Pathway to Japanese Literature

The Young Master and the Slave Girl

From its primordial state, gradually, into a land where humans dwell.

The Bandō Plain was now, greatly, beginning to shift.

For even nature since time immemorial had at last become riddled with wounds across its expanse—compelled into an inexorable molting as though writhing in torment—while Fuji, Asama, and Nasu-ga-take encircling this great plain from afar ceaselessly belched sulfurous yellow smoke. Take for instance Sōma no Kojirō—a human child existing here and now—who was born as such a boy: a single clump of flesh bearing both the "face of earth" and "breath of heaven."

He was about fourteen years old this year. He had a stocky build with a boar-like sturdiness, eyes like wild grapes, cheeks gleaming red, and hair always left unbound like corn silk. His whole body exuded a kind of vital energy—something like the scent of sun-baked earth, something like the odor of rich soil.

However, since the start of this year, both his childlike quality and his black eyes had become somewhat blurred, lacking their former vitality. It had blurred to the point where even dementia seemed visible within it. After his father’s death. After his father’s death, he had suddenly grown close to Emishi Hagi, a female slave kept in their household. Just recently, they had hidden themselves alone in the fenced horse granary during daylight hours, only to be discovered by his malicious uncle’s retainers, “The Young Master was carrying on with that Ainu girl in the horse granary since midday—like some secret tryst. Of all people to choose—a slave girl!”

And so an incident was sensationalized as a grave matter. For some reason, Kojirō’s guardian uncles said nothing to him about it, but the female slave Emishi Hagi received harsh punishment—thirty or forty lashes with a whip before a crowd.

From then on, the slave girl Emishi Hagi never again showed herself before Kojirō. Kojirō too thereafter grew even more distant toward the great-uncle and younger uncles in the household, keeping away—and likely harbored some cringing humiliation at being seen by the many family members and slaves. During this period, he was scarcely ever within the estate's inner compound. Whenever free, he would come to this Ōmusubi no Maki pasture—a full ri and a half from his dwelling—to play with horses or else sit atop a hill and vacantly watch the drifting clouds.

The pasture here could well be called the largest and most expansive grazing land in all the Bandō Plain. Our household had four such pastures within its domain. Horses were property second only to land. If you took them to the capital, people would clamor to acquire them, and even in the provinces, good horses could be exchanged for gold dust at any time. Those horses—in our household, there were so many of them. Surveying Shimōsa, Kazusa, Hitachi, Shimotsuke, and Musashi—there were scarcely any powerful clans that possessed such numbers of horses, such abundant reclaimed lands, and furthermore, such vast virgin lands still awaiting endless reclamation.

“Listen well—you are the eldest son and heir who will succeed to the headship.” Sōma no Kojirō remembered these words that his deceased father Yoshimochi had often spoken while alive whenever he came here. Sitting on a pasture hill and vacantly recalling his father’s voice from those days had somehow become a small pleasure for him.

At such times. From eyes that vacantly watched the passing clouds, tears would suddenly begin to stream down, snot would drip from his nose, until finally his face would crumple and he’d burst into loud sobs all alone. There, no matter how much he cried, there was no one to console him or even wonder why. He let himself cry until the tears naturally subsided, and once his sobs ceased, he nonchalantly dried his face in the sun as if he had forgotten everything.

“Young Master…” “Young Mast—”

Someone called out to him from afar. A man working at the stable was beckoning from the foot of the hill. He had come to announce mealtime. Kojirō shook his head. “I ain’t eatin’. Ain’t hungry now—I’ll eat come night.” When the man obstinately repeated his urging, he suddenly picked up a stone and hurled it.

“Idiot! If y’wanna feed someone so damn bad, go chuck it at th’crows!” The stone missed the man and struck a blameless foal. The man bolted toward the stablehouse, while the foal plunged down into the marsh.

Within the pasture were several such hills. And there were horses drinking from the marsh’s water, horses lying down asleep, groups of foals swimming through the grass—wherever one looked, figures of horses could be seen. However, since his father Yoshimochi’s death at the end of last year, the number of horses had suddenly dwindled. Mikuriya no Urabito, a retainer of his father who still managed the pastures, once spoke to him about this matter: “Young Master. "—It’s not just the horses. The granary of the Main House, the contents of the armory, and all those numerous storehouses—how much do you suppose remains within them now? ...I cannot speak too loudly about this, but—the guardian uncles have had everything stealthily transported to their own domains. …Yes—the horses too. It is absolutely not the work of horse thieves. Urabito has seen it with these eyes. But against the authority of those three uncles, someone like me cannot even let it show on my face. If I were to show it, I couldn’t remain in this pasture even a single day, so—”

There were times when he would whisper gravely into Kojirō’s ear. But to Kojirō, it was neither grave nor anything of consequence. The visibly dwindling horses in the pasture undoubtedly carried a melancholy akin to dear friends departing, but whether items remained in the storehouses or vanished altogether was a matter that never even entered his thoughts. However, what was deeply etched even into his child’s mind was the uncles who had come charging into his house from their respective residences in Hitachi, Shimōsa, Kazusa, and elsewhere at the very moment of his father’s death.

The term "great-uncle" referred to his father Yoshimochi's elder brother—a man called Kunika, Governor of Hitachi Province—and this one was the most domineering. In addition, Yoshimochi’s two younger brothers—Yoshikane and Yoshimasa—had also been constantly visiting as guardians. The vast territorial control that Kojirō’s father Yoshimochi had maintained was now being entirely directed by these three uncles. The many household retainers and slaves all revered those three as their new masters and even feared to utter a single word of criticism against them.

No one saw this as unjust. For there existed the fact that Kojirō’s father Yoshimochi—on the verge of his last breath—had gathered numerous relatives and household retainers at his bedside and personally entrusted his final will to the three men: Kunika, Yoshikane, and Yoshimasa. “I have seven children,” he said, “but even my heir Kojirō remains young. “The fields I cleared in this land and our ancestral manors across the provinces—you must manage them until he comes of age. Then return everything intact—the pasture’s horses, the slaves—all of it. “This alone troubles me... I leave it in your hands.”

Since it was such an obvious matter, even without Mikuriya no Urabito telling him over and over, Kojirō knew it well enough already. And regarding that matter, he held no complaints. The sudden diminishing of his childlike vigor was neither due to such material matters nor his love for Emishi Hagi. It was simply that somehow, the home where he was born had turned cold; he disliked being anywhere within the mansion compound, and sitting on this hill was the only thing that felt right.

Land and Slave Stratum

It may sound strange that Yoshimochi listed even slaves alongside land and horses in his will as part of his inheritance, but in those days, there was no doubt that slaves and servants too were important personal property.

The time when Sōma no Kojirō—later Taira no Masakado—was around fourteen years old is estimated by historians to be Engi 16.

In the Western calendar: 916. Counting back on one’s fingers from today，it would be 1，034 years ago.

A thousand years is but an instant in the cosmos. Yet for human society, such perceptions diverge utterly. Whether labeled *nuhi* or *nupuku*, whether women were called *onnuhi* and men *otokonuhi*—they remained mere slaves. The institution of slavery yet endured.

People who could exercise no freedom of will whatsoever—not over harsh labor, nor chastity, nor provision of food and clothing, nor bodily movement—still accounted for more than two-thirds of the entire population in this land. The value of one among those countless lives—until its death—amounted to no more than the price of dyeing a single bolt of white silk with safflower for the women dwelling in the capital’s splendor: a pittance compared to hundreds of sheaves of rice or thousands of strings of coins. No—humans were valued far below even the pasture’s horses.

Slave traders gathered untamed laborers from the Tohoku region to sell into the Kinki region and capital; when purchasing beautiful girls from the capital's destitute alleyways and bringing them back, these fetched astonishingly high prices. They could be put on the market for barter or placed in pawnshops as collateral. Thus masters who kept multitudes of slaves, servants, and lowly workers naturally viewed them as chattel—even on their deathbeds, those sales contracts must have loomed large as substantial inheritances.

Kojirō’s father Yoshimochi was one of the foremost masters of those in all of Bandō Hasshū.

His family had put down roots in this untamed corner of Bandō five generations ago.

——Emperor Kanmu——Prince Katsurabara——Prince Takami——Taira no Takamochi——Taira no Yoshimochi——and now Sōma no Kojirō. The genealogy correctly traced its lineage to the imperial house, but it goes without saying that within it flowed the thickly intermixed blood of Ainu women. Moreover, when the imperial bloodline of the capital and the wild blood of the Ainu people intermingled over successive generations, the wildness of the maternal line would strikingly reproduce the lineage of a primal people, giving birth to what might be called a blended heritage—endowed with both temperament and physiognomy—as a natural outcome of heredity.

Therefore, even Kojirō’s father Yoshimochi already differed from the people of the capital in the prominence of his cheekbones, the stubbornness of his jawline, his beard, and even the texture of his hair. His temperament differed, and his approach to life had come to differ by Yoshimochi’s generation. Yoshimochi abandoned the official posts inherited from his ancestors and devoted himself to the soil. Though there were existing manors that produced enough to eat, pay taxes, and still have surplus, he mobilized many slaves, servants, and field hands; assigned household retainers to oversee them; cleared endless tracts of primeval forest; expanded swidden fields; drained marshes; leveled hills; and in no time became king of the wild.

In manors, even unwillingly, they were subject to taxation; but as for the uncultivated fields not listed in the Imperial Court’s reclaimed land register or the tax ledgers of the Ōhari envoys—no matter how much the tax inspectors complained, they could always be deceived. Thus, the agricultural estates he created in his lifetime and the grand residence—comprising a palisade divined on a hill in Toyota County, a main house, storehouses, and outer fortifications—were the envy of all his relatives. “The elder brother from Hitachi and the younger brothers from Kazusa may envy me—but what do you think of my life’s work? Even if I’m just a farmer—as long as I’m a great landowner—this is more than enough. Even provincial governors or district magistrates probably couldn’t imitate me. Even those beneath them—provincial governors, assistant governors, secretaries, clerks—don’t they all come flattering me?”

In this age when it was said that none but those tied by blood to the Fujiwara clan—or even some distant offshoot of the Fujiwara name—could be counted among human company in the capital—there, on one edge of the earth, Yoshimochi lived breathing such boasts, and soon thereafter departed this life.

But to Kojirō, now fourteen, not a single thing his deceased father had left behind seemed of any great worth. If one were to insist on what had been of use to him among those things, it would be the Ainu girl Emishi Hagi, who, evading the watchful eyes of his uncles, devoted warm affection to his clothing and food.

“Poor Young Master.” “…Young Master, you were born into such misfortune, weren’t you?” Without dwelling on her own pitiful fate as a slave, she had ultimately given her lips and skin unreservedly—there was nothing beyond her.

Nature’s Play

The long mountain range stretching from Kita-Musashi through Chichibu to Ueno cast shadows that, at sunset’s end, tinged purple as they faded into dusk.

Kojirō was still on the hill.

The wilderness was March in spring. The earth was rough, the wind was rough, the water's quality was rough—and equally so, the people were rough and wild—such was the realm of Bandō—yet even here, a spring evening could grow so tranquil it verged on uneventfulness. There was not a single movement. The sun sank so gradually it was imperceptible; only the clouds' hues shifted. “Young Master!” “What could you be doing in such a place?” “Hurry now, do come—with us together.”

Again, someone had come to call. Thinking it must be either a groom from the stables or a servant from the fishing village, Kojirō—

“I ain’t going.” “I ain’t hungry.” “Tonight I'm sleepin' with th' horses.” He said without even turning around. Then th' shadow below came runnin' up th' hill—a voice scoldin', “Troublesome brat,” could be heard,'n' at th' same moment,Kojirō's arm was yanked with such force it near came out its socket. “Young Master! What're ya sayin'?” “‘Tis precisely 'cause ya keep spoutin' such wickedness that e'en yer uncles detest ya.” “How could there be any answer 'cept compliance when Lord Governor summons ya?”

“Shut up!” Kojirō snapped. “If that’s how it is, make ’em say it! Even I ain’t walkin’, I tell ya!” With a huff, he puffed out his cheeks and stomped off ahead. Yet clearly finding it all unbearable, his eyes dripped fat tears. That evening, a vassal who seemed to be his granduncle’s right-hand man ordered him to handle an urgent task—this while Granduncle Kunika and the younger uncles were likely drinking themselves senseless in the inner chambers.

“Tomorrow, take the chestnut horse from the palisade stable to Yokoyama Pasture.” “You’re to get our chestnut mare bred by Yokoyama’s famed stallion there.” “The stud fee’s been paid in silk and rice already—middlemen settled this a month back.” “With spring silkworm season keeping hands busy, you’ll go alone, Young Master.” “No reason you can’t manage this.” Kojirō actually welcomed this. As if granted temporary freedom, he rushed to sleep alone in a distant building away from the main house.

Then, in the dead of night, Emishi Hagi sneaked in and shook him awake.

The slave quarters were in a distant corner of the compound; at night, to prevent escape, the bridge over the dry moat was removed. Despite the high fence as well—how had she come here?—Kojirō widened his eyes in astonishment. "Young Master, you're going to Yokoyama Pasture tomorrow, aren't you?" "Then on the way through Musashino Plain, you'll be killed." "I was listening from beneath the floorboards as your esteemed uncles held their secret talk..."

She was wholeheartedly thinking of Kojirō. Kojirō was assailed not by the terror she had foretold, but by something else. He was seized by an impulse to immediately seize and devour her, and in that instant, he pictured the Ainu people’s distinctive pear blossom-like skin. “You see…” “So even if you leave here, you mustn’t go far.” “You mustn’t go through Musashino Plain!” Having said only that, Emishi Hagi began to back away from the dark floor mat as if to leave.

—And suddenly, the scent of boar oil that she always put in her hair wafted into Kojirō’s nostrils. When his shadow caught its scent, it leaped animalistically toward the source of the fragrance and rubbed its face vigorously against it. Emishi Hagi emitted a low, moan-like breath from her nostrils, turned her body supine, and joyfully let the fourteen-year-old boy do as he pleased. It was an era when even human self-awareness remained scarce among people—though simple social contracts existed, like the institution of marriage or recognition of concubines, rooted in instinct, love-hate, and possessiveness—yet no thought whatsoever was given to the manifold forms of male-female existence. Even if they engaged in love, they had no awareness of it as love. To behave according to primitive customs and the flesh’s will was nothing more than one of the mundane acts humans could perform.

The custom among capital dwellers was early marriage across all social classes. Boys were married between twelve or thirteen and fifteen or sixteen years of age, and girls were wed by nine to twelve or thirteen. For even if left to their own devices, young boys and girls would naturally outgrow physical mingling as though it were mere child’s play. That, too, was an imitation of adults. Adult men and women did not perform such acts with secrecy, awkwardness, or trepidation. Young girls and boys could witness such things as much as they pleased. When they saw, they imitated; when they imitated, they found joy; and as it became habitual, their bodies and dispositions naturally conformed to that state.

Since even the general populace of the capital, from courtiers downward, were thus, regions like Bandō had not yet approached anything resembling self-aware men and women, remaining in a state akin to primitive-era male-female relations. Bride kidnappings occurred from time to time, and it was not uncommon for wars of romantic rivalry to see families arming their servants, loosing countless arrows, and splattering spears with blood. A festival-like custom—resembling the Tsukuba poetry gatherings where other men’s wives and other women’s husbands groped for each other’s scents in the dark before the gods throughout the night, without lighting bonfires—was widely practiced even in these parts of Toyota and Sōma Districts.

Emishi Hagi was sixteen—among slave companions, she could not have remained untouched—and even Kojirō, two years her junior, was by no means experiencing his first liaison with her.

Sugawara no Michizane’s third son

Stables, in addition to the pasture, were scattered in various places centered around the Honmaru enclosure. Always ready for battle at a moment’s notice, equipped with saddles and situated near bow and spear storehouses, these were called palisade stables.

"This chestnut's fast—never once faltered at arrow blasts or spear flashes. She bears the signs of a legendary steed. Don't let her line die out," his father Yoshimochi had declared. Astride this mare he had cherished riding for over ten years, Kojirō now mounted without a trace of sentimentality.

To the saddle he tied travel provisions, rain gear, the household register document to present if questioned by district officials, and a bundle of bow and arrows—then descended with spirited vigor down the slope that began immediately after exiting Toyota Manor. Somewhere he sensed Emishi Hagi’s face watching him off, but no matter how he turned around, looked up, or gazed at the mulberry fields spread out ahead, she was nowhere to be seen. You’ll be killed. When passing through Musashino Plain. Yet despite having been whispered to with such heated breath, thoughts of his own death never once arose in his mind. The dewy fruit-like nape of her neck, the slightly curled black hair scented with boar oil, the lips that had gnashed her front teeth back then—only such things flickered across his mind’s eye.

Swamps, rivers, another swamp, reed wetlands. On wilderness roads, the nuisance was water. If one were to set out from Sarushima in Shimōsa and head toward the directions of Katsushika, Saitama, and Adachi in Musashi, the rivers—both large and small—could be said to crisscross endlessly. Centered around the Great Tonegawa—reverently called Bandō Tarō as its arterial lifeline—the waters were less like veins flowing through this landmass and more akin to something rampaging wildly across it.

“Hey.”

“Toyota’s lad, where might you be off to?”

The second day of the journey.

Kojirō was called out by someone.

When he noticed the person behind him, he hurriedly dismounted from his horse in a manner unlike himself. He even bowed. “Was it you, Lord Michiyuki?” “Wako.” “Just where are you going all alone, Wako?” “By my uncle’s order, I’m taking this chestnut horse for breeding.” “To which pasture?” “To Yokoyama Pasture.” “What? To Yokoyama?” “All by yourself, Wako?” “Yes.”

Michiyuki too was mounted. Behind him trailed seven or eight attendants. ...He gazed down from his saddle, scrutinizing Kojirō with an air of pity— “Yokoyama lies too distant.” “It approaches Sasago Mountain’s foothills near Kai.” “Since I journey to Hiki District Office, have your mare bred at Sugō Pasture nearby instead.”

“I’ll be scolded. By my uncles.” “I’ll dispatch a messenger from the office to make those at Yokoyama Pasture keep their mouths properly shut. Since I’ll see to it that Governor Kunika remains ignorant of this, join my retinue.” “Yes. Then I’ll do that.”

Sugawara no Michiyuki was someone he respected. He himself held no particular impression of the man, but this stemmed from his deceased father Yoshimochi having praised him. According to his late father’s accounts, this man—though now serving as a local official of lower rank than Governor Kunika of Hitachi in these rural hinterlands—had in truth once risen to become Minister of the Right in the imperial court, where even the most learned scholars could not rival his erudition. It was said he was the third biological son of Lord Sugawara no Michizane.

Lord Sugawara’s name was known even in such remote regions—there was no one who did not know it. For thirteen years now since his death in exile at Chikushi, he had been deified—though why this occurred remained unclear—and now resounded not as an object of reverence but rather as something fearsome. At the foot of Mount Tsukuba lay a modest manor of the Sugawara family. Michiyuki had enshrined his father’s remains at the foot of Mount Tsukuba, settled there, and was said to be spending his remaining years as a local official.

The rumors about the village that had once been widely discussed were also vaguely remembered by Kojirō. Such things had vaguely shaped his courtesy and rendered even his manner of speech polite. For Michiyuki, there had been something immediately suspicious about Kojirō’s journey—a sense that something was amiss. After Yoshimochi’s death, it was not difficult to discern what the three uncles who had entered Toyota Mansion and were acting as guardians intended. Though he was his superior, Michiyuki understood well through his administrative duties what sort of character Taira no Kunika—the Governor of Hitachi—possessed.

“By meeting me, you’ve saved your life.” Michiyuki subtly informed Kojirō and took him to Sugō Pasture, where even there— “I will now head to the Hiki District Office on official business and return to my homeland. But you are the heir of Lord Yoshimochi, and above all, a child of an imperial lineage house. You must take care of yourself. Do you understand?” he earnestly admonished.

“Yes… Uh-huh.” “…Uh-huh.”

Kojirō nodded repeatedly. But how much he had truly grasped remained doubtful. The day after parting with him, when the administrator of the Mikuriya there mated the chestnut mare he had brought with the prized stud horse, Kojirō gazed in rapt attention, not uttering a single word until it ended, his entire body burning as if filled with blood. Mount Fuji was still young. After spending several days idling at the pasture and deliberately allowing enough time as if he had gone to Yokoyama, he returned to the main house of Toyota Mansion with an innocent face.

“...You did go to Yokoyama, did you not?”

The elder uncle and younger uncle both made strange faces in unison. They did not even say a word of acknowledgment. In the northern mountains of Hitachi Kasama, a fast horse arrived with news that the palisade dwellers—composed solely of Emishi who had long resisted the plain’s warlords—had risen in revolt, and for about ninety days thereafter, Kunika, Yoshimasa, and the others were nowhere to be seen. In the spring and autumn of the following year as well, the same revolts occurred frequently. Since his uncles were preoccupied, Kojirō spread his wings. He was also blessed with frequent opportunities to meet Emishi Hagi. The household members reviled her bloodline, but he made no such distinction. Naturally, her ripe body too had grown blind to that truth. Emishi Hagi crawled through the perilous dry moat from the slave quarters, leapt over the high fence, and stole in at midnight. That she was risking her life became clear even to Kojirō’s dull senses. Branded by her skin, he could not remain unaware.

But one winter night that year—no, rather, a frost-whitened frozen morning after dawn.

There was a girl who had fallen to the bottom of the dry moat and lay dead like a raven’s corpse. It was Emishi Hagi. “Kojirō. Go look.” Pushed down by his younger uncle, Kojirō had no choice but to go look. From the cliff edge, beneath a curtain of icicles resembling upside-down planted spears, something like a rag could be seen. He broke out in goosebumps all over his face, bit down on his quivering lips, and with those very legs, bolted like a runaway horse toward Ōmusubi no Maki pasture.

He spent even the New Year sleeping on straw in the stable alongside the pasture horses. To him, the company of horses felt warmer than any human household.

It was February.

