō Moritaka here in Kamakura. His prison-bound sorrow had already 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 be better,” he mused. “Guard… The mosquito repellent has burned out.” “Could you burn some more kaya wood chips for me?” “What a nuisance it is to be alive.” “I’m utterly worn out by these mosquito assaults.”

In the stifling darkness of the dim room, he sat facing the desk. Reading materials, writing brushes, and ink appeared to be allowed.

From the cell door, one of the guards showed his face.

“Ah, Lord Ben. Today you should be moving to another room shortly. Please bear with it a little longer.” “Hmm... Are they going to do their usual room cleaning again? During the day, mosquitoes; at night, fleas. Occasionally, some fresh air from outside would be welcome. Then I suppose I’ll wait for the airing.”

No one answered. Half of it had been soliloquy. Before long, Saburō Moritaka—son of their lord Suwa Nyūdō Shinshō—arrived, had the cell door opened, and addressed Toshimoto within,

“Lord Ben, please come this way.” “For another room has been prepared.”

he said, standing to lead the way. No—to say they surrounded him and led him away would be more accurate. His skin, deprived of sunlight all summer, took on a vegetal pallor in the bright corridor, and his seventy-day beard had grown wild. The room he had been moved to was the side study annex adjacent to the guest chamber. As he settled onto the round cushion, his eyes fell upon a plain silver folding screen arranged in one corner, where a mirror stand, washbasin, razor, and other implements stood prepared. “Ah…” “So it’s come to this.”

As he nodded inwardly in understanding, sure enough, Moritaka’s suggestive words were—contrary to his usual manner—unexpectedly courteous. “In accordance with the shogunate’s orders, we have kept you in custody these seventy-odd days—this too must be some fateful bond,” he said. “Therefore, so you might pass this night at least in cool comfort—as I have placed a razor there—please bathe and shave your beard, and change out of those foul prison garments in the bathhouse.”

“I am deeply obliged.”

Toshimoto slightly lowered his head. The hidden meaning behind Moritaka’s words became clear at once—he was announcing his execution. Since they had granted him at least this night, there could be no doubt—the execution was fixed for tomorrow. From the day he had left the capital, death had always been something he steeled himself to find but a single step away. Even massacres during one’s journey were commonplace. That he had been left for over seventy days was strange to the point of wonder. “In accordance with your command, tonight I shall stretch out my limbs fully and allow myself to sleep. Moreover, that I may shave this beard brings me heartfelt relief. Even before becoming a headless corpse, I had resolved to meet my end cleansed of this filthy growth. You see—this Toshimoto here was counted quite the dandy among court nobles. Hahaha!”

“Now then…” Moritaka added yet another remark that took Toshimoto by surprise. “Though this isn’t public knowledge, once night falls, a guest should quietly come here.” “That said, this is an esteemed person with no connection to the shogunate.” “Please take your time bidding farewell.” Who could it be? Who is the one that would come here in the evening to bid farewell?

Their lord Moritaka left without revealing that person’s name. Toshimoto, too, did not press to ask. Whatever the circumstances, he was not one to cling to worldly attachments. Soon, he impassively proceeded with the purification of his body as part of the preparations for his imminent death tomorrow. First, he faced the mirror and neatly shaved off the beard that had grown over seventy days.

While using the razor, Moritaka’s two retainers sat keeping watch. They must have feared some desperate act. When he finished, “Is everything to your satisfaction?” they said, taking both razor and washbasin as they withdrew. In the bathhouse lay everything new – from undergarments to a light-blue hakama and kosode.

"Ah... How long it's been since I felt this way in body and spirit." And so, he leaned his post-bath body against the veranda pillar, letting the soughing breeze from the summer night’s crescent moon—now rising at just this hour—blow through his emptied heart for a time.

Insects chirped. In the shadows of the tsubo garden (courtyard), evening faces swayed.

He felt as though he were back at his house in Shichijō, the capital. "...Kousukei," he called out in his heart. If he were to call out, he could almost feel his wife Kousukei answering "Yes" from the nearby corridor and coming gracefully before him. When he thought of his wife, "Poor thing... What will become of you after I'm gone?" he thought, as endless tears spilled forth. He did not even attempt to wipe away his tears. I want to let my cheeks stay wet with tears forever.

Just then, from beyond the veranda of the middle courtyard—one step lower—came a voice he hadn’t noticed before,

“Is that… there?”

the questioning was heard.

After dismissing the retainer who had guided him there, the figure quietly ascended the steps. He was a warrior in a light blue hunting robe—dyed with dayflower and bearing mottled dark patterns—wearing a fine long sword and a warrior’s eboshi hat. He appeared to be around twenty-six or twenty-seven. The bone structure characteristic of Kantō warriors was immediately apparent, yet his bearing carried an unexpectedly grand air. Quietly coming before Toshimoto, he sat facing him and bowed once, yet remained silent for some time—as if submitting himself entirely to the other’s puzzled scrutiny.

“It has indeed been some time.”

After some time, he spoke, but Toshimoto still could not recall even a fragment of memory and tilted his head slightly. “Who might you be? You say it has been some time—but when and where did you… with this Toshimoto?” “It’s only natural you’ve forgotten. …That was already nine years ago.” “...Nine years ago.” “On a boat descending the Yodo.” “Hmm?” “That too was observed from afar by your esteemed self. You were clad in hunting attire, accompanied by a servant boy named Kikuou. Aboard the vessel, you had been engrossed in noble reading at first; but then grew captivated by the worldly chatter of common passengers, joining them in exchanging drinks and appearing most amused. …Alas, I disembarked earlier that evening at Yamazaki.”

“Ah… Then you were from that time—” “The fellow travelers from that occasion.”

“Ah… So you are that Ashikaga Matatarō Takauji from back then?” “Indeed. I am Matatarō Takauji, now serving in the Kamakura lord’s warrior guard, residing here in the capital while my estate in Ashikaga no Shō lies unattended.” “This…” Toshimoto could only stare fixedly at this unforeseen visitor.

Though this was their first time exchanging names, neither Toshimoto nor Takauji felt it to be their first meeting. As for Toshimoto in particular, impressions from that Yodo River boat and what he had heard about Sasaki Dōyo—in various ways—had long occupied some corner of his mind, A man of the eastern provinces—Takauji. The existence of such a man had always been present alongside the era’s turbulence. “Well now,” Toshimoto spoke in a voice that resembled a sigh. “That we should renew this bond from a single boat nine years ago here again—how remarkable.” “But you—why tonight have you come to visit this shogunate prisoner Toshimoto here?”

“Do you find this suspicious?” “In truth, I have brought a jug of sake as a small token of my regard.” “A summer night is brief, but Takauji shall keep you company.” “...and I would like to hear your inexhaustible tales and such.”

“Sake, then...” At the same time, he clearly embraced a sense of parting from this world. He bowed to Takauji’s resolve. “Truly, I had long forgotten even the scent of sake. I shall gratefully accept your gracious will. Ah, to encounter such unexpected fortune.” Before long, Moritaka’s retainer brought a tray bearing appetizers and a long-necked sake vessel. Except when summoning more drink, they kept others at bay—until midnight found only the moon beneath the eaves and these two men remaining.