In the inner chambers of the mansion, Taira no Kunika, the Governor of Hitachi, sat upon a fur pelt with his uncles Yoshikane and Yoshimasa positioned to his left and right, and delivered his decree to Kojirō. “Go to the Capital for study.” “Go study to become more human.” Kojirō sullenly kept his mouth shut. Perhaps taking this as defiance, even the younger uncle lowered his voice, “What the hell are you— “You’ve disgraced Emperor Kanmu’s blood by consorting with that Emishi slave—what an astonishing fool. We can’t even face your dead father now.” “For the family’s sake—for your own sake—go to the Capital and study.” “Even if you return before you’ve properly grown up and become a decent human being, you won’t be allowed back into this house.”

Immediately, a small amount of gold dust for travel expenses, a full set of traveling attire, and a letter were placed before Kojirō’s eyes. There was no refusing it. Kojirō took them and began to withdraw.

“Wait, wait,” called Kunika. “—Don’t you dare lose that letter on the way. It’s a request from me to Lord Fujiwara no Tadahira, the current Minister of the Right—specifically asking him to keep it for future use.” “Listen well—endure for however many years it takes, and return as a man of stature so that we can face your late father Yoshimochi without shame.”

By now, even Kojirō could somewhat discern the intentions of these three uncles. Kojirō wanted to retort with some spiteful remark, but being sent to Kyoto was such an unexpected joy that he found no opportunity to voice it.

Thus did this wild child of the fields set out eagerly westward on his first journey to Kyoto—a capital that already stirred in him a homesickness spanning a thousand ri.

Engi 18. It was the spring of Kojirō's sixteenth year. The uncles did not give him even a single horse from their numerous stock. But he walked without feeling any discontent. It took him three or four days just to walk from one end of Musashino Plain to the other. If he simply followed the trails left by others, he never struggled to find a grass hut to sleep in each night. On the day he looked up at Mount Fuji so close at hand, he burned with emotion. When he reached the capital, he felt as if Mount Fuji’s plumes of volcanic smoke were urging him: Study. Rise to greatness.

Mount Fuji, which in recent years had begun rumbling again, now spewed plumes of smoke with renewed vigor. And when the wind shifted direction, it rained down ash so thickly that even Musashino's grasses turned white. Kojirō scraped at the ash caked around his hair roots with a fingernail, staring at it as though beholding some alien substance. Reaching Tōkai's shores, he found salt-burning huts and fishermen's lives already carrying a different cultural air from Shimōsa's environs. Along Suruga Road lay towns he'd never glimpsed before and temples standing solemn. Then when night fell, Fuji's smoke appeared like blossoms of flame, while the sea glowed with such beauty it might have been burning outright.

The Heian capital must be even more beautiful than this. How noble must the people passing by be? The untamed nature within him—still bearing the face of a youth—envisioned the Fujiwara-dominated court and streets known only through others' tales, and he felt his heart race even at the shame of one day joining their midst.

My Ephemeral Heaven

A day in late spring of Engi 18.

Sōma no Kojirō finally reached Mount Ōsaka, just before Kyoto, after spending over fifty days traveling from his native Shimōsa.

“If you cross that low mountain over there, the Heian capital will already be spread out below your eyes.” At the foot of Shiga Temple, having been told this, he climbed the long slope to its summit—keeping his sweat-beaded face pointed straight ahead and his chest swelling with anticipation until the western vista unfolded before him. “Ah…” And then he stood frozen—blankly, with a rapt expression, as if his very soul had been cast into the heavens. His fervent longing for the unknown world was rewarded by a terrestrial vista beyond anything he had imagined. All things across the vast basin enclosed by the gentle lines of purplish mountains seemed to him imbued with extraordinary radiance. Even the Kamo River flowing through the city did not seem like merely a river with ordinary water running through it. He wondered if there truly existed in this world a land identical to the “Pure Land Mandala” he had once worshipped deep within a temple.

“Ah… I’ve come to the capital.” "...This is the capital." The tear-prone boy’s innocence wet his cheeks at some point. It was a tremor of emotion at the thought that he too, from this day forth, would stand among the capital’s people and live within that majestic society. And he kept his eyes fixed endlessly on the wondrous vista. The Heian capital of that time—said to measure one *ri* and five *chō* east to west, one *ri* and twelve *chō* north to south—was spread out in full view beneath a midday haze like sifted pearl powder. In the central district of the city, government buildings and halls—clearly identifiable even from afar as part of the Twelve Gates of the Greater Imperial Palace—radiated a splendor reminiscent of peacock-colored tiles and vermilion-lacquered gateways, forming a grand complex. The avenues, beginning with Suzaku and Ōmiya and stretching from First Avenue to Ninth Avenue, along with thirty-two crisscrossing lanes, appeared to divide the city blocks into an orderly grid like a Go board. Moreover, certain spots—likely those along intersections and canals—were dyed with willows and cherry trees, their roofs seemingly resonating with the Manyōshū’s poetic diction and melodies of the Kokinshū, as if composed in rivalry by those who dwelled beneath them. Every traveler standing here must have uniformly felt: *This* is where such beauty rightfully belongs—

All the more reason it was inevitable that Sōma no Kojirō—born to the untamed soil of the Bandō Plain, who each morning saw the plumes from Nasu and Asama, who spent his days raised among wild horses in pastures, who knew not even the faintest trace of culture amidst coarse earth, harsh winds, and rough people—now stood struck by a trance-like wonder: *Could this too be earth where humans dwell?*

“Wako, where are you from? Where have you come from, and where are you headed?” Suddenly spoken to by someone in this manner, he finally came back to himself.

It was a middle-aged woman in nun’s attire. She appeared to have climbed the same long slope and, having risen to her feet, was resting right beside him. The lonely sorrow-filled boy quickly grew accustomed to the nun’s friendliness. And so he talked and talked—about having come all the way from Shimōsa in the Eastern Provinces, about how he now carried a letter of introduction from his uncle and intended to visit Lord Fujiwara no Tadahira’s residence, stay until his coming-of-age day to devote himself to scholarly pursuits, then return home as a man of accomplishment—sharing even his distant future dreams as they walked together through the streets of Kyoto.

A single bonfire. “Not yet?” “Lord Tadahira’s residence?” “Auntie… you really do know where the residence is, right?” Kojirō, having grown somewhat uneasy, asked the nun. “Ah, don’t you worry,” she said. “I’ll take you all the way to the gate there.”

The nun nodded calmly at first, just as promised.

However, even for Kojirō—a rustic from the provinces—walking the same path twice or finding himself back at a crossroads he had already turned at once made it impossible not to grow suspicious. The nun chattered away. “The Minister of the Right’s household you’re about to visit has its main residence in Koichijō, but there’s also a villa in Kujō, and Kawara no Sekisui-tei by the river is another one of his residences. “Which of these would be best for you to visit? Since I’m the sort who can’t rest unless I’ve shown every possible kindness when being kind to others, I ended up wandering and wandering instead.” She kept on talking. “Wako, “Let’s rest here for a bit. “We’re nearly at the gate now, but really—you can’t visit the Minister of the Right’s residence with such wild, unkempt hair. They’ll laugh you out of court…”

Thinking her a truly kind nun, Kojirō sat down as she instructed and let his gaze wander about the surroundings. He did not know what temple this was, but there stood a mountain gate and halls nearby, while a spray of cherry blossoms enveloping the five-story pagoda’s midsection stained the entire ground in dappled fallen petals. The only thing that made him feel desolate was how dusk’s shadows were deepening even upon his own shadow.

“Hey, Wako…” said the nun as they sat resting side by side, immediately speaking up. “That travel pack on your back looks bulging—there’s still an uneaten lunch box inside, isn’t there?” “If so, give me that lunch box as my payment.” “Truth be told, I’m starving—can’t take another step.” She stretched out her hand and begged with exaggerated pitifulness. Now it made sense—why this nun had been eyeing his travel pack from the start—Kojirō finally connected the dots. Though his own hunger had equally yearned to unpack and eat, he’d restrained himself out of deference to his companion. And so he swiftly retrieved it from his pack and placed it in the nun’s hands.

The nun started eating without even a word of thanks. To begin with, there had only been a few meager oak-wrapped rice bundles cooked over cheap firewood that morning, but the nun clutched the bamboo-leaf package to her lap, bared her yellow teeth, and devoured them voraciously. Even a single grain clinging to the crook of her overgrown, filthy fingers—she licked it off with her tongue in relish, immediately set upon the next one, until finally, without giving Kojirō a single morsel, she devoured them all.

“I’ll go beg some hot water from the temple folks and have a sip before coming back.” “Wako, you wait right here now.”

The nun left.

The nun’s figure vanished from sight, and the surroundings grew dark. He grew exhausted from waiting and fidgeted restlessly. Then, from behind the hall where the light of the bonfire had been blazing crimson since earlier, a large man came shuffling forward. And then, right before Kojirō, he sniffed loudly with his nostrils and thrust his bearded face forward.

“Hey, wandering kid. “Your body—I bought it from that beggar nun just now. “You’re one lucky bastard. “If I hadn’t bought you, you’d surely end up sold to slave traders from the distant provinces. “But I’ve had so much taken from me by that greedy nun—look at me now, stripped down to practically nothing. “C’mon kid, get over here!”

Behind the hall’s bonfire were about seven men. They chattered in crude voices with raucous laughter, all bearing fierce eyes and deadly weapons like spears and nodachi, their fiendish red faces uniformly lined up as they lay sprawled slovenly around the flames.

“Well? Everyone—this kid’s a real steal, ain’t he?” The man who’d grabbed Kojirō’s arm and dragged him here sneered at what seemed to be his comrades, boasting loudly as he made this declaration.

“What do you expect? Dealing with that greedy nun from Kurodani—even if it’s dirt cheap, there’s no haggling with her.” “She tried to charge me a bag of brown rice and my one undergarment, but I figured his full worth and bought him.” “...How ’bout it? This kid—” Heavily, they all rose up, looked at Kojirō’s face, scrutinized his attire, and ran their gimlet eyes over his entire figure,

“Cheap.” “This here’s a steal, I tell ya!” barked one of them, and the rest took up the jeer—“Cheap! Cheap!”—scattering curses like spit. “So what—that transaction just now, you whispering in each other’s ears with that Kurodani nun in the shadows—that was your deal?”

“Even just the hunting robe and tachi the kid’s wearing could cover more than the cost of the goods.” “Cheeky bastard.” “Hogging all the profit ain’t right.” “You’re breaking the Yasaka Group’s code.” “Buy us some booze!” “That’s right. “Hey, Fushinin.” “Buy us some booze and treat everyone!” “Otherwise, we’ll have no use for the Yasaka Group’s code.” Comrades, they called themselves. A gang, they claimed. What manner of gang was this? Naturally, Kojirō had no capacity to comprehend. He wore a dreamlike expression, merely placing himself blankly amidst the strange hues of the flames there and the peculiar conversations of the men. He showed some signs of bewilderment, but seemed to feel no personal anxiety whatsoever.

The Prophesied End Times

The Heian capital that Sōma no Kojirō first beheld from the heights of Mount Ōsaka at midday was by no means a hallucination of his. It was undeniably the manifestation of a human paradise designed by the imperial court—the proud, tangible form of Fujiwara culture celebrated throughout the land, here upon the earth. However, when they took a single step into the city proper, the disparity between surface and reality was so extreme that even travelers of that era must have been taken aback.

Indeed, having passed through the eras of Asuka and Nara, when the capital was first established there, its scale and planning were so hastily modeled after Tang Dynasty continental styles that they were overly inclined toward vast ideals utterly mismatched with the nation’s actual power. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say that the nobles, under their own lifestyle designs and intentions of prosperity, conceived it without considering the lives of petty commoners or the workings of greater forces.

Therefore, as the years passed, the Heian capital traced a truly bizarre trajectory of development.

For example, the buildings and districts housing the Palace Gates, Grand Council of State, and Eight Ministries were so splendidly ornate they might have leapt from a Sui or Tang dynasty painting—yet venture just beyond the grid-like streets radiating from this center, and the mud defied description. When dry, cow dung swirled as dust across a quarter of the Left Capital and over a third of the Right Capital’s entire area: rice fields, paddies, wetlands, meandering streams, vacant lots choked with weeds, ancient ponds, forests, and the wretched poor’s sagging plank-roofed tenements and slapped-together shacks. In fact, among them there still lived a great number of the destitute—even some who maintained the custom of living in caves.

Amidst such earth, grand temple complexes with pagodas and halls—towering here and there while boasting the splendor of the Pure Land—could be seen scattered. There, since Buddhism's arrival, monks whose roots in the imperial court and temples stood unshakable as prison walls had maintained vast domains of existence, willfully exercising privileges accumulated over centuries.

“Idiots! What are you praying to?” said the one who raged against them, mimicking a monk’s tone. “Shakyamuni has prophesied: The Buddha’s teachings—even their light of spiritual power—can endure for at most five hundred years. Once the thousand years of the True Dharma and the thousand years of the Semblance Dharma have passed—after roughly two thousand years—they will perish. Afterward comes the Age of Dharma Decline—an era of strife and corruption—has this not been clearly revealed? Count the years—the current Engi era has already entered the Age of Dharma Decline. The world has been in decline since Kanpyō times—today’s chaos and human corruption hold no mystery at all.”

Such voices gradually began to be heard in the streets; though both the upper classes and commoners had grown far more skeptical of their own faith compared to times past, in this nation of unsophisticated intellectual standards there remained nothing else as compelling—nothing that could make the masses kneel unconditionally like the tolling of Buddha’s temple bells.

The Realm of White and Black Through successive reigns such as those of Emperors Tenji, Tenmu, Jitō, and Shōmu, the flourishing of Buddhism resulted in an immense number of temples being constructed nationwide. It would be no exaggeration to say that wealth, labor, and vigor—indeed, all the nation’s strength (which stemmed entirely from the sweat and taxes of the lower classes)—were poured limitlessly into this endeavor.

But the court nobles—as central adherents of this faith—had pursued within their own politics and private lives paths that did nothing but rapidly corrupt and degrade that very Buddhism. The Fujiwara faction’s prosperity and despotism over the past century or so was also its history. Even so, after the Taika Reforms, during that brief period when powerful ministers like Fujiwara no Momokawa and Yoritsugu rose in court—incessantly implementing land reforms and weighing the rectitude of systems and merits of kingly governance—a dawn-like freshness had seemed faintly visible even in the faces of Japan’s commoners. Yet once their tyranny persisted, once the imperial family and inner court all moved privately under Fujiwara bloodlines, ushering in a decade-long era where none outside their lineage could don robes and caps from central ministries down to provincial governors’ chief posts—the result now was a world that naturally bore this uncanny dual society. Thus came a state where both realities coexisted starkly upon the earth: a cultural capital woven with willows and cherry blossoms, such as Sōma no Kojirō had encountered, and a realm of darkness where demons parade—each as tangible as the other.

And these two groups, each subsisting on one side or the other, possessed as distinct modes of existence as black and white. It existed solely in two hues: the upper aristocracy and the impoverished vagrant class. At that time, there was no middle class in Japan. Even if there existed a scant few intellectuals and propertyless cultural figures resembling such, they too all wore tattered court robes, performing nominal service at the Eight Ministries of the imperial court under Fujiwara clan power or scraping by through stipend work in regent and minister households—society held neither the function nor space to sustain them. There was no middle class substantial enough to form a distinct stratum within the social structure.

Therefore, it should go without saying that every person Sōma no Kojirō came into contact with on his first day in the capital belonged to that black stratum. Even so, when it came to the question of what these men—gathered around will-o’-the-wisp-like flames in the temple precincts on this dark night, heedless of the late hour as they exchanged self-indulgent ramblings—sought in life or claimed as their vocation, Kojirō would not reach an understanding sufficient to grasp it easily unless he spent many more years actually living in this city.

Banquet of Vitriol

Pestered by his companions to treat them to drinks—"Serve us sake! Buy us rounds!"—the large man called Fushinin counted coins from the leather pouch at his waist and tossed them over. Then, one of them immediately ran off somewhere and soon returned carrying an unglazed clay sake bottle. "Come, let’s make this His Majesty’s banquet hall!" And then, forming an even tighter circle, they huddled together.

“Wait, wait—the fire’s looking a bit dismal.” “Don’t we have any firewood?” “What, firewood?” “What’re you on about? There’s loads right there!” The one who had pointed at the temple complex immediately climbed onto its corridor, tore off a portion of the already broken railing, then hauled out sutra desks and wooden Buddha heads from the inner sanctum, casually tossing them into the cluster of bonfires.

“Here!” “Still got more.” “Enough, enough already!” Thus, as they poured and passed around the thick liquid from the unglazed bottle, drinking in rounds until the sake finally began to course through their limbs—warmed by the fire’s heat—their talk, having exhausted its lewdness, abruptly shifted to venting the frustrations pent up in their hearts. Pressed tightly against Fushinin with no room to stand or flee, Kojirō could only stare blankly at this spectacle—but what truly shocked him was how these men denounced every last one of them as good-for-nothings and incompetents: whether current Ministers, Imperial Princes, or nobles from regent families, they reviled them all as fools inferior even to the common rabble nearby.

No—had their vilification stopped at court nobles, it might have been tolerable—but they went so far as to decry the Son of Heaven’s ineptitude and invoke the august names of past emperors like Kanmu, Saga, Junna, and Yōzei: sovereigns who had brought Fujiwara women into the inner chambers to fulfill their clan’s improper ambitions. "The clans that made this world what it is—they’re worse than villains! And those who let them do it are just as guilty! There’s no rule saying we gotta bow down just ’cause they’re called Son of Heaven!" "Since ancient times—way before we even need mention Emperor Nintoku-sama—the Emperors our ancestors told us about weren’t supposed to be like this!"

The tone, laden with bitter resentment, was not solely the work of alcohol.

By ancestral custom, they considered both the Son of Heaven and their parents as synonymous with their own. Therefore, just as children might revile their parents, they did not hesitate to spew vitriol against the august names of emperors and retired emperors. But according to Kojirō’s upbringing, this was a thunderstruck astonishment. The distorted form of affection between the Emperor and the commoners that lay beneath their words must have given rise to such language—but there was no time for such analysis. In his homeland of the Bandō Plain, it was utterly unthinkable to even mention the august name of the Emperor—let alone speak irreverently of provincial governors or district magistrates of that rank. For example, even toward envoys bearing official edicts from the capital’s regent families or the Grand Council of State to provincial offices, they had to prostrate themselves in obeisance—receiving the documents with utmost courtesy and literal reverence—so starkly was the absolute hierarchy of abasement and nobility made manifest.

"What was this? These people were…"

On his first night in the capital, he encountered his first doubt.

But he had no idea whatsoever. Even when he finally steadied his gaze and scrutinized their appearances in detail, there were youths whose refined demeanor and attire suggested they might be sons of court nobles, men who appeared to be hunters or cattle-herder bosses, those unmistakably fallen monks, and bearded figures clad in forester garb—nowhere was there any ethnic consistency among them. Even the names they used among themselves—starting with Yasaka no Fushinin, then Hagetaka, Kemushirō, Hokone, Anahiko, Kumota—held no trace of their professions. But within their wild tirades, there were occasional intellectual critiques that could not be dismissed as mere vulgarity, and Kojirō found himself pricking up his ears especially at the words of Yasaka no Fushinin, who seemed like a fallen court noble.

Yakaze Fushinin scolded the group’s idle chatter and said, “The assertion that many Emperors are foolish misses the mark.” “To speak of Emperor Nintoku is to tread on hallowed ground.” “Emperor Kanmu was a renowned sovereign—the very sort of wise sovereign we need to appear in our present age—and swiftly at that.” “In other words, it also depended on the courtiers of that time.” “The Fujiwara’s ascendancy—that’s what started this whole mess of corrupting the realm.” “The Taika Reforms—that grand undertaking—they perverted into a farcical system! Shattered the very foundation of governance meant to ban private fields and soldiers, all to carve up spoils for your own advancement!”

With eyes blazing, he denounced them vehemently while continuing to gulp cloudy sake and rant. “So… “It’s the chaos in the provinces and the rot of the capital. “Starting with the Ministers and Regents themselves—they ignore state ownership of land, hoard private fields across the provinces, and squeeze taxes from me. “As for local district magistrates and provincial governors—of course they’ll take it as a golden opportunity and follow suit. “Even temples and shrines—it’s only natural they’d feel they’re missing out if they don’t join in. “No—whether it’s officials dispatched from the Capital to the provinces, court nobles, Imperial Princes, or even their ilk of local bureaucrats—once they’re out in the countryside, they’ll hoard private fields, raise private soldiers, do whatever the hell they please, and decide it’s wiser to spend their lives that way. Look—those Envoys for Pacification and Control, Acting Governors, and whatever other titles they’re appointed with: once they descend to their posts, even if the central authorities summon them back, most just make excuses and never return to the Capital, isn’t that right?” “The result? Swarms of people—companions wallowing in self-destruction and resentment; peasants stripped of land and driven from their homes, wandering aimlessly; drifters who’ve tossed aside reason to live as they please; harlots; mobs of peasants snared in the net of harsh taxes—and then folks like us Yasaka Group members, who’ve made malice our guiding deity. We know it’s wrong, but we’ll defy this rotten world—robbery, theft, live fast and die hard—that’s how we’ve all ended up crawling out of the woodwork.”

Fushinin’s eloquence suddenly snapped off, his mouth clamping shut. “Wh-what is it?” he mocked the comrades who immediately grew suspicious and half-rose to their feet. With a laugh, he placed his large palm atop Kojirō’s head beside him, gripping and shaking it as if seizing something. “Kid. “You just stared at my face with those big eyes.” “You must’ve been shocked when you learned what we do.” “Listen up—I’ll train you too.” “Starting tomorrow, become my underling and learn that path.” “What Ministers or Regents? If the Fujiwara clan can flaunt their glory like they own this world, then we’ll form our own Uglyhara clan in the shadows—make those bastards foam at the mouth.” “Which do you think is more enjoyable—their golden halls and jade towers of splendor, or our way of life: nesting in dirt and crawling through the muck like demons? We’re itching to see whose idea of fun comes out on top.” “That’s why—for our work’s sake—we need one kid like you around.” “No reason to be scared.” “Even if we look like this, everyone here’s really just a bunch of good old men at heart—no need to stare so hard at people’s faces.”