Yet, Takauji showed no sign of caution toward anyone regarding his visit to Hino Toshimoto’s cell here. As ever, his reputation as a “wandering horse” within Kamakura remained well-known—Takauji, who continued serving merely as a member of the warrior quarters without ever rising to prominence—yet people naturally came to regard him as exceptional due to his status as brother-in-law to the former shikken (—Hōjō Morotoki, elder brother of his wife Tōko, had resigned on July 7th, with Hōjō Shigetoki newly assuming the shikken office).

Therefore, even today, “Allowing Lord Hino, who faces condemnation tomorrow, a final purification and a cup of sake—such leniency is a warrior’s compassion.” “Everyone seems hesitant.” “If others are unwilling, Takauji will do it.” He had deliberately made this declaration before the Council of State and had also informed the shikken. Though the position of shikken was now nominally held by Shigetoki, Takatoki’s inner circle still firmly supported him and wielded that authority. Moreover, entangled with covert struggles against Nagasaki Takasuke of the Naikanrei and others, even within the shogunate itself, they now concealed from the world the unsustainable sounds of their own collapse.

Thus, Takauji directed his usual "wandering horse" toward this house, conveyed his intentions to Suwa Moritaka, and successfully arranged this meeting—yet none found it suspicious. At such times, even his sluggish "wandering horse" semblance of incompetence could be said to serve his convenience greatly.

The moon at the eaves began to sink. “Takauji. “I’ve had enough sake.” “I’ve drunk just enough.” “...I too have... quite lost track of time.” “But you have not yet drunk as much as when I saw you on that Yodo River boat.” “No—I’ll save the rest to drink tomorrow night while viewing the moon of the underworld.” “I mustn’t start my journey with an embarrassing hangover. Hahaha!”

“Hahaha.” “Ah, these are such serene words of yours.” “By the way, might there be any requests you wish to leave in this world?” “Oh.” “Things I wish to say?” As if being drawn in, he repeated the other’s words, “That—there’s a mountain of them.”

A self-mocking smile rose to Toshimoto’s lips. "Indeed." And Takauji, conversely, seemed deeply moved. “Whatever you command shall be done.” “If it is within this Takauji’s power, I shall arrange matters in whatever way you desire.” “Your kindness, I am truly grateful for.” For the first time, Toshimoto seemed to wholeheartedly accept Takauji’s compassion. Until then, having cast off the doubts and pretenses he seemed to have harbored somewhat, his figure had become a fragile solitary being.

“Before I speak my final words, there is something I must know.” “As you are the brother-in-law of the former Shikken, I presume you are aware of the truth.” “Well...” “To put it plainly: Is it true or mere rumor that Yoshida no Daijōin Sadafusa Kyō, His Majesty’s tutor, informed on the imperial court’s plot?” “I have heard that the handwriting on the secret missive is unmistakably Lord Sadafusa’s own.” “So it was true after all…”

This alone seems to have been what fueled the flames of wrath. Glaring at the night sky beyond the eaves, he composed his face into one of unmistakable resentment. But he did not put anything into words. And before long. “All things in this world are beyond measure, but none more so than the partings and reunions between people.” “To think that we—from His Majesty down—should be so betrayed by one we trusted as a peerless lord, yet receive such compassion from you who dwell within Kamakura’s inner sanctum—”

“That too must be a karmic bond from past lives.” “I believe your misfortune was being born into a court noble family—had you been a warrior’s child like us, you might well have lived a splendid life as a valiant general.” “No, no—even should I meet an untimely end, I have not the slightest regret at having been born a court noble.” “Even until I am beheaded at the execution ground tomorrow, I will continue to fervently wish to see the fall of the Kamakura shogunate.”

“Indeed, though I am a shogunate vassal, hearing such unwavering conviction from you is truly refreshing. Had I met you during my covert journey to the capital years ago, today I might well be sharing this prison cell with you.”

Having opened his heart, Takauji even said such things, but he immediately changed the subject and listened to his last wishes. Toshimoto requested that someone deliver to his wife Kousukei one volume of the Lotus Sutra he had copied in his prison cell beforehand and one booklet of his self-composed waka poems, and—

“And another thing—”

He said, closing his eyes. “Years ago—Lord Hino Suketomo, who was exiled to Sado Island, will likely also face execution. If the opportunity arises, I ask that you convey this: ‘Hino Toshimoto died in Kamakura before achieving his aims, betrayed by Lord Yoshida—relying on [Suketomo] even in death.’…… Beyond this, I have nothing further to leave behind.” “Now, I simply await the cherry blossom viewing after death.” As night had deepened, Takauji soon bid farewell, exited the gate of the Suwa residence, and let his horse follow the moonlit path back to his own residence in Ōkura.

In fact, within Ōkura’s Ashikaga residence as well, since the Incident, one of the imprisoned—Archbishop Chūen—had been held in custody. ―That Chūen too was being prepared to embark on a journey of exile to Echigo Province under the Ashikaga family’s arrangements within the next two or three days.

That day, partly cloudy, the time was past noon.

Kudō Takakage led a troop of soldiers, approached the Suwa residence, presented the order of condemnation, and took custody of Hino Toshimoto.

As if to say "I have been waiting," Toshimoto walked toward the awaiting palanquin. The palanquin had a peephole cut into it, just large enough for one’s profile to be visible. The town was teeming with curious onlookers. Kudō’s retainers walked ahead holding green bamboo, flanking the palanquin, followed by a troop of cavalry and soldiers.

Along the way, Toshimoto beheld Kamakura’s desolate visage. There was the devastation from the great earthquake of days past, but what stood out more starkly was that war preparations had already commenced here. Though war had not been formally proclaimed, a wordless tension and hollowness could be discerned upon the citizens’ faces.

"I was betrayed by someone, but my death will not be in vain. Just as with Lord Suketomo of Sado." Inside the palanquin, he counted. Once I had secretly traveled around various provinces and mountains, persuading and rallying many allies in the imperial cause—their names. There was Kōya, and there was Daisenji in Hōki. Mount Hiei and Nara go without saying. Furthermore, I could count more than ten fingers’ worth of alliances with anti-shogunate local lords and discontented warriors.

However, he did not count the Kusunoki clan of Kawachi among them. Even if one were to include Ishikawa no Sanjo no Tayu Yoshitane, Kusunoki remains uncommitted. Perhaps that alone had been Toshimoto’s misjudgment. First, they would likely prove unreliable— he had excluded them. And, Even if the Kusunoki faction did not participate, the imperial loyalists across the provinces were now only awaiting His Majesty’s single command. Toshimoto had accomplished what he needed to do. Soon they would see—the collapse of the Hōjō was imminent.

And thus, he let out a solitary, silent cheer of triumph.

The palanquin left the edge of town, turned onto a mountain-shadowed path, and before long emerged atop Keshōzaka. At Kuzuharagooka there, the death seat with its white curtains had already been erected in the wind, and the bamboo stakes of the enclosure clattered in the void with a sound like demonic laughter. Here already, numerous figures stood lingering around the bamboo enclosure. The crowd was not merely composed of onlookers; there were men and women wearing prayer beads around their wrists. The moment Toshimoto emerged from the palanquin and was dragged inside the bamboo enclosure, Buddhist invocations welled up from all around—no one could tell from whom they first arose.

At the same moment, near the entrance of the bamboo enclosure, "Hey! Where do you think you're going?" "You suspicious bastard!" "No! No! Get back! Get away from here!" A man was grabbed by the collar by soldiers and roughly shoved aside.