He had not yet finished speaking. Hagetaka, who had been sitting directly across, jolted and stood up abruptly as if thrust upward.

“Something’s wrong.” “Still… something’s off?”

At the muttering, everyone looked up, “Hagetaka.” “What’s so suspicious?” “My intuition’s razor-sharp. … Truly, the sound of official horses’ hooves approaches from afar.”

“Cut it out, man.” “Nah, quit tryin’ to spook us, Hagetaka.”

“No! They’re close now. Here they come!” “Gah! For real?”

“Ah—Imperial Police!” The moment they all sprang up with a roar, Kojirō was knocked down and landed on the smoldering remains of the bonfire.

“Don’t panic. To the usual mountain cave!” Yasaka no Fushinin barked at his scrambling comrades while dragging Kojirō’s body sideways past the temple gate toward mountainous terrain. As he ran, figures emerged from an unforeseen shadow—a formation advancing in ranks. Whistling arrows tore through air and ground alike, their hollow rush preceding a downpour of projectiles. “Ah! This is bad!”

As he whirled around and changed direction, Kojirō's body was flung from his arm and lay sprawled flat against the earth. Two arrows struck his legs, and another lodged near his shoulder. After that, Kojirō knew nothing. When he came to his senses, he was inside a stinking, narrow, pitch-dark prison cell like a wild boar trap.

From gate to gate.

That place was undoubtedly within the gates of the Ministry of Justice—one of the Eight Ministries of the imperial government. Within the Ministry precincts lay divisions such as the Bureau of Confiscated Goods, Prison Bureau, Five Guards Office, Capital Office, and Provincial Governors’ Offices—each occupying their own compounds with administrative halls. Robed and capped officials ambled leisurely along long vermilion-and-azure-painted Tang-style corridors connecting these buildings, documents tucked under their arms. There had once been the Danjōdai (Imperial Police Agency), but now it stood abolished. In its place, the Kebiishi-chō (Office of Imperial Police) had been established, and in recent times it had become the most active institution within the Ministry of Justice’s administration.

Needless to say, within its jurisdiction here lay patrol, investigation and censure, interrogation, hearing petitions, pursuit and capture, imprisonment, sentencing, and release of prisoners—encompassed all aspects of penal and prosecutorial administration. Beyond the forbidden gates—not just the capital itself but also oversaw judicial affairs throughout the capital region and the entire nation—with regional Imperial Police appointed in each province.

"I'm not a criminal. I haven't done anything wrong." Since last night, whenever he regained consciousness, Kojirō had kept repeating this to quell his own anxiety. That this was a prison became immediately apparent to him. In the cell's corners apart from himself lay several prisoners sprawled like malodorous beasts, utterly drained of vitality.

“Kid. Did you start fires too? Or steal things?” they asked him. Sōma no Kojirō would sometimes let tears trickle down. It was something—a deep resentment. The purity of his childlike heart trembled at the outrageousness of it all. “I am a sixth-generation descendant of Emperor Kanmu,” he declared inwardly. “I am the son of Taira no Yoshimochi, a Bandō warrior of a powerful clan.” To rouse his own purity, his chest seethed with the murmur of blood he had never before been conscious of.

"When I stand before the officials, I must declare that and act with authority." He bit his lip and waited in the prison cell.

Then, last night, the low-ranking constable who had made him drink the “wake-up water” showed his eyes through the peephole,

“Hey, look who’s all feisty, kid. You’ll be out soon,” he told me.

Soon, a robed and capped prison official, accompanied by subordinates—clerks, scribes, and prison guards—stood stationed outside,

“Release him.” He commanded with a jerk of his chin. Then they seated Kojirō in the courtyard of the Petition Gate, interrogated him about why he had been among the Yasaka gang of bandits, and upon hearing his reason, refrained from pressing him further and returned his belongings before his eyes. And then,

“You may return now,” he instructed. Among his belongings were important documents from his great-uncle, Kunika, Governor of Hitachi Province, addressed to Fujiwara no Tadahira. He untied them, rejoiced to confirm their presence, then placed them in his robe and left the white sand courtyard. Then, the prison warden accompanied him to the gate and kept intently observing Kojirō’s demeanor, but

“Hey there, Eastern lordling. You’re truly going to Minister Tadahira’s residence?” he asked. “Yes, I am going there. Which way should I go?” “So—are you the one connected to Governor Kunika mentioned in these documents? Is that truly the case?” “Yes. Kunika is my great-uncle. I am Sōma no Kojirō, son of Taira no Yoshimochi of the Bandō warlord clan.” By saying this, Kojirō secretly felt a triumphant flush rise to his cheeks, thinking that even the prison warden would understand he was an imperial descendant without needing to be told.

Just as expected, the prison warden altered his demeanor. And if one were setting foot in the capital for the first time, even the Minister’s residence would be impossible to find. He showed kindness by offering to assign a hōmen—a low-ranking investigator later known as meakashi—as his guide—

“Here you are, Lord Kojirō. “Now, when you personally deliver that letter to Minister Tadahira—should His Lordship inquire about any matters along the way... well, for such reasons, you might mention how Inukai no Yoshitsugu, prison warden of the Ministry of Justice, provided you with most heartwarming care throughout the night... Make sure that part sounds favorable, will you?” “You see…” “This humble official is counting on you.” “Do not forget this humble official’s name.” he said with a straight face, making a blatant request for self-promotion.

White Powder Makeup Commencement

The hōmen was an easygoing man.

“When you say ‘Bandō,’ that’s pretty far east, isn’t it?” “You actually came all alone, huh?” “Didn’t run into trouble like last night’s mess multiple times on the road?” “Nuh-uh,” Kojirō shook his head— “That was my first time ever getting into anything like that.” “I heard there’s loads of bandits in Suzuka Pass and Kaidō, but I just stuck close behind grown-ups whenever I traveled.” “Clever one, aren’t you.” “So what’re you aiming to become in the capital?”

“I’m gonna study all sorts of things—learn how to be a proper man—then head back home.” “That’s preposterous. If you wanna become decent folk, you’d do better apprenticing in the countryside from the capital.”

An ox-drawn carriage approached from ahead. Jolted by the rutted road, its bamboo curtain clattered noisily. As Kojirō sidestepped the mud puddles to let it pass, his chest tightened at the pale face and jet-black hair of a noblewoman glimpsed through the curtain’s fluttering edge. Then came the scent—an elusive fragrance from robes of pale plum and indigo-dyed undergarments layered beneath her outer silks—that left him convinced its trail would haunt him for hours.

“Hey. Mr. Hōmen.” “What is it, Kogansha?”

“This might be a strange question to ask, but why are the people in the capital—women too... and even some men sometimes—so pale?”

“Ha ha ha! You don’t know about white powder at all then?”

“What’s white powder?” “It’s something you apply to your face for makeup. There are types made with lead powder and others crafted from glutinous rice flour.” “Ohhh. So they stick it on their faces?” “Isn’t it obvious? Women began using white powder over two hundred years ago during Emperor Jitō’s reign—hasn’t even that custom reached the Eastern Provinces yet?” “I’ve never seen it before. At first, I really thought they were naturally pale people.” “Then you wouldn’t know about rouge either. They say rouge was first made by a monk named Donchō during Empress Suiko’s reign—but here’s the kicker—white powder too supposedly started when some monk called Kansei offered it to the emperor. Both essentials for women’s paint coming from holy men! Ain’t that a laugh?”

“That’s a lie. That was brought over from China by ship by the Kentōshi missions.” “Hoh. You know quite a bit, don’t you. But it must’ve been monks who imported it in the first place. Why is it that monks are so surprisingly resourceful despite all that? If they’d only brought things like the Great Perfection of Wisdom Sutra and Chinese texts, it’d be too lacking in charm—they must’ve realized that wouldn’t serve as a proper means to spread the Buddha’s teachings.” “Mr. Hōmen, are we there yet? And Koichijō?”

“Ah.” “It’s already in sight.” “That’s it—the long earthen wall you see over there, the gates, the many great roofs, the trees on the artificial hills—the whole enclosed area is none other than Koichijō-in’s mansion.”

Kojirō had already forgotten even to respond to his companion. As they drew closer, his pupils were struck by the beauty of that grand and elegant shinden-style mansion until his very body tensed with nothing but awe and a certain fear. “Ah… It seems today they’ve invited guests again for a banquet and music.” “…There—you hear that?” “That court dance and music—you should be able to hear it drifting through.” At a spot somewhat removed from the gate, the two of them suddenly came to a halt. Sure enough, just as his hōmen companion had said, through the trees beyond the earthen wall came drifting—as if descending from gaps between heavenly clouds—the melodies of court music: mouth organ, Japanese zither, hand drum, flute. Stealthily borne on spring breezes, they flowed even into Kojirō’s ears, caked with travel grime.

Scattering Coins

“Do the courtiers of the many-pillared palace find respite? Adorned with cherry blossoms, they spent today as well.” Having gathered again today those who proudly composed such verses about their own lives, the area from Koichijō-in’s Tainoya guest quarters to Izumi Hall now brimmed—once the court music ceased—with host Tadahira’s booming laughter and guests’ coquettish chatter, all spilling audibly from the grand carriage gate to the edges of the walled servants’ quarters. “Kogansha.” “I’ll go ahead and arrange an introduction for you first, so wait around there.”

The hōmen passed through the carriage gate, glanced around the white sand-laid courtyard, and peered into the flat gate on the right—when from a corner servants’ quarters, a young servant in suikan attire suddenly came dashing over.

“Hey! “Stop! —Get out, get out!” With that, he pulled him back. While the hōmen—having come all this way in Kojirō’s stead—was exhaustively explaining the circumstances since the previous night, perhaps mistaken for some ruffian, household officials, samurai, and attendants came pouring out from deeper within, solemnly surrounding him. After exchanging glances, re-questioning him, and deliberating at length, they finally made the hōmen summon Kojirō inside.

The hōmen, as if regretting his excessive show of kindness, “Well then, I’ll…” he said, leaving behind a single bow before hastily departing. However, even afterward, they still surrounded Kojirō, blatantly showering him with curious eyes and suspicion as if observing an Emishi child—only listening to his story—while continuing to noisily deliberate.

And, in the end, “In the midst of His Lordship’s banquet. In a place where guests are present, such an ill-timed introduction would only risk incurring displeasing reprimands. For now, keep the boy there and ensure he remains out of sight.” With that, the senior household official’s directive was issued, and Kojirō was made to walk from there further into the outer courtyard, “Wait there.” And he was put into the place the attendant pointed to.

That place was a carriage shed at the mansion’s corner—a waiting hut for attendants. Numerous ox-drawn carriages were hauled in, and here and there, cow dung formed mounds. Between the dung and drool and cows’ tails, even if one spoke of color, there was nowhere for it to exist. Even though it was late spring, silver flies were already swarming in. Exhausted from standing, Kojirō peered into the building beside the carriage shed. There, over ten cowherds and attendants—who had accompanied their respective masters—gathered, huddled around a single straw mat with bloodshot eyes fixed on something.

It was gambling. A form of gambling commonly called "coin toss," which the commoners of that era enthusiastically engaged in. The banker man placed several holed coins in both palms, let them hear the rattling sound, then flung them down onto the mat. They would bet on whether the coins landed inscribed-side up or patterned-side up.

Kojirō too was peering in. Gambling flourished even in the Bandō region. But they used more primitive gambling methods there, and moreover never bet coins so roughly. What they wagered were only things like rice, fur, cloth, and such.

Even there, he found his eyes dazzled.

The way coins were treated like mere pebbles was one thing, but what truly exhilarated him were the raw human greed etched on their faces as they faced each other, the fiery back-and-forth of their voices, and the scenes of combat so charged with murderous intent they seemed ready to erupt.

Minister of the Right Tadahira Just by observing what the adults were doing, Kojirō found himself sufficiently stirred—his blood roused and boredom forgotten. But soon, as the hands of those handling coins became enveloped in evening dusk and they began to want light—around that time. “Ox drivers, all of you. All the guests appear to be preparing to depart. Now, line up by the carriages and stand ready.” The instruction was conveyed by someone from the inner quarters.

At that signal, both winners and losers all streamed out and began hauling away their respective ox-drawn carriages. Amidst the frantic creaking and groaning of wheel ruts, after the dappled oxen had crossed through the evening gloom, neither dung nor flies remained visible. Scattered late cherry blossoms—from where they had strayed—barely traced the vestiges of late spring, while around Izumi Hall, or so it seemed, the faint croak of frogs echoed in the distance. Kojirō was munching on something in the shadows. He must have scavenged leftovers from the bento boxes distributed to attendants by the household. Even that Ministry of Justice prison warden—who’d made such a self-serving demand—had given prisoners nothing but gruel for food. Here too, with no certainty of when he’d be fed next, he’d hurriedly stuffed his belly.

But there was no need to worry. The household official and attendant from earlier had not forgotten him. The shadow of a paper torch swayed closer, and he was taken once more to the garden before the Heian gate. It seemed certain that the message he had previously stated and the letter from his uncle Kunika had already been relayed by household officials and conveyed to Minister of the Right Tadahira. Though it was by no means treatment befitting a guest, they permitted him to first enter one of the buildings. As he began to untie his straw sandals, from behind the lattice door across the courtyard—

“Hey! Hey!” “Where’s Shinga, the household official?” “Old Shinga—get over here now!” A figure stood bellowing, his expression thick with displeasure. Even through aged ears receiving the voice from afar, Shinga never misheard the vocal mannerisms of his master—the Fujiwara clan’s patriarch, who remained oblivious to how his will went unheeded in the world. “Yes! Yes!” “This lowly Shinga stands before Your Excellency.” “What command does Your Excellency issue?”

“Here, you insolent fool. “Act your age!” “Ah, has something displeased you?” “You jester of an old man! “No matter how busy you were tidying up after guests, why did you neglect what I so strictly ordered?” It was said that his late elder brother Fujiwara no Tokihira—renowned for his booming voice—had often overpowered Sugawara no Michizane, that scholar-politician, in upper-chamber debates with that very voice. As for his younger brother Tadahira, perhaps because he too possessed a robust physique and was this year thirty-eight—a man in his prime—he would occasionally unleash shouts no less formidable than his brother’s.

“While you are reprimanding me, might I humbly request that you repeat your command once more? Perhaps this old fool has indeed grown somewhat senile with age—when faced with today’s bustle, I find myself, quite inadvertently, forgetting things.” “It’s about that Eastern brat. The boy who supposedly brought Kunika’s letter. Do you still not understand?” “Y-yes. Regarding that young lordling—how to handle him per your command…” “Ugh, you useless senile fool! What I was referring to was the lad Kunika sent off on his journey—alone, without any attendants. In any case, he cannot possibly be a decent sort. Moreover—above all—we cannot know what filth that brat may have touched during his long journey from the distant provinces. No—in fact, did I not myself report that he slept in a prison cell last night and was brought here today as far as the gate by the release of defiled individuals? No—unacceptable, unacceptable! Someone tainted by filth must not be allowed into any part of the mansion’s buildings. That above all is crucial. Summon a kannagi priest and confine him to a cowshed outside the earthen wall until the purification ritual is complete. I said that. Yet here you are, old man—carelessly trying to invite that very thing into the mansion over there, are you not?”

“Oh! Oh! That—I’ve already done it.” “It’s too late. Immediately purify the area where you admitted the filthy one. And immediately purify the boy’s body as well—make him undergo a water purification ritual.” In the end, Tadahira flew into such a rage that his shoulders trembled.

This bizarre manner of rage appeared almost pathological, but neither Shinga nor the other servants seemed to regard this furious outburst as unnatural. Deranged Aristocratic Class

Why was this so?—because this was common knowledge—not only to the Fujiwara clan patriarch here but also within the imperial court and among all court nobles: at the mere mention of “contact with impurity,” they would shudder until their hair stood on end. To purge defilement, they would close their gates for days on end, discard ceremonial robes, suspend attendance at court, and refuse visitors. Intense faith had, on the other hand, eventually come to be accompanied by extreme superstition. They were people of the upper class who could not survive without the delusional comforts of diverse superstitions—incantations, ritual prayers, purification rites, Onmyōdō, taboos, evil spirits, divination, and the like. Above all, the ideology of impurity—deeply rooted and entwined with both Shinto and Buddhism—had corroded one facet of daily life with a severe pathological psychology.

For instance, if one were to come into contact with death impurity, the highest mourning period was thirty days, and purification rites had to be conducted for at least seven days. Those who touched a woman in childbirth, those who touched the death of livestock, those from a house that caused a fire—all were deemed defiled by contact. Not only that individual but also those around them—household members and even visiting acquaintances—would not infrequently suffer the same fate. If one sought examples in historical records, incidents emerged in such numbers that enumeration was impossible. To cite two or three examples—

Tenryaku 1 of Emperor Suzaku’s reign: when a dog belonging to a minor captain of the Left Palace Guards was said to have brought back a fragment of human bone in its mouth, the entire Guards headquarters was declared impure for thirty days and its gates sealed. That same month: after a boy from the ritual hall—unaware of the contamination—drew water from the Palace Guards’ well and used it, the entire palace compound observed seven days of impurity. During Emperor Kōkō’s reign: when strands of hair from a deceased girl were discovered south of Jōgan Hall, they consulted ritual scriptures and conducted thirty days of purification rites. Beyond these incidents—whether blocking crossroads where a newborn’s umbilical cord had fallen, or shaking soil from fire-ravaged sites to appease fire gods—there had never been an era when madness-inducing calamity deities tormented the upper class’s psyche so thoroughly.

This could not strictly be called impurity, but among the nobles of that era—adorned in the court's fragile elegance—their daily belief in the tangible existence of curses from objects, vengeful living spirits, and malevolent dead spirits meant most bore neurotic dispositions, while some among them developed conditions bordering on madness. This stands as testament that monopolizing splendor did not necessarily equate to happiness alone. Moreover, the extravagance and debauchery of this class had shortened each individual's lifespan. Many died young before even reaching thirty or forty.—They earnestly believed this too to be the work of vengeful spirits, attributing it to Sugawara no Michizane's wrathful ghost.

In the Engi era, the most gloomy manifestation of this existed within the current imperial court. Emperor Daigo of that time, having wholeheartedly embraced the vengeful spirit theory regarding Michizane, ultimately succumbed to illness; as for his crown prince Hiroakira—they had not exposed him to a single day of sunlight for three years since his birth. Night and day they kept lamps burning within his curtained chamber, stationing guards in rotating night watches as they fearfully guarded the fragile thread of life binding that pitiful white lump of flesh—such being the extraordinary fact that existed.

Horses, do not be lonely.

Tadahira—utterly unlike his stern father Mototsune—was but a pampered child: indecisive, petty, and self-indulgent. That he had attained the illustrious post of Minister of the Right as a statesman and, as clan patriarch, flaunted a lifestyle surpassing even his father and elder brother’s, yet harbored within some recess of his heart a ceaseless churn of feeble delusions and madness—this was not difficult to surmise. He had gone to the trouble today of dispelling the gloom of late spring by inviting guests, only for that lowly provincial governor Kunika from some distant region to send over an unwelcome nuisance accompanied by a letter—a development that made him click his tongue in irritation. Yet since this was the son of Taira no Yoshimochi, he could not simply dismiss the boy with outright rudeness. For Yoshimochi had been a man who, during his lifetime, unfailingly paid obeisance at the Fujiwara clan’s gates in all matters and had even been eager to serve in managing the private fields they held in the Eastern Provinces.

But he had no goodwill sufficient to consider doing anything for that orphan. On the contrary, what suddenly grazed his mind was the worry about impurity he most detested on a daily basis. The fatigue from a day of boisterous excitement—aided by that very concern—abruptly erupted into a furious outburst directed at Old Man Shinga. For his part, Shinga had come to the zōshiki room again and was yelling. The result rebounded onto Kojirō—the very one who had once been invited up to that threshold. Kojirō was taken out through the side earthen wall gate to the riverbank, stripped completely naked, and thrust into the waters of the Kamo River.

“Wash away the defilement—the defilement.” “Until the morning sun rises from the eastern peak, you must immerse yourself again and again, purify, and pray to all heavenly realms to cleanse this impurity.” “Do you understand?” “By day you’ll remain confined to the hut, and by night—ah yes—by night you must perform seven days of purification rites.”

Shinga barked his orders, then withdrew into the mansion grounds with the zōshiki attendants in tow. Kojirō—truth be told—could make no sense of any of it. Yet believing this might count among his inaugural duties for the Minister of the Right’s household, he abruptly thrust up nothing but his head from the rapids. The water still held a cold so biting it might have melted snow itself. In the current’s grip, the bones of his limbs seemed to fuse inward toward his ribs—but when he loosed a great whooshing breath skyward, there it hung: the blurred moon at dead center of Heian-kyō’s nightscape.

"...That moon too has come to the capital. Ah... I too am in the capital." He drew many horse faces upon the hazy clouds. To the horses who must even this night be peacefully sleeping in the stables of Ōmusubi no Maki back home, treading upon their stable straw, he spoke from his heart. My friends, do not be lonely. I am happy. To become a man of the capital, the waters of the Kamo River are now washing away the grime of my journey.

Attendants' Idle Talk

The Engi era lasted until its twenty-second year, after which it was renamed the Enryaku era starting from the following year. Sōma no Kojirō was now twenty-one years old. Five years had passed since he began serving the Minister of the Right’s household—before one knew it. He was at that cocky prime of youth—one could say. Of course, he had undergone his coming-of-age ceremony, been permitted to wear swords, and was now a full-fledged man. Though when he tied his hair neatly and wore stain-free cloth garments he was often mocked as a child of the eastern barbarians, lately he had somehow come to appear as an ordinary servant in his role as a minor attendant at the Minister’s residence.

Within the mansion grounds，his role was that of one of the low-ranking servants known as ox-cart attendants．When his master went out，he would pull out the ox-cart，walk alongside it in attendance，and upon returning，release the ox，wash the cart’s wheels，polish the shaft fittings until they gleamed，and ensure everything was prepared without neglect．Today as well，he accompanied his master to attend court，brought the ox-cart into the Suzaku Gate’s carriage depot，and spent the entire day waiting for his master Tadahira to withdraw．The other counselors，consultants，and various ministers’ ox-carts had also lined up their shafts and were waiting in attendance．

There, since attendants from other households gathered in numbers, not a single event within the capital could escape becoming rumor.