However, the man did not resist; covered in dirt, he pleaded with a resolute expression. To the ears of the crowd, his words were barely audible, but he seemed to have some connection to Toshimoto. “...I am a humble attendant who has come all the way from the capital bearing a letter from Her Ladyship of the North, to witness Lord Ben’s final moments... Please, allow me but a moment with Lord Ben.”

And his voice was straining.

“Wait, wait,” “Don’t handle him roughly.” Kudō Takakage checked them thus, approached the man, and listened to his plea. The man was Gotō Sukemitsu—a swordsmith who had long been entrusted with confidential matters by Toshimoto and had fulfilled roles such as preparing military supplies for imperial loyalists across various regions. Yet before Kudō Takakage, he naturally refrained from identifying himself as a swordsmith, “For many years, I have served Lord Hino as Sukemitsu of our family trade.”

He said only that and desperately pleaded with Kudō for a final meeting.

Takakage permitted it. Deliberately in a loud voice, “I won’t allow this to take long. “I’ll permit a brief moment. “Bid your farewells.”

With that, he pushed Sukemitsu inside the bamboo enclosure and deliberately went off to engage in small talk elsewhere himself. It was said that in these times, warrior customs had declined and the noble qualities of Kamakura samurai were no more—but from how Kudō and the Suwa family conducted themselves, one could see not all was lost. “Oh… Sukemitsu?”

Seated on the mat, Hino Toshimoto appeared utterly surprised by his presence yet looked genuinely pleased. "...Lord," was all Sukemitsu could utter before choking back sobs. He had been warned—"This won’t take long"—but found himself speechless. The sword-bearing samurai had retreated ten paces and stood rigidly behind. The blade had already been drawn, poised for the ceremonial cleansing. "Sukemitsu... Is your wife unharmed? Does she remain free from illness?"

“Y-yes. “However… Her Ladyship remains safe and well.” “Th-this is the letter from Her Ladyship of the North, which I humbly present.” “Ah, how cherished...”

He cried out. Without a thought for who might be watching, Toshimoto voraciously read it. No—even after finishing reading it, he pressed the letter to his face, sniffing the lingering scent of Kouukyou’s skin. Before long, before his very eyes, it became utterly drenched. “An inkstone.—Lord Kudō, lend me your inkstone.” When he called out toward the distance, Kudō himself brought a travel inkstone there. Toshimoto took his utility knife, cut off a handful of his hair, wrapped it in his wife’s letter casing, entrusted it to Sukemitsu, and then composed this death poem on a separate sheet of kaishi paper.

An ancient verse: Neither death nor life exists.

The clouds of ten thousand leagues disperse;

“Sukemitsu, this is no bluff. “My heart is exactly as it appears now. “Tell Kouukyou that I departed in such a state. “The time has come. “I have nothing more to say... Just tell her to live happily. “To you as well... I entrust what comes after. “I entrust it to you.” Suddenly, thudding footsteps closed in from behind. Toshimoto immediately straightened his back and bowed toward the envoys’ camp stools—Suwa Saburō and Kudō Takakage. Still, his eyes quietly scanned the perimeter of the bamboo enclosure.

It was a cloudy day, but being summer, many men and women wore hats. Among those with hats pulled low over their brows, Toshimoto suddenly glimpsed a face in the bamboo enclosure’s shadow that perfectly resembled last night’s visitor. “...Takauji,” he thought—but his heart clung to Kouukyou’s visage, willing not to let that phantom intrude. “Lord Ben, are you prepared?” The voice came from above. With a swish, a dewdrop flung from the tip of the swordsman’s practice swing first sliced through the air beyond Toshimoto’s body.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He stroked back his sideburns and obediently stretched out his white neck. When the execution ended, the bamboo enclosure of the execution ground was immediately dismantled. Quite casually, the traces of blood vanished into a freshly dug hole, while laborers heaped up a perfunctory mound of earth with their hands. “Good.” Having witnessed this, Kudō Takakage, Suwa Saburō, and the other officials of the day departed together, bearing a single head bucket.

As dusk approached Keshōzaka, ordinary people also streamed down the slope in a straggling line.

Afterwards, Katsuharagooka resounded with nothing but insect cries.—Yet still before the freshly mounded earth, reluctant shadows of men and women lingered here and there. They were all commoners. They probably had no connection to the late Lord Toshimoto Ason. It was simply out of pity—a woman was bundling early autumn flowers from the fields as an offering, while a nun lit incense from a packet in her sleeve. Each murmured Buddhist prayers under their breath, praying for the afterlife of an unrelated noble they pitied—such was the scene.

Eventually, those people too all dispersed, and before the earthen mound only a single man remained prostrated in prayer. Moreover, the new moon that had been reflected on the eaves where Toshimoto and Takauji had shared drinks last night now hung tonight above the earthen mound.

“…………”

The lingering was endless; bidding farewell to an eternal parting, as though he had changed his mind, the man soon began to rise. If one were to look 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 of hair tucked into his breast pocket, Sukemitsu dejectedly left. ――No doubt he intended to return immediately to the capital and convey Toshimoto’s final moments to Kouukyou of the Northern Residence.――From the grassy path of Katsuharagooka, he began to trudge westward.

Then.

A person who had been somewhere—chasing after that shadow,

“Sukemitsu.—Sukemitsu!”

A voice called out twice—"Sukemitsu... Sukemitsu!" Indeed, he seemed to have heard it and whirled around sharply, but for some reason he abruptly quickened his pace and vanished like a deer into the unknown. "......?" The man who had vainly watched the waning evening moon and retraced his steps along the grassy path now fastened a cloth over his cheeks beneath his gingko-shaped concealment hat, assuming the appearance of a provincial samurai—yet this was none other than Takauji traveling incognito.

Before long, Takauji too was silently praying before the earthen mound amidst the rain-like drone of insects. Then, as if resolved upon something in the face of humanity’s myriad fates and the urgency of the times, he slowly descended into the darkness of Keshōzaka slope.

However, from behind where he had gone, yet another person came stealthily following after him. It was like a shadow and its form.

Upon descending the slope, Takauji entered the gate of a small temple. He appeared to have left his horse there beforehand. Soon he led out his horse and rode forth from the temple’s side path. By then he had already removed both his hat and face covering, returning to his customary warrior’s eboshi. In the distance toward Ōgiya and Ōmiya, lights were already visible. He abruptly urged his horse into haste.

“My lord…”

Then, a figure suddenly darted out from the shadows and seized the horse’s bit, causing the startled horse to kick up pebbles from the path with a sudden leap. To Sado

Somewhere, the tide echoed.

For some time now, the two there had been whispering, “Here, there’s no fear of prying eyes,” so engrossed in their secret conversation that they lost track of time. At the foot of Katsuharagooka, the two had been mutually surprised by their unexpected encounter, and after that, they had abruptly changed their path and come here.

The place was Kotsubo Cove. In the winds through the pines of the rocky hill where Shichirigahama also ended to the east. On the old veranda of the rotted-away “Yukimi Pavilion,” Takauji sat down, and the townsman in travel attire kneeled on the ground. “Uma no Suke.”

And thus, Takauji called out to the man nostalgically.