“Last night, a certain courtier sneaked off as usual to the residence of a certain minister’s widow.” Then a gang of those bandits who’ve been plaguing us lately found them and—just for sport—waited until the pair were deep in their carnal embrace before storming the chamber. After trussing up every last household member, they carted off not only the valuables but even the lovers’ garments. Left with nothing to wear yet unable to return home naked, the sneaking lord borrowed a servant’s rough wrap and slunk back at dawn’s first light—only to face his famously jealous wife, heavy with child and already surrounded by their brood. One shudders to imagine the scene: equal parts pitiful and absurd! “And yet that very courtier attended today’s palace council decked in his consultant’s robes, all pomp and solemnity.” “How excruciatingly dull those sacred deliberations must be for His Excellency—”

And so it went—when one told a story, another followed.

“Ah, but if it’s tales of illicit affairs and bandit gangs you want, the capital has enough to sweep up every single day.” “This is a closely guarded secret, but even within the Imperial Palace, such things have occurred.” “It was around the time of the early summer rains this year.” A certain lady-in-waiting in service to a Kōi of the Kōkiden Pavilion was enjoying a secret tryst with an official in one of the dimly lit chambers of the Fujitsubo. Then, unfortunately, that very night, a subordinate official from the Ministry of Justice had some business to inspect at the Kōryōden Palace and, while there, happened to peek into that room. The woman, startled, threw her robe over herself to hide, but when the man tried to kick open the lattice door and flee, the official shouted to summon others and finally caught him—only to find, astonishingly, that he was a thief who had stolen a courtier’s robes from an empty room in the Kōryōden Palace and successfully disguised himself as an official! Wasn’t it absurd? “Of course, in the dim light, the lady-in-waiting likely yielded her body without realizing he was a bandit—but alas, word reached the Kōi’s ears. They say she feigned illness, took leave from her post, and withdrew from the palace…”

Once idle talk began to flow, such lewd and dangerous stories were told endlessly, one after another, in countless numbers. The bandits who roamed unchecked through Kyoto had now grown discontent with merely ravaging the city; from time to time they targeted palace gates, threatening not only the Empress and consorts of the inner palace but even—on one occasion—lurked beneath the bridge corridor of the Kōkiden Pavilion at midday, where His Majesty himself discovered them during his walk, causing an uproar.

Every time he heard reports of such vicious beings emerging, Kojirō would summon back from memory the clusters of bonfires he had seen at the foot of Higashiyama on that evening long ago—the dusk when, at sixteen springs of age, he first set foot upon this capital’s soil. And he recalled not only the faces of those comrades but even the names they had called each other—Yasaka no Fushinin, Hagetaka, Anahiko, and the like.

The Naive Reader

With such august institutions as the Ministry of Military Affairs and Ministry of Justice among the Eight Ministries and Twelve Gates, and even the Imperial Police patrolling the city—how could those bandit gangs be allowed to run rampant? Kojirō found it utterly perplexing.

However, according to the idle talk of his fellow attendants—the servants and retainers from various households— “It’s only natural things came to this…” they all declared without reservation. “The governance’s rotten.” “No—whether governance be bad or good matters not now, for none exists! For bandit gangs, there’s no more blessed age than this!”

Whenever the topic turned to these reasons and causes, Kojirō always felt ill at ease. For his master—Fujiwara no Tadahira, the Minister of the Right—was being criticized more relentlessly than anyone else. As clan elder, Tadahira now held a position where he could maneuver the entire Fujiwara clan at will—and not only that, within the imperial court, even his slightest smile or frown carried decisive weight.

This was because—though he, the younger brother, had wholly inherited the position and authority of the late Minister of the Left Tokihira, who died young—the current Minister of the Right’s household was considered a staggering downgrade in both caliber and status compared to his elder brother Tokihira, whether in political skill, vision, ambition, or even basic humanity. At the very least, the previous Minister of the Left, Tokihira, had employed harsh political tactics and clan-centric schemes against his political rival Sugawara no Michizane, but he had also maintained considerable ideals—from agrarian reforms in the provinces to renewing public sentiment, across fiscal and cultural fronts. Alas, he had perished from illness at thirty-nine—Tokihira’s talents never fully realized in governance—yet none could deny the man’s inherent caliber.

However, when it came to his younger brother Tadahira, there was no comparison—it wasn’t even worth discussing. "The Palace Fox" This epithet fully captured his essence. Indecisive and petty. Selfish, extravagant, and dissolute. They said his only talents lay in music and painting. Painting was his pride; he had once depicted a lesser cuckoo on a folding fan and presented it to Prince Nagamira. When the Prince casually opened the fan, its pivot creaked— (Ah. The lesser cuckoo cried—)

Prince Nagamira remarked playfully. Then the foolish courtiers nearby, (Indeed—such mastery of the brush! The very hallmark of a masterpiece! Throughout history, only Lord Tadahira could paint not just the form of a lesser cuckoo but capture even its crying voice.) they effused with lavish praise. Tadahira himself would boast of this incident and even sign his poetry drafts with sobriquets like "Minister of the Lesser Cuckoo." Moreover, his nephew Atsutada—being a master of gagaku music—devoted himself to practicing the wagon zither and flute, while commissioning weavers within his residence to create garments of unprecedented designs and dyed fabrics unseen elsewhere in the world, priding himself on such exclusivity.

Lately, even within the palace court, extravagance had become glaringly pronounced—lowly scribes and chamberlains now adorned themselves in robes once worn solely by the Emperor, while court ladies and ladies-in-waiting vied in splendor, not to be outdone by imperial consorts. Consequently, social order grew disordered, and furthermore, state councils and administrative duties were utterly neglected with reckless abandon. Under such high officials and a court as this, it was unthinkable that only the officials of the Ministry of Justice and Ministry of Military Affairs alone could perform their duties with diligence and sincerity. In their own domains, they too sought out the same patterns of indulgence and "duty," conforming to the spirit of the age. This was one of the reasons why it had become such a blessed age for bandit gangs.

In this manner, there at Rendamari’s waiting area for attendants, not a single thing that Kojirō saw or heard each day was anything decent.

They said inferior officials were sharp-tongued, but these chattering Kyoto sparrows were utterly insufferable. These people were only interested in the ugly aspects of humanity and the filthy corners of the world. Instead of always peering into the underbelly like that, why not look a bit more at the good parts—the beautiful parts—of humanity and this world?

At times, Kojirō would become so engrossed in others' idle chatter that he lost himself, finding amusement in it; yet on other occasions, it infuriated him, stirring a desire to rebel.

Why? The reason was obvious. He still clung to this Heian capital as a beautiful city of flowers in his heart. For the first time, having come up from the barren Bandō Plain to the capital—placing his initial step into Kyoto upon that high vantage point—he beheld the Kamo River, the Greater Palace Enclosure, and willows interwoven with cherry blossoms across the springtime capital spread before him—

(Ah—could such a heaven truly exist upon this earth where humans dwell?......)

Enraptured, he let tears fall in the fulfillment of longing—he still vividly carried the impression of that day with him now. He wanted to believe forever in that reality—not an illusion. And he took pride in having become one of those beautiful capital dwellers himself. He did not want to defile it. He absolutely did not want to harm it. Moreover—as the people of his hometown had told him, he wanted to prove the worth of his studies here, learn the capital’s culture, become a man of good character, and one day return to adorn his homeland—Toyota Village in Shimousa—with a stature worthy of a man.—

"But as for my studies—they’re utterly hopeless." "If you're a child of the Fujiwara clan, you can enter Kangaku-in Academy... but an Eastern-born attendant like me..." His naive heart had not yet forgotten his original purpose for coming to the capital. Thus he secretly pursued night studies while spending daylight hours reading whenever possible in this rendamari. Even now he had hidden himself between carriage shafts, pulling from his breast pocket a book borrowed from a retainer of Miyoshi no Kiyoyuki—that scholar of growing renown—and was engrossed in reading.

Then, someone came to his side and stood silently peering down at the book alongside Kojirō. A youth wearing court robes—a low-ranking blue-robed retainer—who appeared little older than Kojirō himself, perhaps three or four years his senior.

Two Cousins

“Hm…? Hey,”

Suddenly noticing, Kojirō looked up from his book. And then, with an embarrassed look, he hurriedly stowed the book into his breast pocket, “It still seems early in the day.” “There must still be quite some time before the noble lords retire.” To hide his embarrassment, he looked up at the afternoon sun.

Beneath the eaves of the attendants’ lodgings, as usual, a raucous indecent clamor persisted. Outside, some were dozing beneath the blossoms of a Chinese parasol tree, while another group hidden in the shadows—ignoring the listless cries of early cicadas—secretly played coin-tossing (a gambling game). “You study quite diligently… you.”

The youth smirked for the first time. Kojirō’s face flushed. In truth, the book he had been reading was indeed a Chinese text—but merely a primer for absolute beginners, a single work by Confucius. “N-no... It’s not really studying... Nothing so grand.” “Studying… It’s nothing so grand.” “But your diligence is commendable.—Now then, do you know who I am?” “Well. Have we met somewhere before?”

“I’m the one asking here.” “I beg your pardon... but I don’t recall.” “That must be the case. Ha ha ha ha!” “Who might you be? If you don’t mind, please tell me.” “Your homeland is in the Eastern Provinces, I presume.” “Yes. And you are—?” “You can tell, can’t you? Even my speech. …I’m from the Eastern Provinces too. Moreover, it’s Hitachi’s Kasama—not far from your birthplace in Shimousa’s Toyota Village.”

“Oh…” Overcome by nostalgia, Kojirō suddenly stood up. “Then… you know Lord Taira no Kunika, the Governor of Hitachi… don’t you?” “How could I not know? I’m Kunika’s son.”

“Ah.” “So this means you and I are cousins.” “I’ve just recalled.” “The son of my granduncle Lord Kunika—Lord Jōhei no Sadamori—I had heard he came to the capital long ago for scholarly pursuits.” “Are you that Lord Sadamori?” “No.” “Sadamori is my eldest brother.” “I am the younger brother called Shigemori.” “Well then.” “Are both your brothers residing in the capital?” “How enviable that is.” “Since when have you been in Kyoto?”

“It was two years after you left Toyota Village for Kyoto.” “Though my elder brother had come here far earlier than that…” “And where do you reside now?” “My elder brother Sadamori has long since graduated from Kwangaku-in Academy and serves in the Imperial Archives Office at the palace.” “But I—having only recently left the tutelage of Doctor Miyoshi no Kiyoyuki—now work as a scholar-servant at the residence of Lord Kujō no Morosuke, the esteemed son of the Minister of the Right’s household.” “Since today marked my first time attending duties at the palace gate, this would naturally be my first encounter with you.”

“Does Lord Sadamori, my esteemed cousin, seem aware that I’ve taken refuge at Koichijō in the Household of the Minister of the Right?” “Hmm… He appears to know, but I’ve heard no details.” “Have you ever met and spoken with him?”

“No… Not even once…”

Kojirō abruptly showed a lonely face. In truth, there had been only one time—near the ruins of the Ōtenmon Gate—when someone had informed him, “That is Jōhei no Sadamori; they say he shares your homeland,” and Kojirō had approached, thinking to at least exchange greetings. But whether Sadamori had mistaken his intent or not, he abruptly turned his face aside and walked away, leaving only his retreating back…… Such a memory suddenly flitted through his mind.

But—before he could dwell on that, he felt gladdened that Shigemori had now spoken to him. Speaking of cousins—blood runs thicker than that of strangers—or rather, even if they were strangers, here in this foreign capital a thousand ri from home, he had met for the first time a person raised in the same soil of the Bandō Plain as himself. Nostalgia, joy—Kojirō felt a faint homesickness and, at the same time, a great sense of strength.

This feeling of his was by no means overblown sentimentality.

At that time—during the era of Emperor Daigo, the sixtieth human emperor, in Imperial Year 1590—regions beyond the Kinai were already treated as a "foreign land" within Japan. When it came to Tōgoku and Bandō, they were treated as nothing more than lands of uncivilized races.

For example, in the fifth month of Gangyō 5 during Emperor Yōzei’s reign [881 CE], when Ariwara no Yukihira founded Shōgaku-in Academy, two scribes named Mononobe no Shiwa and Muraji no Nagano brought representatives from Mutsu—then visiting the capital—to the lecture hall and performed Tōhoku dialect interpretations for them. These men were recognized for their service as Tōhoku interpreters to the imperial court and were each awarded Junior Fifth Rank that same year.

In this foreign sky, Kojirō had by chance encountered a fellow Bandō native; thus, when his eyes took in Shigemori and perceived a kinship surpassing mere cousinship—a nostalgia born of shared blood—it was by no means unreasonable.

Dreams, vast—

“Kojirō—do you also wish to study?” “I do,” Kojirō answered frankly to Shigemori.

“If you don’t enter either Shōgaku-in or Kwangaku-in Academy and keep working as a low-ranking attendant, it’s no good.” “Your body gets exhausted, and studying becomes unthinkable.”

“But Shōgaku-in Academy belongs to the Ariwara clan.” “And for Kwangaku-in Academy—unless you’re Fujiwara-born—they won’t let you in… right?”

“The academy’s rules may state that, but if someone from the Minister of the Right’s household were to put in a single word, it’d be no trouble at all.” “The professors too—all scholars are poor, they’re eager for bribes, and there’s no shortage of ways [to get in].” “Is that so…?” “Even if you approach it directly, isn’t that right? “We were born as sons of local lords in Bandō—neither court nobles nor Fujiwara clan members—but by genealogy, we’re true sixth-generation descendants of Emperor Kanmu. Aren’t we of imperial lineage too?”

“That’s right.” “I see…” “But even though I’ve placed myself in the Household of the Minister of the Right, not once has Lord Tadahira even addressed me—how am I supposed to make such a request?” “To Lord Kujō no Morosuke’s residence—where I serve as scholar—my brother is occasionally summoned for gagaku court music gatherings. When that happens, I’ll arrange to have him speak on your behalf.” “If we have my brother make the request to Lord Morosuke, and then Lord Morosuke relay it to his father Lord Tadahira, it will surely reach his ears.”

“Please.” “Though I have not yet had the honor of meeting him, please do convey kind regards to your elder brother Lord Sadamori as well.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t worry…” Shigemori swallowed his words and began to turn away, but suddenly retraced his steps—

“Hey, Kojirō. Another Bandō man will surely show his face at the Household of the Minister of the Right before long.” “Huh? Who might that be?”

“I heard from someone in the Kujō family—there’s a local magnate named Tawara no Tōta Hidesato from Tsuchiura in Ashikaga District, Shimotsuke Province, who’s apparently coming up to the capital with horses from the Shimotsuke pastures and all sorts of gifts to express his gratitude….” “To both the Kujō family and the Household of the Minister of the Right.”

“The name of Hidesato of Shimotsuke has reached even my homeland.” “But I heard that Hidesato caused some major conflict and was exiled when I was still in Toyoda Village.” “That Hidesato was pardoned the year before last and had returned to Shimotsuke.” “He had spent a year in confinement, but since it was deemed acceptable now, he’s come up to the capital.” “……Of course, it’s to express his gratitude.” That day, they parted ways with that. However, from having met Shigemori, his hopes had swelled larger still. Even while laying a bare mat on the wooden floor of the retainers’ quarters among other menials, bitten by mosquitoes and enduring servant-life poverty, Kojirō’s dreams freely painted the future. Study. Build character. Return quickly home to reassure my brothers. Bring joy to my clansmen too. And I must become one who manages the vast estates and household Father left me.

The only slight discontent was this: (My cousins have all finished their studies like that and obtained positions, however lowly—so why is it only me who’s been left neglected until today, living next to a cowshed and not even admitted to the academy?) This doubt alone troubled him. Yet he possessed an inherently simple nature that interpreted things through goodwill and an unshakably pure disposition that trusted others. Even when such doubts surfaced, the answer he gave himself was:

Surely, Uncle Kunika had simply forgotten to include such details in the letter of introduction he had given me. And Lord Tadahira—being such a carefree man—may have even overlooked that I had been serving here. But this time—if my cousin Sadamori were to speak up—Lord Tadahira would surely realize, "Ah, of course."

He waited impatiently for the good news—that Shigemori would come to him with something to say. Or perhaps, suddenly, from Lord Tadahira—

(—Kojirō. Come to the front garden.)

Or perhaps—he thought—a message would come through a household official. The waiting stretched endlessly. Still, no auspicious events materialized at all.

August. —It was the beginning of autumn.

One day, a group of visitors arrived at the Koichijō mansion.

The visitors, appearing to be from distant provinces, had on that same day removed their travel attire at a market-district inn, sent envoys beforehand to ascertain the private intentions of the Household of the Minister of the Right, and even adorned the gifts—borne by their attendants along with their own attire and meticulously arranged hairstyles—with such beauty that they stood arrayed before the gate in solemn grandeur.

“This is Tawara no Tōta Hidesato, Assistant Governor of Shimotsuke in the Eastern Provinces. Having long received your august favors yet failed to offer proper gratitude through repeated neglect of courtesies, I have now humbly come to present these trifling local products for your gracious eyes.” Only Hidesato entered within, leaving his other retainers at Heimon Gate as he made this address to the senior officials of the Minister’s household.

Hidesato the Exile

Hidesato, like Kojirō’s late father Taira no Yoshimochi, was a clan leader whose family had governed for generations in the northern reaches of the Bandō region. Because his residence was located in Tawara near Tanuma in Shimotsuke, he came to be called Tawara no Tōta and was also written as Tawara no Tōta. He was a native Bandō local magnate, but through his maternal lineage’s connection to the Fujiwara clan, he also bore the Fujiwara surname. Because of this, he obtained official posts, went out to Kyoto early on, served in the Great Guard, and in recent years had been appointed Assistant Governor of Shimotsuke—through his lineage, connections, and negotiations with Kyoto, he had increasingly bolstered his regional influence.

However.—It was the year Engi 16. Hidesato’s close subordinate confronted the provincial governor in a dispute and was severely humiliated. The conflict became one of law versus brute force, escalating into a bloody private feud. When their clan suffered disgrace, their defining trait was to unite beyond questions of right and wrong—this being both their characteristic and the natural way of those governed by a clan leader. Hidesato was still in his late thirties, a man of vigorous spirit. How could he possibly overlook this? He mustered his family and retainers to attack the provincial governor’s office. Breaking open the prison, he reclaimed his imprisoned clansmen, raised a victory song, and withdrew to his mansion. In the process, they killed or wounded several government officials and set fire to official granaries—committing considerable violence, though it was a case of riding a tiger’s momentum.

This was swiftly relayed to the capital, and both the Imperial Court and regent families deemed it a grave matter, preparing to dispatch a punitive force. The Hidesato clan likewise readied their defenses in response, and the situation appeared poised to escalate catastrophically—but he, having spent time in the capital absorbing its ways and possessing marital ties to a Fujiwara kinsman, swiftly recognized recklessness as folly. By nature a man rich in reason, he was no simpleton to stake ancestral wealth, fields, offices—nay, even life itself—on his subordinates’ obstinacy. Here was one ever shrewd in navigating society and calculating in daily conduct; that he had instigated such an unprecedented incident left him steeped in regret—whether from a clan leader’s burdens or youthful impetuosity.

(He should resign himself to the punishment, plead guilty, and leave restitution for later consideration.) He voluntarily pleaded guilty, so the entire clan discarded their weapons, were bound by the general who had descended as an envoy of condemnation under the Daijōkan’s decree, and on the twelfth day of the eighth month of that year, Kinoe-Uma, clansmen including Kaneari, Takasato, Okisada—eighteen men in total—were sentenced to exile for grave crimes and banished to the southern tip of Izu. And so, they spent their days with fellow convicts in exile for approximately three years.

During that time, it went without saying that—through his wife’s connections—every manner of campaign for pardon had been conducted among the high officials in the capital. That they were pardoned in less than three years could indeed be attributed to the efficacy of those efforts. Moreover, that he had been able to return to his former official position a little over a year after coming back to his home province and serving his period of seclusion was due to no small measure of influential voices behind the scenes and the power of gold. Thus, Hidesato—for the sake of his future and to repay the protection Minister of the Right Tadahira had granted him during that ordeal—once again made his way all the way to the capital, bearing lavish tribute. A local magnate he may have been, but the Minister’s household was not one to turn away such a visitor. Tadahira welcomed him with a courtesy nearly indistinguishable from that extended to the capital’s nobles.

The spacious garden of Koichijō had countless narrow streams laid out like natural brooks, with lanterns placed beside springs and stones here and there. On that early summer's cool night, every conceivable charm was arranged alongside fine wines and delicacies for the guest from afar. Moreover, the host's favored gagaku court music added to the festivities, demonstrating a world of difference from the rustic extravagance of Tawara no Tōta Hidesato. *Being Kept Idle* “Attendant! Attendant! “Open the inner palace gate. By His Lordship’s command, the guests from distant provinces are to lead the horses presented to the mansion and show them before the fishing pavilion.” “Now—make haste with the preparations!”

Koga, the old household official of the Minister of the Right’s household—having grown accustomed to frequent scoldings from Tadahira—always conveyed orders to his subordinates in this long-winded manner. Imitating his tone, the low-ranking attendants too— “Understood.” Laughing as they rose to their feet and answered old man Koga yet again as he persisted with his instructions: “The tribute’s Shimotsuke kurige horse. We shall now proceed to lead it before the fishing pavilion, your lordship. Kindly wait a moment, your lordship.”

They burst out laughing. Koga then had other low-ranking attendants light pine torches in the garden and knelt some distance away from the dew-covered moss. “Kojirō, bring the muzzle!” “Kojirō, the muzzle—” The low-ranking attendants were causing a commotion near the garden gate. The horse seemed particularly spirited—they appeared to be struggling to control it. Even among the servants, when it came to horses, Sōma no Kojirō—this much at least—had become someone recognized. In truth, there was no horse that wouldn’t grow docile under his hands.

Kojirō had always loved horses by nature. When he looked at a horse, he felt as though seeing family. In their scent lingered his homeland’s boundless plains. Memories surfaced—nights curled in Ōmusubi no Maki’s straw beside them, sorrowful days weeping himself to sleep against warm equine bellies. “Hey!” “Understood—you can let go.”

Kojirō received the muzzle from his colleagues and gripped it firmly. And while soothing the horse’s spiritedness, he made it adopt a slow, steady pace befitting an approach before nobility.

The guest Hidesato and the host Tadahira stepped out into the corridor and stood there. "Hmm." "This horse?" "Indeed—a magnificent specimen."

Tadahira narrowed his drunken eyes and praised it repeatedly. This Minister was obsessively particular about the ornate imperial carriage’s decorations but held no interest whatsoever in horseback riding. However, he offered such praise because horses were a form of currency. Especially when it came to famous horses, he knew full well that they fetched astonishingly high prices.

Hidesato, seeing that his gift had been well received, then descended into the garden himself. And from the garden grounds, he expounded with expert knowledge on why this horse was such a famed steed. No matter how politely he phrased his words, they remained what one might call the coarse speech of the Bandō dialect. The sound was nostalgically familiar and captivating; forgetting the horse, Kojirō could only stare at Hidesato’s face.

He appeared to be around thirty-eight or thirty-nine years old. Even his skin tone—to Kojirō—was an earth-brown that seemed to carry the scent of home. His eyebrows were thick, his eyes narrow and long, and near his elongated jawline was a mole. Perhaps because this mole had a hair growing from it, it became an unforgettable memory in Kojirō’s eyes. “Hey… Attendant.” “Why do you keep staring at my face?” Hidesato, perhaps irritated by his impertinent stare, eventually finished explaining the horse and reprimanded him thus.

“You can’t possibly be an idiot. Staring so hard… You’re a creepy one.” Kojirō, thinking that this had reached Tadahira’s ears, flinched with a start and, without thinking, prostrated himself on the ground. “Oh, what troubles you, my lord…” Tadahira indeed inquired— “Do you know this attendant?”

“No—I have neither seen nor known him before…” “Did he commit some impropriety? That servant is the son of Yoshimochi from Shimousa, near your home province.” “Yoshimochi? If I may clarify—are you referring to Taira no Yoshimochi who resided in Toyoda Village of Shimousa?” “Indeed it is. Didn’t you know? There was an accompanying letter from Kunika of Hitachi stating that this boy—dull by nature, estranged from his homeland due to certain circumstances, and one who struggles even with his own kin—should be kept idle as a lowly servant in our household for a long time. So we’ve left him here at the residence.”

“This one—which son of the late Yoshimochi might he be?” “Well… Whether he’s the third son or fourth—I can’t say for certain—but Kunika’s letter did state he’s Yoshimochi’s child.” “Perhaps he’s some concubine’s bastard.” “In any case, he’s a dullard—as Kunika’s accompanying letter made clear.” “If he’s erred somehow, you may pardon him.” To Kojirō—ears pressed to the ground—the nearby voices thundered like subterranean rumblings, their words indistinct through the blood roaring in his skull.

This was because Kojirō's blood had surged to his head midway through Tadahira's words. In contrast to his burning, flushed face, his body grew cold - so cold he could scarcely endure the night dew soaking through the grass - as violent tremors racked his frame.

The old calligrapher

Jōhei no Sadamori no longer appeared as a man of Bandō in anyone’s eyes. Resembling his father Kunika, he was tall in stature, possessed refined features, had acquired the capital’s intellect, and never abandoned his imitation of court nobles’ elegance. His grooming was impeccable. His work ethic was earnest. He was a promising youth—admired by all. At the Kurōdodokoro where he served, during his leisure hours, he would visit Ono no Tōfū’s residence to study calligraphy. Tōfū was regarded as the era’s foremost master calligrapher alongside Ki no Tsurayuki—a man of great renown in his field—yet what astonished visitors was his residence’s extreme poverty. But when examined properly, his official rank amounted to nothing more than Minor Archivist. It barely elevated him above scribes and secretaries.

And yet, he was already over sixty years old, had many children, and numerous grandchildren. The wooden verge of the study was rotting, and the lattice shutters and sliding doors rattled loosely. And in one overgrown corner of the estate, infant diapers hung drying—though the mansion was vast—while the sound of a young child wailing for food seeped through along with the wind, as if the place were full of holes. But Tōfū was a calligrapher. By his brush and inkstone, he always seemed to delight in his own realm. However, this old calligrapher was ill-mannered; though in summer he at least wore his court cap, he would roll up the sleeves of his gauze robe and—when engrossed in conversation—immediately sit with one knee raised, holding forth with his hairy shins and arms exposed.

He was talkative and quick to grow heated when it came to literature, but what consumed him even more was political indignation. He showed remarkable familiarity with current affairs and politics—though how he acquired such knowledge remained unclear—and his verdict was always the same: "Clan-based governance must not be tolerated." Then he would add: "The sovereign's inner circle must be cleansed! These petty stopgap measures accomplish nothing. So long as the Fujiwara cling to power, there's no hope whatsoever—but mark my words! While they busy themselves with trifles, who knows what disaster may strike? Their impiety toward heaven knows no bounds! These people aren't maggots—they're human beings! When humans nurse grievances deep in the earth's bowels long enough, that resentment becomes geothermal fire—the very crust will quake! An earthquake—a great temblor approaches! They trembled at Michizane's vengeful spirit, yet shamelessly cling to power! This time—who knows what wrath will descend? But descend it will—of that I'm certain! I may not know what form this vengeful spirit will take, but its coming is inevitable!"

In this manner, forgetting time and acting oblivious to the peril of slander, he swatted at late-summer flies with a flyswatter while launching into denunciations of the Fujiwara clan’s effete greed.

With things like this—in an atmosphere where it was unclear when it would end—Jōhei no Sadamori, who had visited again today, “Master… Actually, today I must make a detour to the residence of a certain personage, so…” he showed signs of wanting to flee. Then Tōfū—

“Ah, I see…” He lightly moderated his tone, closing the lid of the dry inkstone as he did so. “A detour? “…To whose mansion? Is there perhaps a poetry gathering?” he asked. When Sadamori answered that he was going to the residence of Lord Morosuke—the son of the Household of the Minister of the Right who always showed him favor—Tōfū, as if suddenly reminded by this, raised his propped-up knee, took a volume of calligraphy models from the nearby bookshelf, and casually handed it to him. “I was asked to do this a long time ago, but I wasn’t in the mood… I left it untouched, but since the opportunity arose, I wrote it down. Take this and deliver it to Lord Morosuke for me. …Even if I wrote it for him, he won’t bother with proper practice anyway, you know.”

“Understood.” “Well then… I shall take custody of it.”

With that, Sadamori hurriedly took his leave from the ramshackle gate there.

Cold-Hearted Youth

That evening, he met Morosuke and handed over the calligraphy models. And then, as usual, after tuning the wagon and looking at the lamp, when he was about to leave, his younger brother Shigemori, who served there, “Brother—your face for a moment…” he invited him into his small room and said.

“Sōma no Kojirō has come to the capital and is serving in the Household of the Minister of the Right—are you not yet aware of this?” “...Kojirō,” he made an unpleasant face— “You met him?” “Ah.” “The other day—at the imperial carriage gathering area near the palace gate.” “You’d better not get too close.” “Why?”

“Father in Hitachi has instructed us so.” “I had been meaning to warn you about this at least once…”

“Hmm.” “But wasn’t it that very Father who wrote a letter of recommendation to the Household of the Minister of the Right, specifically requesting they allow him to pursue his studies?” “Studying—for that man—is a ridiculous hope.” “Since his days in the countryside, Kojirō has been rough and rowdy, disliked by everyone.” “After Lord Yoshimochi’s passing, Father—as his great-uncle—is in a position where he must look after the clan and servants’ futures to ensure the household doesn’t collapse…” “From that perspective, it seems Father finds Kojirō’s character rather unappealing.”

“Then does he not intend to let Kojirō succeed to Toyota Estate? Still, even so, Kojirō is undeniably Lord Yoshimochi’s eldest son. From what I’ve observed, his character doesn’t seem flawed enough to warrant such harsh criticism.” “Shigemori, Shigemori…” Sadamori fixed his younger brother with an admonishing gaze—the look of an elder sibling—and said, “You mustn’t recklessly voice such wild speculations. Everything I do is according to Father’s will.”

“I wouldn’t speak of such things to others.” “Not even a hint…” “Do you understand?”

Sadamori immediately stood up. Before anything of what had been promised with Kojirō could be brought up—it was over. But Shigemori—thinking he still needed to respond to Kojirō—saw his brother off and walked him outside the residence. And when Shigemori tentatively mentioned Kojirō’s request, Sadamori flatly opposed it without any pretense. “Such a matter cannot be requested of Lord Morosuke or the Household of the Minister of the Right.” “Quit it! No unnecessary meddling!”

“I too once met that one near Ōtenmon Gate. At that moment, Kojirō looked like he wanted something and seemed about to say something—so I hurriedly turned away from him. Even in the Household of the Minister of the Right, they’ve only placed him among the low-ranking attendants and use him as nothing more than a petty servant. You can tell just by looking at that. If someone like that starts acting like family or getting strangely close to us, even we will end up being viewed the same way by those around us. That can only hinder advancement—of no benefit whatsoever. Even you understand that, don’t you?”

Shigemori watched his brother’s retreating figure vanish into the night mist—and thought, Brothers though they were, what a cold man he was.

However, he lacked the courage to act alone for Kojirō’s sake, even if it meant defying his brother’s will.

However, from then on, he made a conscious effort to avoid meeting Kojirō at all costs.

What a fool I was. Kojirō’s “love for the capital” had finally turned to skepticism. The love for the capital born of ignorance was a bitter cup of loss that all children of dreams must once equally taste. Even Kojirō, by and large, had trodden the same path as the many children of dreams in this world. But to him, it felt as though this ill-fated destiny were his alone to bear. “Does the Household of the Minister of the Right intend to keep me as a petty servant in the imperial carriage quarters—idle and useless—for my entire life?”

This anxiety and resentment that had sorely threatened his young future had since become an unhealable deep wound in Kojirō’s heart.

When Hidesato, the guest from the Eastern Provinces, visited the Household of the Minister of the Right, it was through words Tadahira—the household's master—had let slip to Hidesato that he first viscerally grasped his fate's future prospects—no—rather, the fate that held no future at all, nothing beyond this very moment. "Uncle Kunika and the rest of my uncles had thoroughly driven me from my homeland." "...that letter of recommendation to the Household of the Minister of the Right was no different than a contract selling me into servitude—abandoning me in the capital like a foundling."

Now that he had come to know this—yet the vast distance to the Eastern Provinces and his current circumstances—resentment merely smoldered in solitude, burning only solitude itself. How were his younger brothers back home doing? What had become of the pasture horses? Nostalgia too fueled anxiety. Now that he could clearly discern Uncle Kunika’s black-bellied scheming from afar, he had considered countless times whether it might be better to return to the Eastern Provinces rather than cling to hollow hopes by remaining in the capital.

“But. If I go back, how will my uncles look at me? How much can my meager strength oppose my uncles’ formidable power?” Inevitable, terrifying things were anticipated. What likely awaited me back home was nothing more than my younger brothers and the horses. Even the many servants and retainers could not be trusted. Let alone—there was no reason for a clan that feared my uncles to welcome me with open arms. —When I reflected thus, the eeriness of the journey home carried darker premonitions and resentment than the emptiness of remaining in the capital.

"...No—I won't go back now. Going back would be pointless. If only I become full-fledged myself, time will naturally resolve things. ...And someday too, Lord Tadahira will surely come to understand my circumstances. This is where endurance counts."

Kojirō reconsidered. And so, the carriage attendant diligently washed the imperial carriage wheels, tended to the oxen, and day after day followed the shafts of his court-attending master, making diligence his guiding principle. And then, at the Greater Palace Enclosure's service quarters— "I wonder if Lord Shigemori hasn't come." "I wonder what became of that request." Though it had been some time since he last anticipated Shigemori's promised responses, even on days when the imperial carriage of Shigemori's master Kujō no Morosuke appeared there, Shigemori's figure remained conspicuously absent thereafter.

The year ended, and in the spring of Enchō 2 (924 CE), Tadahira was promoted to Left Minister. Appointment ceremonies, congratulatory visits from various noble houses, Kasuga Shrine visitations—the entire imperial court and capital were in an uproar over the promotion of a single minister for a whole day, as if it were a national celebration. To the entrance of the Household of the Left Minister, the "Kwangaku-in Procession" marched in stately fashion to present their congratulations.

"Ayumi" referred to a procession. Graduates of Kwangaku-in Academy—students and nobles around the same age—wearing court caps with inserted wisteria flowers, their robes and even shoes color-coordinated, formed a splendid procession. They came to the entrance of the celebratory mansion, presented congratulatory addresses, sang celebratory songs, and withdrew. Whenever someone from the Fujiwara clan received a promotion or there was cause for celebration at court, it had long been customary to see this "Kwangaku-in Procession" at their gate. This was because the Fujiwara clan had originally founded it, and under their protection, the academy’s finances were maintained.

Be that as it may, on that day, Kojirō saw Shigemori’s figure among the members of that "procession." He also saw Shigemori’s elder brother—Sadamori. "Ah… My cousins are here." When he noticed this, he indeed felt that both of them had looked his way—but for some reason, both Sadamori and Shigemori turned their faces aside. It was clear they were avoiding him. As for this matter too, only after considerable time had passed did he finally make a face as though he had realized.

“...Oh.” Come to think of it, both were Kunika’s sons. Coming from Uncle’s own bloodline—they’d no reason to wish me well. What a hopelessly naive man I was. To have regarded such scoundrels as cousins... To have earnestly awaited good news about my request... Ah—perhaps I truly was the dullard written of in Kunika’s letter, born a fool from the very start.”

He had come to realize his own foolishness.

Lady Hydrangea Tadahira was quite corpulent. His skin was doughy like rice cakes. Thus, the Left Minister of Koichijō was said to be prone to summer fatigue, and this had become an established reputation at court. The man himself also took advantage of this and rarely attended court in midsummer unless there was exceptionally important government business.

However, the gagaku court music at the Koichijō mansion seemed to occur nightly. He appeared never to tire of banquets. To be sure, from the upper reaches of the Kamo River to the Thirty-Six Peaks might as well have been part of the garden; with streams flowing beneath the spring hall and fishing pavilion, there could scarcely be any occasion to speak of heat there. In particular, the Hydrangea Jar was said to have a structure surpassing even the Imperial Palace’s Kōkiden, separated from the Tainoya by a long covered corridor. Long ago, Left Minister Minamoto no Tōru of Kawara had twenty koku of seawater transported monthly from Amagasaki to store at his Sixth Avenue mansion, recreating Shiogama’s scenery from Mutsu Province while likening the capital’s graceful ladies to ama divers—thus boasting unparalleled extravagance. But Tadahira harbored no such foolish vanity. Rather, he was a pragmatist. The Hydrangea Jar sheltered only a single beauty.

The beauty’s name was taken from the jar (a garden structure) and called Lady Hydrangea. In a world where polygamy was considered commonplace, starting with the Emperor and extending throughout society, it was pointless to inquire into which wife in order this lady should be counted as for Tadahira. Yet what should be wondered at was that even though she was the lover of a flourishing minister, no one in the mansion knew when or from what time she had come to live there. Not only that, but even among the class that prides itself most on lineage, there was no one who knew anything about her origins.

As the gossip of low-ranking officials would have it, it was, above all, the lower servants where this suspicion was most brazenly whispered. “...Did you see?” one would say, and “...No—I didn’t see,” another would reply. “I’ve caught a glimpse,” one would declare, and “Then I gotta find a way to peek at least once,” another would mutter, their delusions about the secret garden’s flower running wild. In all cases, it was common for the lowly to harbor perverse delusions toward noble decadence; their whispers differed not from hungry ghosts imagining feasts beyond a wall, driven by the scent of neighboring food. Though their voices were hushed whispers, the intensity of them was nothing short of fearsome.

To the Hydrangea Jar, no men—not even gardeners tending the grounds—were permitted entry except for Shinka, the old steward. Yet according to the account of one fortunate low-ranking attendant who claimed to have glimpsed the beauty: “Her age appeared unexpectedly to be twenty-four or twenty-five, but she seemed no creature of this world. In summer, she wore a pale silk uchigi robe with layered hues of sheer robes peeking through at the sleeves and collar, while her long black hair seemed nearly as tall as her own stature. She had placed a comb box and was facing the mirror—I saw her through a half-lifted blind—” and so he recounted her alluring appearance, which defied their meager adjectives’ ability to describe.

Kojirō too had heard such tales many times over, and even he found his own inquisitive blood secretly stirred. Yet unexpectedly—on a midsummer midnight when restless sleep made even short nights feel endless—he encountered an incident that laid bare Lady Hydrangea's form before his very eyes. He sometimes secretly slipped out to the mansion's rear, submerged himself in the Kamo River, and played alone in the water with splashing abandon through the night. It wasn't merely about washing away bodily grime and sweat; it was the inexpressible joy of sporting with water's natural will and vitality, letting his innate wildness and youthful body heat breathe freely.

This was not something he alone did; many other lower servants as well engaged in bathing after twilight. However, in his case, it was limited to midnight when he tossed restlessly due to fleas and lice, or the predawn hours. To slip away unnoticed from his pallet, to claim the Kamo River and the cool night sky as his own domain alongside the kajika frogs—this was his secret delight.

――That night as well. No―it was already near the fifth watch. As was his custom, he had stripped completely naked and was submerged in the clear stream when, from beneath Tadasu Grove on the opposite bank, a group of figures descended toward the riverbed. Seven or eight of them appeared to be crossing the shallows toward this side. ――What’s this? In the span of his watching, those shadows left two lookouts at the rear of Koichijō mansion while the rest crossed over the earthen wall surrounding the Hydrangea Jar and vanished within. ……Kojirō had been watching with round, unblinking eyes all along―but then came his shocked realization.

"Ah..." Bandits. …They’d finally made their way here.

River Rapids, Human Rapids

At present, there existed no nobleman's mansion that had escaped the trampling intrusions of these rampaging bandits. This summer's desolation of nobles' villas was said to be due in part to that menace. It was said that even as recently as the rainy season, audacious bandits had left behind a certain deed at the Imperial Consort's Quarters within the palace before departing. However, even so, the flourishing Left Minister of Koichijō's mansion had remained untouched by such disturbances—until today. People in society would say that such were the ways of prosperous times.

However, what Kojirō now beheld was no ordinary gathering of people. At that moment, the hour had passed the Hour of the Ox and neared the fifth watch. Not only did a cluster of what appeared to be lookouts remain on the opposite riverbank, but others also stood beneath the earthen wall. It was a three-stage infiltration. Even if they were bandits, they were no petty thieves. They were undoubtedly a band of thieves who had systematically set out to achieve their objective—the Hydrangea Jar of Left Minister Tadahira.

This was bad... No ordinary matter at all. Kojirō nearly leapt out from the water. But lookouts stood watch on both banks. Carelessly rising would mean an arrow through him. He crawled with meticulous care toward where he had left his robes. Without drying himself, he hastily wrapped the garments around his body. What felt like an instant had been enough—the bandits seemed to have completed their operation already. They threw open an inner gate and came cascading down the riverbank embankment like an avalanche.

Kojirō saw Lady Hydrangea right before his eyes at this very instant. Presumably, because no screams had been heard, Lady Hydrangea must have lost consciousness. Her face, held under a man’s arm, had her eyebrows obscured and eyes closed, showing no sign of distress. Her white nape lay loosely swathed in black hair. One ferocious-looking man gripped both her feet along with the hem of her robe. The two worked in tandem to lift and carry her off. The other comrades scattered, choosing shallow spots to splash their way back across to the opposite bank—

Whether it had been "Wait!" or "Thief!" that was shouted, Kojirō could not tell. His awareness held only the white face of Lady Hydrangea glimpsed in that instant. That beauty might well be said to have driven him to recklessness. Suddenly he clung to the bandit's hairy shin and heaved upward with all his strength. Then—he struck aside the profile of the man holding her legs. Though stones and river frogs might lie at their feet, the bandits had never imagined a human might be there—with a roar, they staggered into the shallows' spray still clutching Lady Hydrangea. Then in loud voices they shouted something to their comrades advancing ahead.

The first to arrive nearby was a man who appeared to be the bandit leader—the very one who had withdrawn last from the mansion. “What’s all this commotion? There’s no need to make a fuss,” the bandit leader scolded them. Maintaining his composure, he swiftly circled behind Kojirō and seized him by the collar. “One measly low-ranking attendant,” he growled. “I’ll take care of this brat—you bastards hurry up and carry the woman across the river!” He barked the order at his subordinates.

Kojirō tried to raise his head to see where they were going, but couldn't free his one fist from the collar grip. ...But when he glanced up, the bandit leader was holding a long-handled sword resembling a halberd in his left hand. Kojirō grabbed its handle. At this, even the bandit leader seemed stunned, "Cheeky brat!" he roared and tried to fling him away with a great swing. However, Kojirō had committed both hands, and since the man was using his left, the momentum favored Kojirō. Instead of his body spinning like a wrestler's throw, the long handle ended up in his hands.

“I’ll kill you!” The bandit leader promptly drew his field sword and fixed his torch-like eyes on him. Kojirō was terrified. As if regretting having mistakenly obtained a weapon, he discarded the long pole and tried to flee. Then the bandit leader let out a dry laugh. “Hey wait! Sōma no Kojirō. Don’t you remember? Yasaka no Fushinin?” With that, he laughed again. Mosquitoes find the minister’s skin delectable. “Ah? Oh... I remember. Under Yasaka—one of those warming themselves by the fire.”

"You were like some Emishi brat back then—a country boy fresh to the capital." "How many years has it been? ...But I remember everything—that you're Taira no Yoshimochi's firstborn, Sōma no Kojirō; that you came to Tadahira's mansion bearing a letter from Hitachi's Governor Kunika; even the exact phrasing in that missive. What say you to that?" "Fine memory I've got, eh?" "Yes. How could you possibly know such things?"

“Ha ha ha ha. If I lay it all out—there was that agent who escorted you from the Ministry of Justice’s prison to the Koichijō Mansion the very next day. That agent’s one of my men.”