“...It’s been ages. I remember well—that night we spent here seven years ago.” “For this humble one too, that night’s events shall remain unforgettable for the rest of my days.” “You dared speak my secret here for the first time—even mentioning that testamentary document from Banna-ji Temple.” “My lord flew into a rage when this Uma no Suke uncovered the grave matter in your heart—swiftly knocking this humble one down and striking me.” “Yet you stood your ground and hurled curses back at me too.”

“In the end, you declared your disownment, and this humble one too deliberately uttered harsh words I didn’t truly mean, and thus we parted ways.” “How time flies…” “Has it already been seven years…?” “The same months and years must have passed over Fujiyasha and Fuchiyamaru as well.”

“Therefore, the two of them have been safe in Isshiki-no-shō since then. And they are eagerly awaiting the day when they might finally meet you openly—as if it could come today or tomorrow.” “No, it is not yet such a time.—Uma no Suke. You changed your name to Ryūsai the armorer in Sumiyoshi of Settsu, gathered intelligence on the capital’s movements, and regularly informed my brother Naoyoshi—but I too saw every one of those reports.” “…Not only did you protect Fujiyasha and Fuchiyamaru well, but also your long years of covert work.” “Once again, I must express my gratitude.”

“Then, does this mean I have finally received your pardon?” “Don’t be absurd.” “That whole affair—from the very start, I too knew your true intentions.” “You too have acted with full understanding of my intentions.” “It’s merely a superficial pretense for the world. … However, Uma no Suke, keeping the disownment in place for now remains more convenient in all matters.” “I have no intention of lifting it yet.” “Therefore, this humble one too shall humbly request that my formal return be postponed to another day.”

“And where are you hiding now?” “As both my disguise as armorer Ryūsai and the shop in Sumiyoshi had become perilous, while relocating our hideout to Shinomura in Tanba within your domain, the movements in the imperial court and Mount Hiei have grown increasingly unsettled—like clouds whose course none can predict.” “Thus we abruptly made our way here.” “Who told you of Takauji’s secret outing today?” “No—it was pure happenstance. “You see, being officially disowned, I cannot even call at the Ōkura residence. While idling in Kamakura with no purpose, I chanced to see the swordsmith Gotō Sukemitsu.” “And when I observed that very Sukemitsu departing for the Katsuharagooka execution grounds today...”

“So, you were following Sukemitsu’s trail?” “That’s right… I never could have dreamed that you would be among the crowd outside the palisade. I believe this too must be the divine arrangement of our late lord who left the testament at Banna-ji Temple.” Banna-ji Temple’s testament—

It had now become, within Takauji’s very being, a mental landscape of reality—no longer a dream. Even now, he was scrutinizing both the central situation he had heard from Uma no Suke and the internal political affairs of the shogunate. “Without a doubt, this year will bring great turmoil.” He grew even firmer in his conviction that this year would bring great turmoil. And tonight, he did not conceal it from Uma no Suke either. In Takauji’s observation.

The shogunate itself had recently come to realize that relying solely on its passive policy of avoiding trouble could no longer maintain Kamakura’s stability. However, public opinion that attributed everything solely to the incompetence of Sagami Nyūdō Takatoki missed the mark. Through nine generations of Hōjō rule spanning one hundred fifty years, both Kamakura’s politics and culture—and the hearts of people wearied by them—had become nothing more than an ancient pond devoid of lifeblood. On the surface, one could list countless reasons—the Emishi Rebellion, jitō arbitrariness, peasant discontent, the shogunate’s excessive decadence and decay of warrior ethos, along with Takatoki’s hedonism and power struggles over authority—but these were all merely the earth’s crust preparing to shed its skin. Even Mount Fuji, when undergoing such transformation, had spewed fire and scorched the land for three days and nights—had it not?

“Well, Uma no Suke.”

Takauji, with a possessed gaze, continued speaking.

“It’s over… At any rate, the Kamakura shogunate has reached the day when it will face its final reckoning.” “Whether they stay passive or act aggressively, they have no choice but to take the path of self-destruction.” “Since they’ve not only cracked down hard on the Imperial Loyalists but even gone so far as to execute court nobles, they’ve effectively lit the fuse for war against the imperial court. A cart that’s begun rolling downhill knows no stopping point.” “And so?” “When do you think that moment will come?” “Now that Lord Toshimoto Ason has been executed, the shogunate council debates how to capture their primary target—Prince Daikaku-no-miya.” “They’re secretly considering exiling him to a remote island where he’ll never again see daylight.”

“Prince Daikaku-no-miya remains at Mount Hiei, guarded by the Hiei monks as his personal troops.” “They would scarcely dare lay hands on him.” “Yet in the Jōkyū Rebellion, the Hōjō clan established precedent—exiling Retired Emperor Go-Toba to Oki, Retired Emperor Juntoku to Sado Island, and mercilessly confining other princes.” “Should they attempt it now, even Prince Daikaku-no-miya—nay, His Majesty Go-Daigo himself—would surely act as circumstances demand.… As for that day—” “If these secret deliberations should reach the Imperial Loyalists’ ears, perhaps the court might raise the banner of revolt 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 legitimacy and in accordance with reason.” “That is likely that strategy, is it not?” Abruptly cutting off his words, Takauji stared fixedly at Uma no Suke’s face. Then he continued: “Will the Imperial Loyalists rise first, or will the Kantō forces march to the capital first?” “The balance here eludes me, but in any case, it would be better for armorer Ryūsai to stay away from both Kyoto and Kamakura for a time.” “Disappear somewhere and remain hidden.”

“Well then, until your next command, shall I hide in Mikawa Isshiki Village and remain close to Lady Fujiyasha and Prince Shuchiyamaru?” “No no—in the meantime, though it’s rather distant, go scout Sado Island.” “Huh? To Sado... Are you ordering me to Sado?”

“Are you ordering me to go to Sado?”

It was only natural for Uma no Suke to be suspicious.

But for Takauji, this was the culmination of deliberations since the previous night. Last night, during what would be his final encounter with Toshimoto in this life, he had been entrusted with two last wishes. As for the plea to deliver a hand-copied volume of the Lotus Sutra to his wife in the capital, he had even felt confident he could someday fulfill it. For instance, even his calling out to the swordsmith Sukemitsu after today’s execution—it had been for that very purpose alone. However, the other request Toshimoto had made—“Inform Lord Suketomo in his place of exile on Sado of my death.” As for the plea—“I beg you to at least let it reach his ears that I died in Kamakura under such-and-such circumstances”—this too had no means of being fulfilled whatsoever.

“Uma no Suke, that’s the situation,” Takauji said. “Go to Sado.” Not only that, but he had conceived this as a perfect opportunity to establish a certain connection with Hino Suketomo in Sado—a move intended for his own future plans as well. “It is likely the mad shogunate that has already resorted to executing Lord Toshimoto Ason,” he continued. “Next, they will undoubtedly send an envoy to Sado and have Lord Suketomo beheaded as well. And that too is thought to be not far off.”

“I wonder if he is still alive…” “Since the Shōchū Incident, Lord Suketomo has been entrusted to Honma Nyūdō on Sado—with no word since then, he must certainly still be alive… In Takauji’s heart of hearts, even in Lord Toshimoto Ason’s case, he secretly tried to devise some means to plead for clemency… But to voice it would have meant Takauji’s own ruin… In the end, he could only watch it come to naught… Yet for Lord Suketomo on Sado—here and now—he must absolutely save him.”