Kojirō was utterly speechless. The Immortal One's arrogance and rogue-like tone even seemed heroic. Then Fushinin abruptly showed familiarity, "But... Kojirō." "You've learned your way around the capital well enough." "Might say you've grown into a proper young man." "Why not share a proper drink somewhere one day?" "Right—for now, I'll let you claim some glory." "Well then—let's sit under that embankment there and talk."

The bandit, who should have been fleeing in haste, spoke with unnerving composure. Yet upon hearing the particulars, the reason for their lack of urgency became clear. Fushinin held Minister of the Left Tadahira's most vulnerable weakness in his grasp—even now, that minister must be writhing alone, unable to give chase, blubbering like an infant. He sneered these words to Kojirō. The title Lady Hydrangea was never the woman's true name—merely an epithet Tadahira had adopted after abducting her and sequestering her within this Koichijō residence. Her actual name was Kiyohara no Aiko: wife of Kiyohara no Tsunenari, virtuoso musician of the Bureau of Court Music; a young widow bereaved less than two years into her marriage.

Tadahira had long coveted Aiko’s beauty and had devised every possible scheme to win her over, but Aiko—perhaps finding his advances bothersome—instead pledged to remarry into the household of Ki no Shishin, a nephew of Ki no Tsurayuki and an exceedingly poor low-ranking courtier. Upon learning this, an enraged Tadahira had used Takiguchi warriors to abduct Aiko on a snowy winter night, temporarily hidden her outside the capital, and then forcibly moved her into this Hydrangea Jar. So it was neither proper romance nor even an illicit affair. It was through violence and power that he took another man’s wife. “Taking that back isn’t unrighteous—it’s me doing it.” The Immortal One declared this boastfully and without hesitation.

“Now then, Kojirō…” he said, lowering his voice— “You are a servant of the Minister of the Left. “Here’s your chance to make a name for yourself. “Well… like this,” And whispered some scheme.

And then, he slowly stood up— “Then I’ll be waiting at Yasaka Pagoda.” After Fushinin emphasized this one last time, he moved with the swiftness of a swallow skimming a river and crossed over to the far side of Kamo in an instant.

Before he knew it, white clouds had begun to shift from the bosom of Ichijōji’s peak. When the white clouds in that area began to sway, it was always a sign that dawn’s light would soon grow faintly pale upon the peak’s shoulder. Kojirō steeled himself and rushed into the Hydrangea Jar through the rear gate the bandits had exited from. “—Minister. Minister.” “Minister.” Entering through one of the latticed doors left open into an inner chamber, he called out—and heard a groan, followed by a trembling voice: “Who’s there?” From the vicinity of the next room, Kojirō—

“It’s Kojirō. I am Kojirō of Renjuku, a low-ranking attendant. I spotted bandits near the Rear Imperial Gate and fought them. Have you sustained any injuries, Minister?” At this, Tadahira appeared utterly astonished. Instead of responding immediately, he remained silent for some time before finally exclaiming: “Anyone will do! Untie me at once! Skip the formalities! Do it… hurry!” He spoke frantically.

He had been stripped completely naked and bound to a pillar. The bites from mosquitoes here and there were ridiculously swollen. Tonight alone, even this Minister had offered his own rich blood to the mosquitoes’ feast. “If you saw the bandits, you must have seen the Lady of the Hydrangea Jar being taken away… What became of her?” “Her person—” “Are you asking about Lady Aiko’s whereabouts?” “What…?” he said with a look of utter astonishment bordering on disbelief— “H-how do *you* know *her* name?”

“The bandit leader called her that.” “Ah—that demon? …… And you crossed blades with him?” “Yes—tonight I awoke earlier than usual and was feeding levee grass to the cows. When I saw something suspicious and gave chase, the main group had already carried Lady Aiko across the river. The bandit leader who stayed behind said this—” “What did he… What?” “‘If you value Aiko’s life, bring a bag of gold dust within two days to retrieve her.’ ‘Once those days pass, know I’ll do as I please with this woman’s body.’ ‘When I tire of her, I’ll sell her to Naniwa Bay courtesans—go search and buy her back if you dare!’ … With that final threat, he fled.”

Kojirō managed to speak smoothly in one breath, as if the one talking wasn’t himself.

Nobles “Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.” Kojirō was strictly sworn to secrecy. “Of course—why would I disclose anything that might harm the Minister?” Kojirō answered. Immediately, he gained trust.

It was the evening two days after the promised day.

He carried a bag of gold dust entrusted to him by Tadahira and went to the base of Yasaka Pagoda. There was no one. Fushinin had not come either. Though Kiyomizu-dera stood nestled in the bosom of the peaks, this area at night held a loneliness akin to hearing the flapping wings of phantom birds. Above an ancient cedar, he glimpsed the evening moon. Thickets of mosquitoes assailed him. No monks passed by.

“Oh, you were here.” When he had grown weary of waiting and fallen into a daze, Fushinin’s voice suddenly came from the shade of a tree. Kojirō reported the outcome from two days prior, “Here is what was promised,” he said, promptly handing over the gold.

Fushinin laughed uproariously, took it, then turned to the subordinate man behind him. “Hagetaka, take custody of this,” he said, passing it from right to left, and added something more before turning to Kojirō and inviting him: “Won’t you come along with me that far? The job’s done smoothly, and it’s a cool evening. As promised, let’s drink tonight.” For Kojirō too, this was the first night of such freedom since he had entered service at Koichijō. Moreover, even his master Tadahira now found himself in debt to him. To top off his already irrepressible elation, he found himself profoundly drawn to this man called Fushinin ever since that night. Was this the villain they called a bandit? He felt something unbelievably warm—yes, in his boyhood days, he had felt this same affection toward the horses of Ōmusubi no Maki. He had been starving for such things ever since parting from his father in death. Even with horses, even with bandits—when he felt that warmth, it became a sensation he couldn’t bear to part from.

It was unexpected. The house to which Fushinin had invited him was a large noble mansion situated beside the grove of Shijō Rokakudō. In this area, wherever one looked, the mansions with visible gates were all those of many high-ranking officials of the court. Fushinin knocked on the side door of a large flat gate and entered as if it were his own home. He gave a mere glance to the blue-robed retainer who had come out to greet him at the entrance and, “Is Sumitomo here? Sumitomo?” he said in such a tone.

Turning to the hesitant Kojirō, “It’s a friend’s house,” “Please come in.” Taking the lead, he proceeded down the long covered corridor. As they passed through the corridor—when candlelight from what appeared to be Tainoya Hall’s great room came into view—the laughter of a large crowd could be heard there. “Oh.” “You’ve come.” “Ah, Fushinin!” “Perfect timing!” It was impossible to tell which one was master. To Kojirō, they all seemed either scions of court nobles or young lords from some estate. They each laid out round cushions, crowding the wide floor as they haphazardly scattered cups and dishes. For noblemen’s sons, it was a shockingly rowdy scene—yet their robes and this chamber left no doubt: these were none but courtiers through and through.

“This is Sōma no Kojirō—a low-ranking attendant from the House of the Minister of the Left. Born in the Eastern Provinces, though his father was the late Taira no Yoshimochi. Look at his countenance. Quite a promising young man, wouldn’t you say?” This was Fushinin’s introduction. Recalling it now—whether it was their first meeting among Yasaka’s bonfire companions or his appearance tonight—this Fushinin was undoubtedly a fallen noble through and through. He cut a different figure entirely from common street ruffians.

“Ah… I see,” said the young man who had been drinking at the front. He turned toward Kojirō and casually offered him a cup. “I am Fujiwara no Sumitomo—what they call the pirate of the southern seas.” “These here are Ono no Ujihiko, Ki no Akishige, Tsu no Tokinari… all friends without pretense.” “A gathering of free spirits.” “Not a soul here holds back.” “You—drink at ease.”

The pirate claim must be a joke, Kojirō thought, laughing dismissively. Yet this man was undoubtedly their leader—Sumitomo’s casual familiarity only deepened his bewilderment. He felt transported to another realm entirely. When he considered the sons of court nobles—even those feckless young lords whose sole talents lay in flute-playing or composing the occasional verse—they all preened in ceremonial robes, lolled in ox-drawn carriages, and gazed upon others as though they were filth. Such was their nature. But here, from Sumitomo downward, not a whiff of such pretension lingered.

Instead of pretense or power’s airs, everyone carried the scent of sweat and grime. They wore mixed garments—court robes, hunting attire, hempen underrobes—with sleeves rolled up, engaged in summer-night-like spirited debates. Beside each lay their long swords. This talk too struck Kojirō’s ears as strange, each matter holding wonders of the unknown.

Presentation of Cicada Shells

Now uninhabited and utterly dilapidated, it was no wonder the mansion was so grand in scale. This mansion had been built during the time of Sumitomo's grandfather, Fujiwara no Tōtsura. Tōtsura was the younger brother of Regent Mototsune, who wielded authority during the reigns of Emperors Yōzei and Kōkō and ushered in the prosperity of the great Fujiwara clan. Mototsune's second son Tokihira had risen to the prestigious position of Left Minister - a man of such political acumen that he vied with Sugawara no Michizane for power in the halls of government, ultimately driving Michizane from power.

The current Tadahira, Left Minister of Koichijō, merely inherited the fading glory of his father and elder brother. Though branded incompetent, he nonetheless held both the position of clan chieftain and wielded authority at court. Yet despite being a grandson of the same regent family, Fujiwara no Sumitomo had been relegated to provincial posts since his father Yoshinori’s time. Yoshinori had at least risen as far as Assistant Vice-Governor of Dazaifu, but Sumitomo—left like an abandoned child in Iyo’s hinterlands with nothing but the lowly title of Sixth Rank Assistant Governor—had been forgotten by the capital.

Sumitomo was filled with discontent. “What’s this—the likes of Tadahira?” Even in Iyo, when it came to the central government’s decrees, his personal resentment and rebellious spirit worked against him, making it impossible to obediently submit. In particular, in the southern seas region, the authority of the central government did not reach. He always, “My father was a cousin of Minister of the Left Tadahira. My father knew full well of his incompetence. ‘He’s deft at painting and gagaku,’ he’d say, ‘but hardly a man fit for politics or the like.’”

He had been telling those around him. He criticized government decrees and denounced misgovernment. Given such circumstances, it was only natural that a faction of allies had gradually formed around him over time. Exercising strong-arm tactics, they attacked central tax ships that had come to collect unpaid taxes, began seizing back the tax goods, and thus Sumitomo’s name came to be regarded as that of a hero throughout Shikoku. Unable to leave matters be, the authorities recently dispatched envoys to condemn them and hauled Sumitomo and his five or six accomplices to the capital.

“Do they intend to punish me?” Sumitomo went out in the morning and paid his respects to the tax and justice officials. He was a grandson of the regent family, clearly connected by blood to Tadahira, the Minister of the Left. Overwhelmed, even the authorities ultimately let the matter be swept under the rug. The admonishment came from Sumitomo’s side—he said as much as he wanted—and the authorities withdrew. “What do you think? After that, they sent me an order promoting me a single rank from Assistant Governor to Deputy Governor of Iyo... Tadahira must be behind it, thinking to placate me with this consolation prize. Such is the political state of the central government. It’s beyond words—neither comical nor absurd even begins to describe it.”

Tonight, even before Fushinin and the others, he would say this and laugh it off. And then—

“Anyway, we’re just making use of this government-funded trip to the capital. Moreover, let’s stay in the capital and enjoy ourselves until autumn comes.” And thus he spoke.

The boldness of spirit, the audacious boasts—Kojirō could only listen in rapt fascination. But what surprised Kojirō even more was that even the theft of Lady Hydrangea Aiko by the Fushinin had been instigated by one of their own—Ki no Akishige. From Akishige and Ono no Ujihiko to Tsu no Tokinari and Yasaka no Fushinin—all these young nobles gathered there, aged twenty-four or twenty-five to just under thirty—though their whereabouts and the nature of their debauchery or misdeeds differed individually, they remained unchanged as a series of malcontents and rebels of their time.

The night had grown late. Kojirō remembered his master. "Leaving already?" said Yasaka no Fushinin, observing his demeanor. "We'll return the woman to the Hydrangea Jar within two or three days. Tell that spineless Minister, and you'd best claim your reward too. The higher they rise as clan chieftains, the tighter their guts clench—you must bark 'Hand it over!' loud and clear. You're weak-willed. Become strong. Strong." he egged on.

Then, Sumitomo, Akishige, and the others gazed at Fushinin’s profile and exchanged knowing laughs. “We may return the woman, but her body won’t be restored.” “That’s the Immortal One for you.” “After thoroughly enjoying themselves, they’ll surely take her hollow shell—like a cicada’s discarded skin.” “How amusing to present that aftermath to Tadahira.” “Kojirō—you must find pleasure in merely glimpsing that Minister’s face at times. But breathe not a word of this.”

Kojirō returned to Koichijō late. The next morning, he was stealthily summoned to the Hydrangea Jar. When he was crouching alone in the front garden, Tadahira appeared on the corridor with a face like a sick man. “How did it go? …Kojirō. She will be returned, I trust?” He even asked in a whisper. However, upon receiving Kojirō’s reply, Tadahira exaggeratedly raised his eyebrows. As if he had taken a potent elixir, his mood improved,

“I see… Ah, so that’s how it was.” “Most commendable.” “Even after two or three days, there’s no urgency.” “I am relieved indeed.” “As long as I know her body will be returned.”

And then he added, "You have served our household for nearly six years now." "Later, I shall inform House Official Shika." "...Starting today, I shall promote Kojirō to Blue-Robed Retainer and have him serve in the Distant Attendants' Chamber."

This was an unexpected gracious decree. As Kojirō, had this occurred before the incident involving Lady Hydrangea, he might have prostrated himself on the ground and wept tears of gratitude. But for him, Sumitomo and the others’ words from the previous night resurfaced, and a sense of absurdity welled up rather than tears of emotion.

Self-Deprecation and Weakness

He was granted a blue hunting robe by the main house. When one was promoted to positions such as Distant Attendant or Summoned Retainer, they all donned robes of that color. By clothing color, a person's rank and status could be understood at a glance in that era. The young samurai of the blue class were also called "Blue-Robed Retainers." It is thought to be the origin of later expressions like "greenhorn" and "he's still green."

At that time, Sōma no Kojirō was twenty-two years old. It was his sixth year since coming to the capital for study—in any case, he had finally come to Tadahira’s notice and become one of his men. There was no doubt he was still thoroughly green.

—That year. It was around the time when autumn was drawing to a close. At the back riverbank of the Minister of the Left’s residence, a whistle sounded. Kojirō immediately showed his face from within the residence. Though the person was no longer visible, a scrap of paper was tied to a blade of grass in the usual spot. It was a communication from Yasaka no Fushinin. He had maintained an inseparable bond—like fish and water—with both Fushinin and Fujiwara no Sumitomo’s group ever since that incident. (At twilight, proceed to Yasaka-no-tō.)

The text was concise and clear. He kept the promise and set out. Subordinates were standing. And then, silently, they led him from Yasaka deeper into—to a temple in Gidarin Forest. In the past, it had apparently been a branch temple of Gion, but now it lay derelict and overgrown like an abandoned temple, transformed into a hideout that made a perfect nest for the Immortal One and his kind. “Hey, Kojirō,” the Immortal One greeted him— “No need for formalities. Since Sumitomo and the others are finally returning to Iyo Province—we’re here to discuss how to send them off.”

The Immortal One first poured sake for Kojirō. Since becoming close with these comrades, Kojirō’s tolerance for alcohol had suddenly improved. Along with the taste of sake, he came to understand the texture of human relationships and began to think he had acquaintances in the capital.

“In my opinion, always drinking in the same dull place lacks flair.” “Here’s an idea—while seeing Sumitomo off on his return home, let’s all ride a boat down the Yodo River together and throw a proper farewell bash with Eguchi’s courtesans… What d’you say? Care to join us?”

“When will that be?” “The plan is to meet at Fushimi the morning after tomorrow, drink on the boat, and arrive at Eguchi by twilight.”

“So you’d return the evening after next?” “Ah, think of it as three days’ affair.” “That’s a problem.” “Why?” The Immortal One laughed at his consternation. “Hey now—don’t tell me you’re still tiptoeing around Lord Tadahira?” “But…I remain in his service.” “There’s a limit to being earnest.” “Tadahira should be groveling before you, not the reverse! Listen—the moment you start calling him ‘Minister of the Left’ or ‘clan elder,’ you’ve lost.” “Remember that naked fool weeping in the Hydrangea Jar? Mosquitoes feasting on him while he blubbered over his stolen concubine? Hold that image when you face your precious Minister.” “Then you’ll speak freely enough.”

“No. Let’s go. I’ll find some way to get leave from my master and will certainly join you.” Kojirō had ended up making the promise—both from obligation to Sumitomo, who had often treated him to feasts and shown him friendship in various ways since then, and because he could not bear to miss seeing them off in their grand departure.

The following day.

Taking advantage of having been summoned by Tadahira regarding some matter, Kojirō tried requesting a three-day leave.

Then, Tadahira immediately, “Take such matters to the house steward Shimiga.” he snapped in a thoroughly foul mood. Kojirō, his face still red, continued to prostrate himself. The lie refused to come out. The excuse he had thought up suddenly wouldn’t come out of his mouth. ………… Yet during this silence, Tadahira too had misread the situation—if Kojirō was making a direct appeal to him rather than through the house steward, the boy must have steeled himself for this confrontation. [...] If that were the case, what a nuisance—if he carelessly let slip anything about the Hydrangea Jar affair, it would stir up unwelcome gossip. Tadahira, tormented by this awareness of his own inferiority,

“…For three whole days—where exactly are you going, and for what purpose?” “You’ve worked diligently of late—I’m not entirely unwilling to grant leave.” Then, of his own accord, he rephrased his stance.

Boisterous Wandering

Quietly, water stretched as far as the eye could see; reeds and sky stretched as far as the eye could see. In those days, the Yodo River had a broader expanse than in later eras, and what would come to be called “Ōsaka” did not yet exist on earth.

However, to travel from the capital to the western provinces or Kii Province, one had no choice but to rely on this waterway; travel ships and small boats lay moored here and there in the fishing villages of the waterlands, their reed-thatched roofs and masts in rows. "Eguchi... Are we there yet? Eguchi?" "The village you see on the right bank is Torikai—we're nearly there. Where the Kanzaki and Aji Rivers fork into three branches—that sandbar ahead." "There lies the village where Eguchi's ladies dwell." "Wasn't that quicker than expected." "A current swift enough to bear a pleasure-seeker's heart." "But mark me—when we return to the capital come the morning after, this boat'll crawl slower than a snail, and you'll all be dragging your feet like deadweights."

“Nay, I shan’t speak of what comes after. I shan’t think of tomorrow. That’s what true pleasure is all about!”

A small boat descended the great river, carrying about seven men. The four men returning to Iyo—beginning with Fujiwara no Sumitomo, followed by Ono no Ujihiko, Ki no Akishige, and Tsu no Tokinari—and the three seeing them off: Yasaka no Fushinin, his underling Hagetaka, and Sōma no Kojirō. By now, they had drunk all the sake and eaten all the lunch boxes loaded into the boat that morning, sung boisterously and recited poetry until their voices gave out, then each found their own spot on the boat’s bottom to nap—only to have just awoken.

“Ah... So that’s Eguchi.” On the shore, willows could be seen, the houses were numerous, and large and small boats were moored in great numbers— “Well, well—Eguchi village. We’ve arrived before nightfall... Oh! The women’s boats are coming.”

Boredom was abruptly dispelled; every face grew animated with playful intent. To Sōma no Kojirō, it felt as though they had arrived at the Isle of Women—he uttered none of the bawdy jests the others did, merely staring wide-eyed at the approaching shoreline dwellings and the multitude of courtesan-laden boats, utterly transfixed. Ki no Tsurayuki, poet and provincial official, had also passed through here when returning to the capital from his post in Shikoku, chronicling the flourishing pleasure quarter of this waterside village in *The Tosa Diary*. Truly, for travelers parting ways toward San'yō, Nankai, and Saigoku, that single night's stay in Eguchi left an indelible imprint of journeying sentiment.

“Hey, you’re loud!” “It’s just like… the song of waterfowl.”

As the boat approached the shore, the waiting courtesan boats all rowed closer at once to catch customers. They held up parasol-like objects—each one calling out something to the customer boats—their coquettish voices echoing across the water, coloring the rouge-tinted waves—just as the poet had sung.

Skin of Wildfire

Even now, in this pleasure quarter, such a tale is still told among the people— Just two summers ago—

Not far from there, at Torikai-in—a detached palace also situated along the banks of the same Yodo River—Retired Emperor Uda, who had come to escape the summer heat, one day summoned a great number of Eguchi courtesans to the villa to while away his time. And then, “Are there any daughters of noble families among these?”

the Retired Emperor inquired. One of them answered, “Indeed, among the ladies of Eguchi, there were once fair ladies such as Lady Nakagimi, Lady Tonomori, Lady Kōro, Lady Kogannon, and Lady Kujaku—but in recent times, none can compare to Ōe no Gyokuen’s daughter, Lady Shirahime.” reported. Ōe no Gyokuen was the son of Ōe no Otohito, making her his granddaughter. Otohito served Emperor Seiwa, concurrently held the positions of Junior Third Rank and Captain of the Left Gate Guards, and even served as Director of the Kebiishi, while his younger brother Chisato was also famous as a poet.

The Retired Emperor promptly had Shirahime summoned, “Compose a poem incorporating the place name Torikai,” and put her poetic talent to the test.

Now that I have met spring tinged with pale green worth, Though not mist, it has risen and lingers.

When Shirahime immediately composed this poem, Retired Emperor Uda perceived her inner shame over her former noble status and current circumstances, “I’ve made you recall such bitter memories.” and was moved to drunken tears. Having bestowed upon her ceremonial robes and layered garments, the princes and courtiers in attendance each presented gifts as well, “Should you face any hardship in life, report it without hesitation to the Retired Emperor.” then comforted her before sending her back—or so the tale goes. The Retired Emperor thereafter frequently summoned Shirahime, showering her with extraordinary favor; yet as he dwelled at Torikai Detached Palace only during brief summer respites, he ordered a man called Shichirō of Nan’in to oversee all aspects of her daily welfare—an act said to demonstrate compassion exceeding even that found among commoners.

This tale, also recorded in *The Tales of Yamato*, must have become legend in these pleasure quarters at the time—but among the courtesans encountered by Sumitomo, Fushinin, Kojirō, and their ilk, not a single woman could be found who possessed enough grace to catch the Retired Emperor’s eye. Every last one of them was splotched with white powder, reeked of hair oil, and had been used up as one-night wives by Wu-Yue patrons—worn-out bodies harboring shadows of melancholy—there was not a single woman who did not fit this description.

Of course, the clients were clients indeed.

According to Sumitomo and Akishige,

“The women of Tomo Port and Muro Harbor in the Seto Inland Sea are even coarser than these… But the ladies of Eguchi still retain some vestige of elegance—” they said, and all were thoroughly pleased that night. The seven ascended to the first floor and drank without pause from dusk till midnight.

They danced and sang, indulging in every conceivable amusement until all means of revelry were exhausted. “Ah—I’m drunk,” “Never drank this much before—” Kojirō became aware of his dizziness and collapsed in a heap. He fell asleep just like that, utterly insensible.

……And when he abruptly awoke, true to the nature of waterside regions near rivers and seas, the walls around him and even the night items were damp with moisture, while beside him lay another figure—black hair disheveled—sprawled in sleep. The night had grown pale outside, yet within the house, not a sound stirred—it remained night. The indistinct woman sleeping beside him was surely one of the courtesans from last evening’s revelry. But Kojirō, as if seeing a woman for the first time, jolted and stared wide-eyed at her sleeping face... And, for some reason, tears moistened his eyelashes.

...Emishi Hagi. She was the spitting image of the dead Emishi Hagi. Could this be her reincarnation? So striking was the resemblance that one might have thought her identical to the beautiful slave girl Kojirō had first known at fourteen. He abruptly recalled—in the half-awake limbo between sleep and consciousness—the horse shed in Bandō Plain's pastures. The scent he now detected from the woman beside him matched exactly what he had breathed when an older slave girl caressed him amidst straw bedding. With the same illusion and wildness from that time, he suddenly pressed his lips to her sleeping mouth. The woman let out a soft gasp of surprise and opened her eyes, then abruptly pulled his hesitant limbs into a deep embrace. With wildfire passion, she scorched through Kojirō's hallucinations and delusions—phantoms unanchored to past or present.

*Waterweed Chronicles*

The fog hung thick, night not yet fully relinquishing its hold as willows stood dripping with dew, the great river’s waters sluggish with sleep, no ripples troubling Eguchi’s banks. “...Where?” “Where you were born…” Kojirō walked beside the woman along the water’s edge where willows shed their leaves. Their lodgings still slumbered; courtesan houses and merchant shops built in matching styles lay hushed as if midnight lingered in the pallid dawn light. “…The Eastern Provinces.”

The woman answered. She was eighteen years old—with jet-black eyelashes and coarse, wheat-colored skin. When she smiled, even the part of her lips where decayed teeth showed was the spitting image of Emishi Hagi. So she did have Emishi blood from the Eastern Provinces after all—Kojirō looked at her anew with eyes ablaze with affection. "So you were sold and brought here then—from the Eastern Provinces." "Yes… Mom."

“Ah.” “I see.” “You know nothing—still just a child.” When he asked, “Your name is—”

“Kusabue… My name is Kusabue,” she said softly. Kojirō said frankly, “Since I’m from Bandō too—I don’t know why—but I like you.” “And I’ll definitely come back again,” he added with similar remarks.

Kusabue too—her words seemingly free of the usual lies and perfunctory niceties of her trade—gazed at him with lingering eyes and said, “I… somehow… like you too. Please… don’t forget me…” Perhaps in encountering such an immature client, she too might have genuinely shared in a girl’s naive flutter of excitement. Love—the more immature it was—should have been all the more delightful for those involved.

As the surroundings grew brighter, boats began moving here and there, and figures of people started appearing. The two began making their way back toward their original lodging. Then from one waterside pavilion, a guest who seemed to be from the capital—likewise being seen off by a courtesan—was boarding a boat. The man on shore and woman on the boat kept exchanging lingering dawn farewells, until at last the guest’s vessel drifted into the river’s current, leaving the woman standing alone on the bank.

“Ah...?”

Kojirō and the guest unintentionally locked eyes. That must be his cousin, Jōhei no Sadamori.

Sadamori too seemed to have distinctly seen Kojirō’s figure. Kojirō felt an inexplicable stirring in his chest. “Did you know him?” Asked by Kusabue, Kojirō replied, “Hmm—a cousin I don’t get along with… That guy—does he come here often?”

“He is Awaji-san’s esteemed customer. It seems he comes about two or three times a month, surely.”

Kusabue, upon hearing that Kojirō was Sadamori’s cousin, seemed to place even greater trust in him.

When they returned to the lodging, Sumitomo and all of last night’s companions were already awake. Fushinin persistently argued for staying to enjoy themselves there one more day, but that would mean having to wait another seven days for the ship from Naniwa to Shikoku. "We'll return to the capital someday—" With that declaration, Sumitomo and his men prepared their travel gear there, then boarded two separate ships and parted ways upon the great river—some heading west, others east. The courtesans too, all of them, lined up parasols on their boats and went out to the middle of the Yodo’s current to see off the party. Of them all, only Kusabue’s face remained in Kojirō’s eyes.

Lower-ranking retainer of the Takiguchi

“Here. Kojirō—” On one occasion, Tadahira confronted him. “According to reports, you have been frequently neglecting your official duties and absenting yourself from the residence for nights on end—utterly inexcusable.” It was not a lie. Kojirō could only prostrate himself in fearful apology. “Just who in the world have you been visiting in Eguchi? And where does the money for such amusements come from? This is most irregular. You must state that matter plainly—it will not be overlooked. …Tell the truth. The truth—”

“I will speak… But Your Excellency—who dared whisper such things into your ear?” “Such matters need not be asked about. Speak your piece. Account for yourself.” “Well, actually…” Kojirō began, having thought of a lie but then grown weary of the trouble, and so ended up saying exactly what was demanded. “In the following month, I was invited to Eguchi for the first time. It was because a close friend was returning to Iyo Province—so we gathered at that waterside pavilion there for a send-off.”

“What? A close friend? …What kind of close friend could *you* possibly have?” “Yes. That would be Fujiwara no Sumitomo, sixth-rank assistant governor of Iyo Province. During my stay in the capital, I also became acquainted with Ki no Akishige, Ono no Ujihiko, and others.” “What? That… Sumitomo?” This must have come as a shock, for Tadahira stared at Kojirō as if to bore holes through him. Kojirō inwardly marveled—indeed, what Sumitomo had said was no lie. Sumitomo, having seen Kojirō perpetually wearing an anxious look toward his master, had once mocked his timidity.

“Next time something happens, try dropping my name. If you tell him you’re pals with Sumitomo, that Tadahira’ll have his eyes popping out of his skull—no doubt he’ll start showing even trash like you some respect from then on—”

Kojirō now recalled those words and could not suppress his amusement at their precise accuracy. Whether his demeanor in that moment had been perceived by Tadahira as still being laden with implication— “That’s enough insolence. Other Blue-Robed retainers have their positions to consider.” He ambiguously concluded the reprimand, but thereafter, no matter what occurred, he ceased to summon Kojirō—"Call Kojirō here"—to his side. Before long, he was suddenly ordered to transfer from the Koichijō residence to the Takiguchi guards office.

The Imperial Guards Office was the garrison for soldiers at the forbidden gates. The Left Guards Office and Right Guards Office each maintained a standing force of six hundred men. In addition were the Konoe guards in the inner court. At the outer gates stood various military departments of the Hyōe outer guards. At Takiguchi too, since ancient times, border guards and kondei conscripts—provincial youths from across the land—had kept their posts. Within the imperial palace grounds at Takiguchi lay barracks that birthed designations like "Takiguchi guards" and "Takiguchi warriors." Kojirō too came to be called "Takiguchi no Kojirō" after arriving there.

The predawn roll calls, morning and afternoon drills, horse training—as expected of the military department within the imperial palace grounds, their strictness was indeed strict, and above all, outings were strictly regulated. The commanders of the Six Guards were Middle Counselors serving as Captains of the Gate Guards, beneath whom were various officials such as Imperial Police Supervisors, Senior Secretaries, Lieutenants, and Sword-Bearers. "Ah... So he's confined me here." Kojirō too had discerned Tadahira's intentions. However, compared to being at Koichijo, his wings were allowed to spread far more freely, and they were by no means unpleasant days. The only sorrow was that he had lost all chance to visit Eguchi again.

There were days off, but they amounted to a mere single day. Those with hometowns could return to them, but this was a rule that granted leave only once every three years.

"Now, at last, I’ve come to understand. "It was Jōhei no Sadamori who informed the Minister of Koichijo about my Eguchi visits—no doubt about it. ……Damn him—he’s really got it out for me." That he came to this realization was due to a chance encounter with him at the gate of the Samaryō after his transfer to Takiguchi—a sudden flash of insight.

At that time as well, Sadamori, “Oh...” From a distance, he acknowledged Kojirō’s bow with nothing more than a slight nod of his eyes, then continued facing toward Ōyake as he departed without altering course. Afterward, within the forbidden gates, it became natural that they would often cross paths with Sadamori; yet Sadamori always bore himself like a noble prince, wearing an expression that treated any familiarity with a mere Takiguchi warrior as something shameful. Do you not see?

Life as a warrior in the Imperial Guards was not painful for Kojirō. Tied to the wildness of open plains, his physique grew ever more robust. Furthermore, life within the imperial palace awakened new ambitions in his heart. In all things existed distinctions of rank and status. Naturally, within Kojirō's mind too, the desire for advancement began to raise its head. He labored diligently; he pursued studies. In every task he undertook, he strove not to be outdone by other soldiers. Particularly in horse training—when handling steeds, they said none from either Left Stable or Right Stable could equal Takiguchi no Kojirō.

Four years later, he rose to the rank of Junior Assistant of the Seventh Rank.

In the spring of that fourth year. After a long time, Fujiwara no Sumitomo of Iyo once again came up to the capital. And then, when Sumitomo came to Takiguchi to invite him, they went out together for leisure. Once he became a Junior Assistant at Takiguchi, even outings became unrestricted. But Kusabue of Eguchi, like duckweed on the water’s edge, was already long gone from there.

“Where should we go…?” said Sumitomo. Kojirō had no idea either.

“First, let’s try inviting Yasaka no Fushinin. “Since joining the Imperial Guards, truth be told, I haven’t met Fushinin even once since then—” “Oh… So you’ve been in the capital all this time and don’t know about Fushinin’s demise?”

“Fushinin died?” “So I’ve heard...” “That’s a lie. I haven’t even heard any rumors about it.”

“That he was captured and thrown in prison—that much isn’t a lie. This is something I heard directly from one of his subordinates who’d scattered to the provinces.” “How could that elusive man have been captured by the Imperial Police?” “No—it wasn’t the Imperial Police, but under the command of a man called Jōhei no Sadamori that they suddenly raided Yasaka’s nest while they slept—and threw him into the Ministry of Justice’s prison, so the story goes. …By all accounts, it’s said that Sadamori—who’s ingratiated himself with the House of the Left Minister—petitioned Tadahira and eagerly took on this task himself.”

“……I didn’t know. When did that happen?” “It was just this New Year. If even you haven’t heard of it, they must be keeping it tightly hidden from the world…… From what I can tell, Tadahira must have had Sadamori carry out revenge for Lady Hydrangea.” “If that’s true, something might soon fall upon me too.” “But no matter what tortures they use, I don’t think Fushinin would reveal his ties to you. There’s likely no need to worry on that front—but you must stay vigilant against Sadamori to the end. There’s no predicting what schemes they’re brewing—though I did learn about your homeland’s circumstances when I heard your personal story before.”

They climbed up the Kamo riverbank at some point,

“Hey, let’s go to Mount Hiei.”

Abruptly, Sumitomo spoke up.

At the foot of the mountain, they bought sake, carried it with them, and climbed Mount Shimei-ga-take.

Beneath the spring haze, the roofs of Kyoto and the gates of the Imperial Palace could be seen. ......Ah, the Heian Capital... the city of humanity...

Kojirō was overwhelmed with emotion.

Sixteen—the beautiful dreams and hopes he had on that day when he first saw Kyoto after making the long journey from the Bandō Plain to the capital were worlds apart from what he now felt as he gazed upon it.

Today’s lamentation was a mockery of the Capital. It was also anger toward humanity on earth. “Kojirō, you’re terribly lost in thought, aren’t you?” “Ugh… I’m just dumbstruck by how absurd it all was. I was too straightforward.” “No, that stubbornness of yours won’t change—and neither will mine.”

“You are wise.” “Hahaha! If I were wise, why would I still be smoldering away as some sixth-rank local official in a backwater corner of Nankai? Had I been wise, I’d have stormed into the capital long ago and never let the likes of Minister of the Left Tadahira put on such airs. My grandfather was Kanpaku Mototsune’s younger brother—I am of Mototsune’s bloodline, he who served under Emperors Yōzei and Kōkō and paved the Fujiwara clan’s prosperity.” Sumitomo’s tone grew mournful, tears glistening in his bloodshot eyes. It was his nature to self-deprecatingly call himself Nankai’s Mad Child.

“When you’re in Iyo, you can’t help but see provincial governors rotting with corruption and district officials bullying the weak—it becomes impossible to stay silent. And when you come to the capital, you find the Imperial Court turned into a nest of splendor, with constant office-seeking from dawn till dusk, endless banquets night and day, petty schemers darting about with their slanderous accusations and such...” “There’s nowhere left for these feelings to go.”

Sumitomo covered his face with a cup. The cup they had begged for at a temple along the way. He thrust that at Kojirō, “Won’t you drink?—You too are a sixth-generation descendant from Emperor Kanmu. Are you not truly a scion of the imperial line? Pull yourself together, I say.”

“That’s right. I too… back when my father was alive, was called the Young Lord in my homeland.” “What good does it do to grow complacent over a mere promotion to the lower ranks of the Takiguchi? —Can’t you see it with your own eyes?” Sumitomo pointed at the distant Heian Capital with a hand red to the nails.

“Beneath those roofs—how many people spend today in happiness? For the most part, they’re either undergrowth beneath a grand tree of splendor or weeds crushed under stones. Whether clan elders or every last kinsman—the Fujiwara alone know they exist yet refuse to see the countless hungers upon this earth. And they even erode the Imperial Court from within—an astonishing existence! In this radiant spring midday haze where none question it—doesn’t your blood boil? Don’t your tears rise?”

“I may not grasp political intricacies, but even with yearly epidemics and floods, the capital’s destitute live in misery.—And before the floodwaters recede, gagaku music already echoes from nobles’ mansions.” “No—natural disasters are one thing. But we’ve no law permitting us to ignore man-made ruin.” "They must be rectified." “I mean to rectify them.”

"But what difference does it make how we lowly ones feel?" “Mark my words—once I return to Iyo this time, I will most certainly act.” “Kojirō, if you hear of upheaval in Nankai within these coming years—know that Fujiwara no Sumitomo will be there.” “I’ll do it—I’ll do it no matter what.”

Return to His Province

It remained unclear what purpose had driven Sumitomo’s latest journey to the capital. He himself had divulged nothing of it to Kojirō. Soon after, he departed once more for his appointed post in Nankai.

“Once you determine whether Fushinin lives or dies, send word immediately upon knowing…”

That had been his parting request.

However, with just Kojirō’s inquiries, the inner secrets of the Gyōbushō couldn’t possibly be uncovered.

He came up with a plan. One day, having prepared gifts, he abruptly went to visit Inukai no Yoshitsugu, the warden of the Gyōbushō. "You haven’t forgotten me, have you…?" Kojirō said to the senile old warden while presenting his gifts. "It has been nearly ten years now," Inukai replied. "I had just come up to the capital from the Eastern Provinces when I encountered bandits near Yasaka. That night—along with their capture—I too was placed in this prison for a night." He peered at Kojirō. "That country-bred young lordling from that time…"

“Huh? “...Ten years ago already, you say?” “...” “Hmm... And what might your esteemed name be?”

“He went by Sōma no Kojirō and was the one carrying a letter from his uncle Taira no Kunika addressed to the Minister of Koichijō.” “Oh... I remember now. Are you not that young lordling from back then? There’s no way I could have forgotten. What an extraordinary change you’ve undergone.” “At that time—both within the prison and all the way to Koichijō—you had your subordinates guide me and showed me such kindness. I had meant not to forget it, but I ended up neglecting to stay in touch.” “Ah, you’ve come... And do you still serve the House of the Left Minister now?”

“Lately I’ve been serving at the Takiguchi Warriors’ Office,” Kojirō said. “In truth, I came today because there’s a certain matter I wished to inquire about.” At this point, he brought up the name “Yasaka no Fushinin.” Recently there had been bandits who breached the Kōi-den of the Imperial Palace—some claimed it was Fushinin’s doing—yet others said Fushinin had long since died in Gyōbushō prison. “So which is true and which false? You must know,” he pressed skillfully. “Though it may be confidential, I’d like you to quietly divulge it—”

“What? You say Fushinin-like bandits broke into the Kōi-den?” “They’re already committing such audacious acts…” Inukai no Yoshitsugu widened his eyes and began speaking of his own accord. “Well, it’s true that Fushinin was handed over from the House of the Left Minister and once entered prison, but he didn’t even last two nights there before breaking out and escaping.” “…Because of that, I too received a hundred days of disciplinary confinement and have only just returned to duty four or five days ago.”

He laughed through his beard but abruptly regained solemnity, "But since this matter is strictly classified—how did you come by this information? Did the House of the Left Minister send you here under orders?" he asked suspiciously. Kojirō, wanting to depart before nightfall, offered vague excuses and left at once. ——And immediately dispatched a letter to Sumitomo in Iyo.

For some reason, after that, there came no further word from Sumitomo.

The following year, Enchō 8, brought not a single good thing to the world. Due to the previous year’s floods across the Kinki region, from spring onward, the twin capitals became filled with the empty husks of starved corpses along the roadsides. Kojirō and the Takiguchi soldiers were busy every day disposing of corpses. Prohibition signs declaring “Do Not Discard Corpses” proved utterly ineffective—by dawn, new bodies lay scattered everywhere once more. The Kyoto authorities accommodated the sick and starving in the Seyaku-in and Hiden-in institutions outside the capital, but they soon overflowed, and furthermore, starving people from the provinces began pouring into the capital, even crossing the checkpoints.

It was loudly proclaimed that the only places with food now were temples, court nobles, and the Imperial Court.

Moreover, in summer, there was an outbreak of dysentery, and lightning struck the Seiryōden, causing a great fire. To speak of public anxiety as mere "turmoil" was absurd. The reason riots did not break out was that all those who could have rioted were starving and prostrate, while those who were still healthy turned into bandit gangs, ravaging the capital night after night. Amidst such societal conditions, Emperor Daigo passed away, and the eight-year-old Emperor Suzaku ascended to the throne—with the Minister of the Left, Fujiwara no Tadahira, serving as Regent.

The era name was changed to Jōhei 1. Even with spring's arrival, rampant banditry showed no signs of abating in the capital. Amidst this chaos, it remained unclear whether Yasaka no Fushinin and his gang were truly present. Rumors claimed even court nobles' own retainers had joined their ranks. Yet at the Minister of Koichijō's mansion, a three-day celebration for the regent's inauguration unfolded extravagantly. Following this lead, powerful households too let gagaku melodies seep into streets now graced by spring's fleeting snow and Kasuga's blossoms.

The world had become impossible to understand. "I'll return once more to Bandō Plain—see my brothers' faces and settle Father's inheritance—then decide whether to end my days in my homeland or keep living in the capital. After that comes life begun anew."

Takiguchi no Kojirō resolved thus this year.

Thereupon, he resigned his post, departed the capital, and returned to his hometown of Toyoda Village in Shimousa Province for the first time in thirteen years at the age of twenty-nine.

Old Mountains and Rivers

Mount Fuji remained Mount Fuji. The Musashino Plain remained the Musashino Plain. Moreover, the plains of Bandō, the hills, the great rivers, and the small streams—all these old mountains and rivers he had parted from thirteen years prior remained exactly as he remembered them.

“...Not a single thing has changed.” Kojirō muttered toward the sky of his approaching hometown. Having returned from the capital of violent flux to this unchanging land preserving its primordial countenance, he found himself gripped not by nostalgic reminiscence but by a desolation resembling unease. Yet when he finally neared Toyoda Village that day, the scent of his native soil pungently roused his sensibilities. “Oh! Brother! —Brother’s here!”

“It must be Lord Kojirō! Lord Kojirō!” On the path ahead appeared a cluster of people—pointing at him and clamoring noisily—when three or four youths came running out from their midst. “Brother. I came out to greet you. I am your younger brother Saburō Masayori.” “I am Shirō Masahira.” Then even the youngest brothers—Masafumi, Masatake, and others—had all come. “Ah…” “You’ve all grown so much.” Kojirō felt keenly aware of thirteen years’ absence as he looked at each brother’s face. Though unmistakably country warriors, each bore a rugged dependability. He found himself suddenly engulfed in a whirlpool of affection,

“How about it? I’ve changed too, haven’t I? I’m twenty-nine now. I’ve been away so long—you all must’ve endured many hardships. But I’ve come back now. From here on, let’s work together to develop Father’s lands and strive amicably for our house’s prosperity! You’ve all stayed well and kept together. Masayori and Masahira have grown so much they’re barely recognizable. What a relief.” He kept repeating “How grateful I am—how grateful!” though his words weren’t directed at anyone. It was pure overflowing gratitude. He embraced each brother’s shoulders, clasped their hands, tears streaming unnoticed from his eyes.

The rest of the welcoming party consisted of household servants. Not a single face of the uncles was to be seen. Mounted on a horse led by attendants, with his brothers holding the bridle as though being welcomed through a gate of happiness, Kojirō arrived that day at his birthplace—the Toyoda Mansion. The villagers too had suspended their labors for the occasion, “The mansion’s young lord has come of age and returned from the capital!” and celebrated together. Outside the ancient massive gate, the village’s elderly and children clustered about, peering inside. Old women and village elders came bearing offerings of mochi and noodles—it might as well have been festival day. Somewhere lingered the elegant sounds of drums and flutes.