“Would such an entreaty be considered in the shogunate council’s deliberations?” “Futile… utterly futile.”

Takauji shook his head vigorously. “I cannot even hint at such a petition to the councilors—that would only lead to Takauji himself being suspected of colluding with the Imperial Loyalists. What I command you to do is merely to prepare for the day when I will openly declare myself as one of them.” “Then, to this Uma no Suke, you have issued your esteemed command to prepare for future plans.” “That’s right… Having told you this much, you should understand by now. Cross to Sado, secretly approach Lord Suketomo in Honma Nyūdō’s custody, rescue him before Kamakura’s execution envoy arrives, and hide him wherever you must until the opportune time comes.”

“This is an unforeseen great duty, but it is an esteemed command that will prove effective.” “I fully understand.” “Within the next day or two, they will likely send Archbishop Chien—who is currently in custody at the Ōkura residence—to his place of exile in Echigo.” “From that monk’s mouth as well, I personally inquired in detail about matters concerning His Majesty’s circumstances, Prince Daikaku-no-miya’s situation, and the actual state of affairs among the court nobles and Tendai monks—gaining valuable knowledge for later days without even leaving my seat. …Uma no Suke, the great ambition we now harbor beneath this present sky is a hundredfold more difficult to achieve than accomplishing it in Lord Yoritomo’s era.” “With that resolve, you mustn’t let your guard down either.”

Suddenly—not without deliberation—Takauji had likened himself to Yoritomo, but Minamoto no Yoritomo, who rose from being a lone exile on Hirugashima Island to destroy the Taira clan and found a new era in Kamakura, was in truth his ideal.

Alongside the vermilion of Tsurugaoka’s grand torii, he recalled Lord Yoritomo and gazed upon the traces of his great achievements,

“Compared to Lord Yoritomo, this Takauji…” he would always belittle himself. Yoritomo had been exiled at thirteen and risen from having neither an inch of land nor a single soldier. Though small, I am the military governor of Ashikaga-no-Shō, and in Kamakura am called the younger brother of Former Regent Morotoki. Moreover, he thought— Had not the Hōjō clan’s nine generations of prosperity skillfully usurped the very foundation laid by Yoritomo? And now their end reeked of this corruption, this disorder.—Given that I, born into the Ashikaga house as Minamoto’s legitimate heir, now sought to supplant the Hōjō—what strangeness could there be in that? What wrong? he thought.

The "Testament of Banna-ji" had awakened his initial resolve, but his veneration of Yoritomo since residing in Kamakura could be said to have now endowed that grand ambition—hatching like an egg—with living form through features such as wings and a beak. Therefore, even his implicit goodwill toward the Imperial Loyalists was by no means genuine alignment with their ideology or their goal of “world reform”—it was merely an expedient means to gradually advance his own grand design.

Therefore, from him now, “To Sado.”

Having been commanded “To Sado,” and then, “Don’t let your guard down.” When Isshiki Umazuke, having been told this, departed once more from Takauji that very evening at Kobune-no-ura—without probing into the deeper implications and simply acknowledging the order with “Understood”—it was precisely because he had been Takauji’s retainer since the days of the young lord Matatarō. As though he had entered Takauji’s very belly, he had thoroughly unraveled the map of Takauji’s innermost thoughts. Having parted ways, Takauji soon gathered the retainers who had been waiting by the Namekawa River, entered the Ōkura residence, and spent that night deep in conversation once again with Archbishop Chien—a custodial prisoner of the shogunate—until late into the hours. —Judging even from measures such as the shogunate’s complacent entrustment of Chien—one of these Imperial strategist monks—to the Ashikaga family, it seems that not a single soul within the shogunate’s headquarters had perceived even a hint of Takauji’s fearsome ambition.

Two days later. Archbishop Chien was ceremoniously sent off to his place of exile in Echigo Province. Of course, among the escort party, retainers of the Ashikaga family were also mixed in as additional officers.

Meanwhile,

As for Uma no Suke, he had set out one day earlier, hurrying along the same road to Hokuriku. If he were caught up to, it would be troublesome. Among the house warriors, there were many old acquaintances. So, keeping Mount Asama to his left, he crossed the Mikuni Mountain Range, entered Yahiko-no-Shō from the Mito-guchi (present-day Niigata vicinity) along the Shinano River, and decided to wait for a ship bound for Sado.

It was already August.

Autumn arrives early on the Japan Sea coast.

Perhaps because the storm of several days had not abated, the ferry ships showed no sign of departing. 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 of Sado.

"If the rumor were true?"

Uma no Suke was perplexed. "...Even if I cross to Sado now, it would be futile. Now that Lord Suketomo is already gone." Yet—the credibility of this rumor remained uncertain. Last month, merchants returning from Sado and Haguro mountain ascetics had reportedly whispered this to a monk in Teradomari. "In any case, this stems from my lord’s secret grand design. Without setting foot there myself, I cannot confirm anything. I must cross regardless."

Finally, a ferry departed. Blessed with calm seas and while the waves still rocked gently, the ship entered a bay of Sado Island by the next morning. He learned from the boatman that this place was called both Koigaura and Kokufu no Ura. And he set foot on the island’s soil for the first time—well, at any rate—he entered an inn and, “I am Ryūsai,” he announced, “an armorer residing in Sumiyoshi of Settsu.”

he declared.

For two or three days, he toured the inlets and waited until he had naturally grown familiar with the innkeeper before saying— “Excuse my bluntness, but it seems there are no decent armorers or stirrup makers within the island. As for Lord Honma—how in the world does he handle maintaining his equipment?” “Well, I’m afraid I don’t know much about martial affairs,” replied the innkeeper, “but I’ve heard there are fine blacksmiths and armorers in Tsuruga Port and Echigo’s provincial capital. I suppose everyone relies on shipping services to have their work done over there.”

“How foolish.” “If that were true，they couldn't possibly be doing proper work.” “What do you think？I came all this way to Sado.” “I wouldn't mind spending a winter here，but idling about would be wasteful and dull.” “Here's an idea—why not tell someone in Lord Honma's clan there's an armorer from the capital here with proven skills？…If any orders come through，I'll see you're rewarded，old-timer.”

The old man took it in. Having had Ryūsai appraise the swords passed down in his family, he now trusted him completely without suspicion. Promptly, a few days later, “Mr. Ryūsai, a fine opportunity has come your way,” he answered. “I spoke to Lord Kanemaru Gorō—with whom I regularly seek favor—and he said to bring you.” “How does that sound?” “The weather’s fair too—shall we go pay him a visit together?” “That’s most kind.” “Will you accompany me?”

Along the way, he inquired. “Is Lord Kanemaru a retainer of the lord or a member of his family?” “He is a cousin of Lord Honma Yamashiro Nyūdō, the guardian of the island. He is indeed within this Zōta no Go district, but his residence lies somewhat apart from Danpū Castle where Lord Nyūdō resides.”

“I see. “If it’s within the castle grounds, staying there would feel cramped anyway.” “It’s exactly what I could have wished for.” Since arriving on the island, he had not even hinted at inquiring about the life or death of Hino Suketomo, even to this friendly innkeeper.

Moreover, not once had he heard the name of the exiled court noble from anyone on the island. It was indeed nothing but peaceful. The unrest in Kamakura, the state of emergency in Kyoto, and even the plumes of smoke from Mount Fuji’s summit—it seemed as if none of these existed here. It was a small island, after all.

That day, beginning with his passage through Lord Kanemaru’s gate, the name of the armorer Ryūsai swiftly spread among the Honma clan. “They say a fine craftsman from the capital has come to the island.” “Shall we have him appraise our family’s armor as well?”

Invitations also came frequently from various households.

Ryūsai Umasuke was impeccably attentive wherever he went. He praised each household’s treasured items and promptly restored even those needing minor repairs. Before long, he was called a handyman and even entrusted with tasks like crafting new armor and appraising swords.

Then, on a certain occasion, Kanemaru Gorō said: “Lord Nyūdō has also commanded that I bring you before him at least once. You mentioned wanting to stay in Sado all winter, but even if you’re entrusted with maintaining the armory at Zōta Castle, I doubt the work would last through the season.” Umasuke thought this was his chance. Hino Suketomo’s place of confinement apparently was not outside the castle.

The next day, accompanied by Kanemaru, he went to the castle. This place was called Danpū Castle likely due to its abundance of sandalwood trees. Wax trees had yellowed, the sea stretched blue beneath them, and from the hilltop castle gate, the distant mountain range of Shōsado stood clearly visible across the water. Honma Yamashiro, the Guardian, appeared at first glance a mild-mannered old man—a lay priest who had taken Buddhist vows. Five or six clan members surrounded him during what happened to be a drinking gathering. They drew Ryūsai into their circle, offered him a cup, and after exchanging casual remarks—

“Saburō,” said Nyūdō, looking at one of his sons, Honma Saburō. “We’ve grown lax in routine maintenance like airing out our armor and weapons. “Why don’t you assume magistracy and have Ryūsai examine the contents of the armory?” “That would be most agreeable.”

Saburō was flushed bright red from daytime drinking. He had the appearance of one who seemed to be the strongest among his brothers. He pushed a large cup toward Ryūsai, “The people of Sado are all heavy drinkers! If you stay here all winter, don’t ruin your health.” he said.

From that day onward, Umasuke was provided with winter lodging in the lower quarters of the mansion. And then, Honma Saburō, having been appointed magistrate, would supervise his retainers in taking out the arms stored in the castle’s earthen storehouse. From time to time, he would "inspect" them under the pretext of examination, checking for damage, insect infestations, and such.

However, Saburō seemed to have an indolent nature. There were many days when the storehouse remained unopened. On such days, Ryūsai was free. He would also often casually drop by the homes of Lord Kanemaru, who had been helpful to him, and the old innkeeper at the harbor. Throughout the country, there were many sorrowful historical sites. He also visited places like the Kuroki Imperial Villa where Emperor Juntoku, exiled to Sado during the Jōkyū Disturbance, had resided, and the Tsukahara Samādhi Hall where Saint Nichiren had secluded himself within icicles. But what Ryūsai Umasuke had been searching for was not historical sites. It was the real person, Hino Suketomo’s place of exile. What had become of his life or death.

In the midst of this, he became acquainted with Nichimitsu of Myōsenji Temple. Nichimitsu of Abutsubō, a Nichiren sect monk deeply trusted by Honma Nyūdō, was said to be the sole individual permitted by Nyūdō to freely visit the exiled Suketomo’s place of confinement for doctrinal discussions. “What—you inquire after Lord Suketomo?… How tragic… He is no longer among us, I fear.” When questioned thus that day, Nichimitsu closed his eyes and murmured these words. *Kumawaka Sōshi*

What follows was told by Myōsenji Nichimitsu to Umasuke that day within the quiet autumn shōji of the island. "Lord Kōmon"—Nichimitsu called Suketomo by this name—for Kōmon was an alternate title for Chunagon (Middle Counselor). That Lord Kōmon had been exiled to the island seven years prior and confined within the castle’s Yakushidō Hall, with all contact to the outside completely severed. However, Nichimitsu alone had been made an exception, and since the distance between Myōsenji Temple and the place of confinement was as short as a single drawbridge over the moat, naturally they had become so close that there was hardly a day they did not meet.

Moreover, Honma Yamashiro Nyūdō had been giving Lord Kōmon rather generous treatment. ――And a year later, when Hino Toshimoto sneaked into this island disguised as a mountain ascetic, through Nichimitsu’s arrangement, the two secretly spent a night in conversation before parting. Therefore, until very recently, Lord Kōmon had likely still harbored hopes for another day in his heart. However, when May of this year arrived, the Honma family’s attitude changed abruptly, and rumors of a major crackdown on Imperial Loyalists in the capital were also circulating at the same time.

It was from then that Lord Kōmon began devoting himself even more intently to his daily practice of copying the Introductory Chapter of the Lotus Sutra, completing all eight volumes by late May. At the end of each scroll he inscribed: "The twenty-first day of the fifth month of Gentoku 3 Copied for conducting memorial services for my deceased father. Suketomo, Former Middle Counselor and Attendant" Adding a colophon: "Come—death is ever ready." Such was the state of his 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 and was the eldest of several children Lord Kōmon had left behind in the capital. It was heard that in April of that year, Ashinmaru’s grandmother—who was Lord Kōmon’s biological mother—had died of illness at an advanced age. He had informed his exiled father of this as well, and with the single-minded desire to glimpse his father’s unharmed form even once, he had obtained his mother’s permission and made the long journey to the island—such was his account.

The Honma family was greatly conflicted.

At this very moment, an execution envoy from Kamakura had already arrived at Zōda Castle. Honma Yamashiro Nyūdō, sympathizing with Ashinmaru’s heartfelt plea, kept him detained within the castle and attempted to secretly arrange a meeting. However, due to vehement opposition from his son Honma Saburō and others, before he could act as he wished, Saburō set an execution date with the Kamakura envoy and showed Ashinmaru only the letter from Lord Kōmon’s wife that he had brought. “Do you have any final words?” he announced the execution.

Lord Kōmon had added several more lines the previous night to the end of the Lotus Sutra he had copied earlier: "For my beloved mother's forty-ninth-day memorial The seventh day of the seventh month, Provisional Middle Counselor Suketomo" Having written these additions, he was dragged out to the hackberry tree riverbank of Kigahara along the Takedagawa River without ever meeting Ashinmaru, thus ending his life at forty-nine years of age.

However, due to some mistake, a pursuing messenger arrived from Kamakura and ordered, “Lord Suketomo’s execution should be postponed for a time.” However, it was already too late. Thus, reluctantly, the Honma family and the shogunate classified this matter as top secret between them, publicly stating, “...Lord Kōmon is ill,” and even going so far as to close the drawbridge connecting Yakushidō Hall and Myōsenji Temple—such was the situation.

“No, thank you. Though you rarely speak of this to others, you’ve told me so much.” As Nichimitsu’s words began to falter, Ryūsai Umasuke immediately urged him on, as if begging for the rest. “So, despite Lord Ashinmaru going to the trouble of coming to the island, he was unable to meet his father Lord Suketomo, and afterward returned to the capital in vain?” “Hmm... Lord Ashinmaru?”

Nichimitsu hesitated to speak. Perhaps regretting having spoken too much—or conversely, now he began to question him in return.

“Lord Ryūsai,” Nichimitsu pressed, “are you connected to the Hino family?” “No, I have no such ties,” Umasuke replied. “Then you must be one of the Imperial Loyalists. To my eyes, you’re no mere armorer. You’re concealing something. It’s precisely because I recognize this that I’ve spoken so openly.” The monk leaned closer. “Take Lord Ashinmaru and flee this island without delay—I implore you.” Nichimitsu’s gaze proved unnervingly sharp. He had pierced through the deception. Yet his assumption that Umasuke belonged to the Imperial faction revealed his own miscalculation.

Umasuke naturally seized this opportunity to pose as an Imperial Loyalist. And he continued to draw out various details from Nichimitsu’s account through further questioning.

According to that account.

Ashinmaru was still being kept within Zōda Castle, where Honma Saburō—the son of Nyūdō—had told him, "...To meet your father, you must obtain permission from Lord Kamakura." He was being detained under what amounted to a childish ruse, told to "remain within the castle until that day arrives." For reasons unknown, Kamakura's orders had recently been issuing through two separate channels. One envoy would arrive commanding "Execute Lord Suketomo," only for another to follow shortly after countermanding with "Wait"—creating a contradictory state of affairs.

Not only were there internal conflicts within the shogunate, but within the Honma family as well, two factions—shogunate loyalists and Imperial Loyalists—had long existed. Honma Yamashiro Nyūdō secretly supported the Imperial Loyalists, while his son Honma Saburō and a portion of their retainers had pledged loyalty to Kamakura. Therefore, even the execution of Provisional Middle Counselor Hino Suketomo was immediately carried out at Kigahara of the hackberry trees as soon as the first envoy arrived.

As for that matter, it seemed Ashinmaru had already realized it with a boy’s keen perception. The reason Honma Saburō refused to send Ashinmaru back to the capital lay hidden there as well—if Ashinmaru were returned now, Hino Suketomo’s unnatural death would become known throughout the capital in an instant. The shogunate’s orders had also commanded that this matter be kept strictly confidential. In other words, Ashinmaru was now being held under house arrest on Honma Saburō’s orders. That’s right... Since Lord Suketomo was gone, he would rescue Lord Ashinmaru in that person’s stead.

Umasuke quickly made a different decision.

The secret orders he had received from his lord Takauji seemed to have ended in futile efforts, and for a moment he was so disheartened that he felt dazed; but from the next day onward, even as he remained within the castle walls, the eyes with which he surveyed his surroundings had naturally begun to change.

One day, beneath the watchtower, Umasuke passed by a boy. Within the castle walls, pages and servant children abounded. Yet there was something distinct about his countenance. Umasuke intuited, "This must be Wako," and as they crossed paths, he ventured— “Lord Kumawaka”— testing the name in a hushed tone.

The boy turned around. And he grinned. However, without answering anything, he hurried away at a trot. After that as well, Umasuke occasionally caught sight of the boy’s figure.

At one time, he was among Honma Saburō’s pages. At another time, he saw what appeared to be the boy standing atop the castle’s watchtower, gazing out at Sado’s skies and seas—said to be so desolate “not even birds pass through.” He had also identified the small room where the boy always stayed. It was a small room in the dimly lit corner of a corridor beneath the watchtower.

When passing by there, one might sometimes find him sitting alone at a desk, reading.

“There’s no mistake now.”

Umasuke waited for an opportunity and approached. But with a gaze that seemed to fear being approached by others, the boy immediately became wary.

“Who are you?” “I am an armorer called Ryūsai.”

“What do you want?”

“You must be feeling lonely.” “No. Not one bit.”

“But surely your mother awaits you in the capital.” “……Ryūsai. Go over there. If someone comes, it’ll be trouble.” “Would you come in the evening?” “If the Third Son finds out, it won’t do you any good either. The eyes of my attendants watch everything around me.” “Then when it suits you, Lord Wako, come quietly to visit me. Ryūsai’s quarters lie in the servants’ annex at the western corridor’s end. No one will be there come evening.”

Ashinmaru’s eyes appeared to nod in agreement. Sure enough, several days later, his small figure crept along the edge of the servants’ quarters deep into the night. After conversing for about an hour, he returned. The following evening too, he came after seizing an opportunity but departed swiftly. Umasuke marveled at Ashinmaru’s nimbleness.

Though he himself believed he was being as cautious as possible, he could not match Ashin’s attentiveness. It exuded a needle-like sharpness of nerves. He doubted whether this was truly a thirteen-year-old boy. He no longer seemed like a frail court noble’s child.

Since his father Suketomo had been captured, the family had fallen into ruin and were said to be living in a monks’ tenement near Ninna-ji Temple.

He had three younger brothers and sisters. Ashinmaru had apparently grown up in poverty. That destitution and the tides of the times must have forged such a dauntless boy. “Your father was already executed at Gumi no Kihara.” “Did you know?” As Umasuke whispered,

“I know. Honma Saburō killed him.” Ashinmaru said without shedding a tear. “And yet Lord Saburō still does not send you back to the capital—it is the shogunate’s decree. Once battle breaks out with the imperial loyalists, even you, Lord Wako, being one of their faction, will surely never be permitted to return.” “So... do you intend to leave me in Sado forever?” “That’s correct. But please do not worry. I, Ryūsai, will accompany you and ensure your safe return to the capital.”

“Ryūsai…” Ashinmaru, for the first time, let out a boyish sob, his breath hitched. “T-truthfully... I want to go home.” “……I can’t imagine how worried Mother must be.” “Ryūsai, let’s escape.” “Let’s escape.” “Please leave it to Ryūsai.” “This Thirteenth-Night Moon Viewing will bring favorable results.”

By that day, Umasuke had thoroughly investigated the castle’s rear gates and coastal geography while secretly awaiting his chance. The Thirteenth-Night “After Moon Viewing” became an ill-omened evening. At Zōda Castle, the annual household moon-viewing banquet—long anticipated—saw winds and rain intensify from dusk onward, shrouding everything in darkness. Thus the event was canceled, leaving the inner bailey eerily quiet—but Honma Saburō’s retinue declared: “A moonless revelry might prove equally splendid!”

With such words, they invited courtesans from the town into the western bailey and, as if this were indeed preferable, carried on with their raucous revelry from evening until midnight, until finally every last one of them collapsed drunk and sank into swamp-like slumber. Ryūsai (Umasuke) too had been at the edge of the banquet, but seizing an opening amidst the drunken chaos there, he had withdrawn once to his servants’ quarters in the evening and was whispering with Ashinmaru in the darkness. “Tonight is the night.… Lord Wako, are your preparations in order?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Ashinmaru wore a nonchalant expression, as if he were about to attend some sort of game. “I’ve been waiting so long for tonight,” he said. “Ryūsai, are you ready too?” “I have left nothing to chance,” replied Ryūsai. “I gave money to an innkeeper I’ve long been acquainted with and had a boat waiting at Kuni-no-Ura. But the hour is still too early. Lord Wako, please remain in your room pretending to sleep until midnight, so as not to arouse suspicion.” “Alright, later.”

“When Myōsen-ji Temple’s bell—the usual one—announces the Hour of the Ox at two in the morning, I will go to the rear gate and wait there for you.” “Ah. “I know.” Ashinmaru muffled his footsteps and slipped back into bed in his own room once more. If anything, it was Umasuke who now felt the tension, his adult meticulousness wearing thin. He returned to the raucous drinking party and resumed his deliberate performance as a slurring drunkard, keeping watch until Honma Saburō and all the women and attendants had withdrawn to their sleeping quarters.

What followed next—Umasuke first retreated to the servants’ quarters, secretly adjusted his attire for mobility, went to the agreed-upon moat at the rear gate, and waited for Ashinmaru to arrive. Before long, the bell of Myōsen-ji Temple could also be heard.

The rain had lightened, but the wind showed no sign of abating. Along the moat, bamboo thickets swayed ceaselessly under the battering of great waves that roared as they clashed with the treetops. "What's this?"

Umasuke grew anxious—he wasn’t coming. Even though the promised bell had passed，Ashinmaru’s figure was nowhere to be seen. He really was just a child—could he have dozed off after all? No，no… Even if he were a child，surely that couldn’t have happened. It was just as he began shifting his position slightly，wondering if they had mistaken the meeting place.

From the western bailey's direction, people's shouts erupted. Through the wind, wildly scattering torches signaled extraordinary events. The sounds of numerous footsteps and glimpses of shadowy figures drew nearer toward this position too.

Damn it. So Lord Ashin’s been found.

In an instant, that very situation became Umasuke’s own crisis. Having no choice, he climbed along the large tree’s horizontal branch and jumped across to the outside of the moat.

Then, right behind him,

“Uncle, wait!” Ashin’s voice called out.

“Huh?” Umasuke spun around in surprise. When he looked, across the moat, Ashinmaru’s small figure—which had been fleeing in confusion—was scaling one of the bamboos in the large thicket with fierce momentum. The bamboo bent. Like a sparrow alighting on bamboo, Ashin’s body dangled over the moat.

Though called a moat, it was but a narrow span between cliffs where valley waters cascaded down.—Ashin gauged the bamboo’s springiness and leaped across to this side with a bounce.

“Oh! Lord Wako.”

“Ryūsai.” “You’ve been found out, haven’t you?” “Yeah, they found me.” “Ah! That blood—” “That blood—” “I’m unharmed.” “But you’re covered in blood from head to toe!” “This is my enemy’s blood.”

“Huh?” “This is Honma Saburō’s blood.” “He lied to me, wouldn’t let me see my father, and on top of that dragged him out to Gumi no Kihara and beheaded him—that hateful bastard.” “...I’d been aiming to avenge my father’s death for a long time.” “Then you did it just now—” “Seizing my chance, I sneaked into Saburō’s bedroom and drove a single thrust into my enemy’s chest.” “...Then the woman sleeping beside him let out a scream, so all the other warriors woke up too, and I lost my chance to flee and got delayed.” “...Come on, let’s get out of here! They’ll come this way too!”

Umasuke was astonished. What recklessness! It was only through the boy’s single-minded resolve that this had been possible. Such a feat was not one a prudent adult could accomplish. Be that as it may, they had no choice but to flee, and the two ran through the rainy darkness. And when they reached the break in Myōsen-ji Temple’s earthen wall, suddenly—something was there, shouting repeatedly, pursuing them with relentless tenacity from behind. The two, in their frenzy, naturally assumed that this too was one of the pursuing warriors, but before long—

“Ah! That voice—it’s Kumenai! It’s Kumenai!”

Ashinmaru suddenly stopped and waited, then took the approaching figure’s hands and burst into tears. The man was wearing mountain ascetic attire. When Ashinmaru had come to this island, he had introduced himself to the Honma family as a mountain ascetic he met aboard a ship during their journey—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 grounds, it was Kumenai who had been hiding within Myōsen-ji Temple and keeping watch over him from the shadows while anxiously concerned for his safety.

“Lord Ryūsai. I’ll explain the details later. Change course and make haste to Shioya Cove!” “No—I had the escape boat moored at the mouth of the Kokufu River. We must reach it.” “Now that things have come to this, relying on boats from inns is dangerous. They might betray us at any moment.” “Do you have arrangements prepared at Shioya Cove?”

“Therefore, having long received instructions from the abbot of Myōsen-ji Temple and having been apprised of tonight’s meeting—” “So even the abbot has extended such considerable support from the shadows.”

The sea was raging violently.

From that night until morning. The small boat carrying three passengers, tossed relentlessly amidst the spray of raging waves, escaped the jaws of death and vanished into the southern distance.

It was nothing but divine fortune. The small boat carrying three passengers was rescued by a passing vessel amidst the stormy seas and, without suffering shipwreck, first stopped at Kaki Port in Echigo Province before eventually arriving at Tsuruga in Echizen. By the end of September, having entered Ōmi Province by land from Tsuruga Port and now able to see Mount Hira and Mount Hiei in the distance, they felt a sense of relief at being just one step away from the entrance to Kyoto. As they heard along the way, This autumn, an imperial decree for era change was issued, and the third year of Gentoku became the first year of Genkō. Moreover, as they proceeded south along the lakeside highway, each post town they passed through was in an unusual state of commotion.

“Is something happening?” Ashinmaru’s retainer Kumenai had been asking passersby as they traveled, but none gave clear replies.

However, when they reached Sakamoto, the situation became visually apparent. The entire Mount Hiei area now appeared to be in a state of ominous military preparation. At Hiei-no-tsuji on the highway, barricades had been erected to inspect every traveler passing through, while at Hiyoshi Shrine, warrior monks formed ranks overlooking the lake and raised some sort of commotion. “Ah! This—” Standing before the barricade, they faltered and looked back—indeed, on Lake Biwa too, numerous small boats carrying warrior monks surrounded several transport ships, while from Yanagasaki vast quantities of military provisions and horses were being unloaded ashore. Umasuke suddenly recalled the words Takauji had spoken when they parted in Kamakura.

“This is dire!”

he blurted out. Urging Ashinmaru and Kumenai, he suddenly turned back, passed through Ryūgae Pass from Katata, 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, as they had the boy Ashinmaru with them, they were allowed to pass without encountering any significant trouble. Thus, by the time they entered the capital, the general truth had finally become clear. At last, it could only be said that the day that was destined to come had arrived.

In early September of this year. Through the hand of Kitabatake no Gonchūnagon Tomoyuki, a secret imperial conscription decree in the name of Emperor Go-Daigo had been issued to the warrior houses of various provinces. In other words, it was a call to arms. Among the warriors who received this summons, there were those who immediately reported it back to Kamakura. —This development had already been anticipated in Kamakura. They promptly dispatched an army, and rumor now held that this great force was making its way up the Tōkaidō Highway. “Lord Ashinmaru.” “I had meant to escort you to Ninna-ji’s gates, but in this upheaval, even Ryūsai cannot afford to dally.” “I shall call upon you again someday.” “...Mr. Kumenai—mark me, matters appear headed for calamity.” “Take utmost 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 repeatedly to him as he departed, reluctant to part. Umasuke also looked back. Though his heart now yearned to be elsewhere, he could not forget this extraordinary boy—even as a memento of the late Hino Suketomo, he could not bring himself to part with him like this. “Lord Wako, let’s meet again, all right? No matter what days may come, live cheerfully as if you were still on Sado. Stay strong.” He hurried from peak to peak through the clouds toward the Ashikaga clan’s Ryōke in Tanba Shimosato.