Warm people, warm words, a warm household banquet. Kojirō, both mind and body utterly immersed in affection and care, fell asleep.

But the next day—sitting in a single room within this massive structure, once again—

When Kojirō resolved himself with the thought—"This is the house left by my father that I must now manage as household head"—he felt an inexplicable emptiness and desolation as vast as a cavern. The mansion bore no resemblance to how it had been when his father Yoshimochi lived here. Even compared to when he had left his homeland at sixteen after his father's death, it was different still. Why did everything feel so hollow? Only the mountains and rivers remained unchanged. There were only ancient pillars, beams, and gates. Something had changed—changed beyond measure.

The Hollow Mansion

Upon waking, he made a round of the vast mansion and palisade gates. He peered into numerous storehouses as well. However, the rice that once filled them was gone, and nearly all the weapons were lost. The once-numerous servants were now few enough to count. And all of them were just old and decrepit or feeble invalids with nowhere else to go. "There is no female slave like Emishi Hagi......"

He peered into the empty moat before the slave quarters. With no runaway slaves to contain, it had become a refuse dump. In winter, beneath icicles hanging from the cliffside, memories surfaced clearly - of Emishi Hagi who had fallen there to her death, a vivid scene from his boyhood days. He remembered the unforgettable warmth of her lips too. Kojirō stood staring vacantly.

“Elder Brother. “Were you here?” “I thought you were still asleep.” “Oh, Saburō.” “I slept well last night.” “—What about the other brothers?”

“They set out early this morning—Shirō went to the great-uncle at Ishida Mansion. Gorō and Rokurō too split up to journey to the other uncles’ villages and inform them of your return.” “What’s the fuss? Should’ve left it be.” Unconsciously, Kojirō let a grimace twist his features. “How’d they know my return date beforehand?” “Word came from those uncles.” “Hmph… So when I left the capital—you think Sadamori sent a fast missive straight to his father Kunika?”

“I don’t know the details, but they notified us of the day,” “And we had been ordered that when Kojirō returned, we were to immediately report that fact.” “What.” “Report it, they said?” “……It’s just like a government office.” “Lately—have the uncles been showing up here?” “Yes.” “Great-Uncle doesn’t come often, but Yoshikane-sama and Yoshimasa-sama take turns visiting frequently.” “So then—during my absence—did those two uncles look after you all?”

“...No,” Saburō Masayori shook his head vehemently, then bent his arm to hide his tear-streaked face.

“Saburō. Why are you crying… Didn’t I tell you when I left our homeland? You’re the one who must lead our younger brothers when I’m not here—didn’t I tell you that? Back then, you were still a twelve- or thirteen-year-old snot-nosed brat, but now you’re a fine young man next to me. Why are you crying? Don’t show me that tearful face.” “I had been steeling myself since yesterday, determined not to show a tearful face to you, Elder Brother, who had just returned after so long. Elder Brother! There is nothing left in this mansion—none of the inheritance Father left us.”

“I saw it. The rice storehouses, the armories... I’d already surmised while still in the capital that they’d likely be in such a state. Doesn’t surprise me.” “Even while we remained here, your uncles’ servants treated us no differently. Once I began understanding things, I couldn’t help feeling resentment—but whenever I spoke up, they’d shut me down—” “How dare you complain! Do you wretches even know who raised you? Orphaned young with that fool Kojirō for a brother—without us uncles, Toyoda Village and this mansion would’ve been seized by neighboring warlords ages ago! You’d have been sold off as servants or left for dead!” “And when they hammered us with ‘Whose grace let you grow up safe?’—we could only swallow our tears in silence.”

“Hmm… They’ve heaped debts of gratitude onto you all—and then, for your sake, every last asset Father left behind… those uncles have sneakily made off with it all.”

“Yes. This mansion is practically an empty shell. There’s nothing left at all. Elder Brother—since we didn’t lose it ourselves—please forgive us.” “You idiot. Who’d ever doubt you? Timid fool. Quit crying now…” “Y-yes.” “It’s fine, Saburō. Even if all our furnishings, grain stores, and armory weapons are gone—I’m back here now. And Father’s vast reclaimed fields? Those blood-defended ancestral lands? Enough remains to parcel out among our youngest brothers and still have surplus. We’ll just stiffen our backs and work. We’ll become fathers ourselves and rebuild Father’s legacy… Hell—with soil beneath us, what else matters?”

“However, even those ancestral estates and newly cultivated fields—during the thirteen years you were away, Elder Brother—the three uncles have divided them all among themselves.” “To whom?” “…….” “Whose is it now?” “To the uncles and their sons.” “Th-that’s absurd,” Kojirō said, his voice caught between a laugh and—though a shadow of unease flickered across his brow—a denial spat out to himself. “Such a thing can’t exist—such a thing can’t.” “There’s no heir like me for the house, and you all were young—so the three uncles have been looking after everything until my return.” “That’s how it was agreed upon.” “Now that I’ve returned, of course they’ll hand it all back to me.”

“But...” “People say otherwise.” “It’s all so wasteful.” “They call it outright embezzlement.”

“That’s just others’ envy.” “After all, these fields are so vast—even after paying taxes to the capital, what’s left amounts to an enormous income.” “For thirteen years, the uncles must have been pocketing that as your child-rearing expenses.” “……Ah, to have fallen into such trivial talk first thing in the morning.” “I’m going to Ōyubi.” “Ōyubi no Maki?”

“Hmm, hmm. “I’ll show the pasture horses this face of mine now that I’ve returned…” “Even the horses—there are none of quality like before, nor even the same numbers. Only a few old nags and broken-down steeds remain.”

“Did they take even the horses?” “They even took the slaves and menservants.” “It’s alright. As long as there’s soil.” “Anyway—I’m going and coming back.”

With that, Kojirō left the enclosure.

When he returned to his homeland, he wanted to sit on that pasture hill where he had spent much of his boyhood, gaze once more at the passing clouds, and take in the distant view of the three plumes rising from Nasu, Asama, and Fuji—this had been his wish ever since his days in the capital. It was a memory.

The Fishermen's Last Testament

Now, the longing of those homesick days had come to a head.

Kojirō sat atop a hill, solitary, hugging his knees in the same posture as his boyhood days.

But nothing came to fill it. Empty heavens and earth. A pasture without horses.

Why was I able to spend entire days alone in such desolation during my childhood? Even while in the capital, he had found himself nostalgically recalling it at every turn and occasion. He couldn’t bear to stay there long. However, I must steel my resolve. In this tranquil expanse of earth and sky—a reality entirely separate from the dreams he had nurtured of this hill—Kojirō found himself lost in thought. Above all, now that I had returned as a full-fledged man, the responsibility as family head would henceforth—whether I liked it or not—rest squarely on my own shoulders.

My time in the capital wasn’t wasted. Even if I learned nothing else, I have observed people. I’m somewhat different from my brothers who’ve never known the capital. I won’t let the uncles deceive me. Nor will I fear them.

Fervently, he began muttering to himself. The great nature of his homeland was, after all, a silent-benevolent father second only to his own flesh-and-blood parent. True courage and conscience appeared to be vigorously invigorating his youthful body.

"That's right," he thought. "I won't make people my enemies. Even in the capital, they were all like that anyway. All this anger just makes me start thinking like Sumitomo or Fushinin. My homeland's no different. The uncles' black-hearted schemes make my blood boil beyond bearing—but I won't chain myself to what's done. I'll begin anew with silent diligence, making the soil my only rival. This son will walk the path Father Yoshimochi walked before me. Call me a fool if you will. Laugh at me as a naive simpleton. I bear the clan head's duty. With soil beneath me, I'll surely rebuild a house worthy of Father's era—no! I'll surpass it! I'll force those uncles to choke on their mockery!"

On his way back, he peered into the residence of Miku’s fisherman, who had been tending the pastures since his father’s time. The stable was decaying, and no trace of horses could be seen. However, inside the broken door on the earthen floor, a white-haired old woman sat alone, turning a spinning wheel and spinning thread by herself. Though greatly changed, she was the fisherman’s wife. She wept as she told of her husband the fisherman no longer being in this world, “When Lord Wako eventually returns from the skies of the capital, show him this quietly—that’s what he said… and then he breathed his last. …That was already two autumns ago, it was.”

With that, she took out what appeared to be a testament and handed it to Kojirō. That night, Kojirō read the fisherman’s testament by lamplight and sobbed. The fisherman had waited single-mindedly for Kojirō's return, enduring all manner of persecution and poverty while protecting the pastures until his final breath.

At the end of the testament, it was written thus: (—Of the three pastures. The other two had already been taken by the retainers of Lords Yoshikane and Yoshimasa. Moreover, even the hereditary manors and newly cultivated fields had apparently met with dubious disposal. Regrettably, this old fisherman’s feeble strength proved insufficient; to witness such unconscionable acts yet meet my end through illness—this truly weighs upon my heart.)

"I beseech you, upon your return to this land, to amply cultivate your vigor and restore your household's fortunes. Though departed from this world, this fisherman's spirit shall ever humbly safeguard you, Lord Wako......" The testament's final words—penned with deathbed urgency—continued onward. For Kojirō, who had left his rustic home in boyhood, there followed at the end meticulous notations: the regions and county names of territorial holdings he rightfully ought to inherit since Yoshimochi's time.

However, after that, again— (This much I can confirm remains as hereditary lands attached to your noble house—but as for the Daijōkan’s land certificates and provincial governors’ certifications—I have not heard into whose hands they have fallen.) with the following appended.

Kojirō was struck by a great anxiety. Even so—surely not…? Surely not…? —but the desire to deny these thoughts was stronger. Uncles were, by definition, one's father's brothers. Were they not close kin to us brothers? They were all advanced in years—fifty or sixty—and moreover each maintained large households of servants and retainers; theirs was no struggling lineage. They were all seasoned local magnates. Why would they try to plunder parentless orphans' inheritance? It was others' jealousy. It was baseless suspicion. And yet—Kojirō simply could not bring himself to doubt them—but neither could he wipe away that lingering unease.

Brothers in the Shadow

After two or three days, Shirō Masahira and the other brothers returned one after another. Kojirō asked Shirō: “What did Hitachi’s Great Uncle Kunika say? —About my return.” “He just said... ‘I see,’” Shirō answered. “Then he declared: ‘Now that your eldest brother has returned too, you mustn’t keep relying on us any longer. Consider yourselves without relatives and work hard.’”

“What did **you** answer?” “Huh, Shōhei?” “...I just said ‘Yes,’ greeted them, stayed the night, and came back.”

"They’re mocking us, damn them." Seething, his heart murmured. Even his spineless brother was starting to irritate him. However, whether he looked at Masahira or those below him—Masabumi and Masatake—they were all still youths barely twenty years old. From the eyes of his cunning uncles, he and his brothers must have seemed like nothing more than milk-scented infants. He couldn’t help but feel it wasn’t unreasonable.

“Masabumi… So he went to Uncle Yoshimasa in Tsukuba?” “Uh, I said it properly.”

“Just ‘properly’?… Is that all?” “No—he said, ‘Once you’ve settled in, come visit me too.’ And that he’d come himself before long.” “Masatake.—What about Uncle Yoshikane?” “He was away. The household servant said he’d gone to Niihari Mansion for some celebratory invitation.” “Whose mansion is Niihari Mansion?” “Lord Moro of the Saga Genji clan.—While you were away, Uncle Yoshikane took one of Lord Moro’s daughters as his bride after his previous wife passed.” “The wedding feast lasted seven days—we brothers went to assist.”

“If it’s our uncle’s wedding, shouldn’t you have been welcoming a new aunt? So instead of being invited to the banquet, you ended up helping in the kitchen?” At their elder brother’s displeased tone, the brothers fell silent. I must not lose my temper. These orphans had been raised to be so spineless. Kojirō quickly reconsidered. “It’s not a wedding celebration, but our household must hold a gathering too. Let’s set a date—it’ll be my homecoming celebration,” he declared cheerfully.

He said cheerfully. The brothers exchanged glances. They seemed to immediately start fretting over expenses like old men.

“Circulate the invitations. Got it? Even to the uncles. And also to Father’s old acquaintances, former retainers, priests and shrine stewards of temples and shrines, and various district officials.”

After writing the draft, he handed it to his brothers. They prepared ten loads of sake bottles and cooked dried fish, dried shellfish, river fish, fowl, fruits, cow butter, root vegetables, and all manner of delicacies in preparation for the day’s grand feast. —This was likely the most extensive cooking the old kitchen of this mansion had seen since its founding. These ingredients had to be bartered for at the market for the most part. Kojirō, for that purpose, even had them take his deceased father’s relics to the market. He even supervised the kitchen’s cooking himself, checking the seasoning and teaching them Kyoto-style tableware arrangements. It was nothing more than an imitation of what he had observed at the Minister of the Left's household, yet a childish pretentiousness—a desire to astonish the eyes and palates of the locals—was at work.

—Yet it was not merely ostentation; there truly existed within him a nature that took joy in others’ joy. On that day, he specifically had mochi pounded and scattered the rice cakes among the elderly and children of Toyoda Village. To the peasants who had gathered at the gate as well, they served sake and sweets. Guests numbered seventy or eighty people. Many of his late father’s acquaintances had passed away, and even those introduced as cousins or nieces were all unfamiliar faces to Kojirō. The retainers who had once served still sat in the lower seats and helped out even when they came as guests. In their gazes and expressions, Kojirō instead felt a kinship. Great-Uncle Kunika excused himself, claiming to have caught a cold, and the uncle from Tsukuba also failed to appear, saying he was away on a journey. Only Kazusa no Suke Yoshimasa appeared at the banquet as the representative of the uncles, taking charge of exchanging pleasantries and cups with the people.

Among those guests, the person who brought Kojirō the greatest joy had come. That was someone truly unforgettable.

“It has been too long.” Kojirō sat before the man and for a long while paid no heed to anything else. “My, how you’ve grown…” The man gazed intently at him, raising his cup with a gentle smile at his lips.

It was Sugawara no Michiyuki. In his boyhood days, he had his precarious life saved by this person. ――Born as Sugawara no Michizane’s third biological son, possessing scholarly talent and upstanding character, yet ending his days as a local official in such a remote province—to think there existed a person who lived his entire life unknown to the world, voicing no complaints and fading into obscurity—made the very existence of those high-ranking officials and powerful families in the capital begin to seem utterly perplexing. “So… how was the capital?” “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I haven’t managed to learn a single thing.”

“Will you be staying in your homeland from now on?” “Because I’m the heir.” “If only Lord Yoshimochi were still alive… he would rejoice, and your honored mother would also be happy, but—” Perhaps because his uncle Yoshimasa was staring so intently, Michiyuki did not speak much. Then, as the hall’s drunken revelry began dissolving into song and handclaps, he slipped away unnoticed. On this night’s homecoming banquet, Kojirō decided he would henceforth go by the name Masakado.

He had held the name Masakado since his coming-of-age ceremony, but having gone to the capital, he had somehow continued using his childhood name. Even his younger brothers were not using childhood names. Under the extended family system of that era, he became both the family head and took the name Masakado.

Barley Harvest Season

When Masakado’s return became widely known, the retainers and household servants who had previously sought refuge began trickling back to Toyoda Mansion. They all knew the cruel truth—that Provincial Governor Kunika and the uncles Yoshikane and Yoshimasa had colluded to divide and plunder these fields and assets while Masakado was in the capital. “We couldn’t bear serving such heartless masters,” they said among themselves, “but when we heard our Young Master had returned, we came back.”

As if by prior arrangement, they were talking among themselves.

Masakado was happy. At the same time, he felt something powerful—a surge of confidence—take hold within him. Though not reaching former scales, they purchased slaves and servants at the market, bought horses, and began cultivating nearby fields while breaking ground on virgin lands.

But as the population grew, food became urgently needed. Even the rice was absent from his granary. "It's barley harvest season," Masakado declared. "The riverside fields along the Keno River already blaze golden yellow. Go reap them now!"

He had given the orders, and for four or five days now, they had been transporting mountains of barley sheaves to Toyoda Mansion as soon as they were cut.

That day, Masakado was on the scaffolding with his servants, plastering the earthen storehouse. The pale sunlight of near-summer hung thick with the region’s distinctive earthy scent around noon. At the sound of urgent voices, Masakado peered beyond the palisade gate from his perch and saw retainers streaming into the compound—those he’d sent to harvest along the Keno River now carrying wounded men on their backs. “What happened?” Hearing Masakado’s voice, one retainer— “We were attacked!” he cried out like a child pleading to a parent. “We were attacked!”

“A fight? Who are they? Where from?” “We didn’t start anything. They attacked first—a whole swarm of them.” The retainer’s voice shook as he recounted the ambush. “‘Who gave you leave to harvest this barley?’ they shouted. ‘Do you even know whose territory these riverside fields belong to?’” “I’m asking who they were!” Masakado’s boot slammed against the scaffolding planks. “Who?!” “Mount Tsukuba’s retainers, my lord.” “What?!” The wooden frame creaked as his grip tightened. “Yoshimasa’s men?!” Masakado leapt down from the scaffolding,

“Where exactly?” “Someone guide me there!”

With that, he started to run off in a panic. “Elder brother! Please stop…!”

Saburō Masayori and the other younger brothers clung to him and tried to restrain him. “The riverside fields of the Keno River—since Uncle’s servants sowed the seeds there last winter—harvesting them was originally our wrongdoing.” “Because Elder Brother doesn’t know this.” “Fools! Fools!” “The ones who don’t know are you!” “That riverside field—when Father was alive, they barely managed to dam up the floods year after year, spending a full decade to make land where even barley could grow. I saw it myself as a child—I remember.” “It became farmland through Father’s blood and sweat, our household’s labor, and countless servants’ toil.” “For me—Father’s successor—to harvest it—what could possibly be strange about that?”

Masakado shouted those words in a voice louder than necessary for his brothers to hear—a voice that seemed to have been longing to shout toward the heavens at least once. “Now follow your lord! They outnumber us!” Both servants and retainers grabbed their weapons and followed his charging figure. Yet along the Keno River’s long fields, no trace of the enemy remained wherever they looked. Only a boundary marker stood there. When examined, it read:

The riverside fields southwest, twenty-seven chō in total, are one part of the territorial holdings of Taira no Yoshimasa, resident of Tsukuba Mizumori. Those who enter to steal with sickles shall be reported to the authorities upon discovery.

Yoshimasa’s retainer Kagehisa

“Don’t make me laugh. A thief’s notice, of all things!”

Masakado kicked it down. Still seething, he grabbed it and flung it into the Keno River’s current. The dozen men who had followed him turned pale as if drained of blood rather than taking satisfaction in the act, their mouths snapping shut. Particularly Saburō Masayori, whose gentle nature—

"Ah—" he even let out a cry of surprise and turned deathly pale.

“Masayori!”

“Yes.” “Don’t worry. I’d been waiting in my gut for the right moment to say it—someday.” *Perfect timing.* “I’m going to have a talk with the uncles.” “Wh-what kind of talk?” “It’s obvious—I’ll make them return all the vast lands they’ve been holding from me. This isn’t some petty squabble over a patch of riverside land no bigger than a cat’s forehead.” “But… Oh, Elder Brother. Even if you say that now—”

“Just shut up and watch me.” Masakado had gone off to Kyoto just as his uncles had wanted—and had returned somewhat matured. There was also the matter of wanting to once pay his respects to Great Uncle Ishida. At the same time, it was simply a matter of having them return what had been entrusted. “I’m going. “……Oh, I can go alone. “Even if I don’t return for a few days, don’t worry.”

After starting to walk, Masakado still turned back and commanded his anxious-looking brothers and retainers.

“Never mind that—keep harvesting the barley! Haul it all to the mansion’s storehouse without delay. It’s not someone else’s property at all. Let heaven and earth bear witness—do you think Masakado would ever incite you to such petty thievery with sickles? If you want to live with me, then believe in me!” Waterbirds

In all the world, there was none who lived as freely as water—following its whims, clearing its heart, playing as it liked, raging when it desired—yet never straining itself to claim dominion over its realm. "What an enviable existence," he thought. "The essence of water. These fits of temper are rather shameful." Masakado had been striding along, sweat dripping down his back, when such notions suddenly surfaced. For the farther he walked, the more apparent it became—this land overflowed with water to such a degree that neither sight nor step could escape its presence.

Therefore, in this land teeming with riverbeds, even soil where a little grass grew or forests existed were merely islands amidst the riverbeds. And the countless waterways coursing unrestrained through the riverbeds gradually converged toward the center, forming a breadth akin to a lake. That was finally the main stream—what was known as the Keno River (now Kinu River), the great river forming the border between Shimousa and Hitachi provinces—and beyond it stretched the plains of Niihari and Hitachi, with Mount Tsukuba visible in the distance. "Hmm… When I was a child," he thought, "there was definitely a ferry boat around here."

Masakado sat down on a rock in Ashima. Having galloped from Toyoda Mansion and walked the entire distance, he indeed appeared somewhat fatigued. Before the boundless expanse of the great river's waters, he remained enveloped for a time in the cries of waterbirds. Those avian calls reminded him of a day in his early childhood when, accompanied by his parents and attended by maidservants and retainers, he had crossed this great river by boat returning from Hitachi. Given that it remained in his memory, it must have been his seventh-year celebration rather than his third. After all, wherever he went—even aboard the vessel—he as the Young Lord arrayed in ceremonial robes had been at the center of the celebrations.

Great Uncle Ishida of Hitachi, whom they had visited, as well as both Uncles Hatori and Mizumori, had all come to this riverbank to see them off, bringing along their households and families.—In those days, his father Yoshimochi’s authority and virtue must have been truly formidable. They were his father’s brothers, but not a single one of them had ever dared to defy him. They revered him as the clan’s patriarch and spared no effort in their menial labors. That day, to cross this great river and return home, the uncles had gone out of their way to prepare a new boat, had young women hold large painted parasols, and even laid out food and drink. Adorned in my seventh-year celebration robes, I was made to sit properly at the center like Prince Shōtoku. ……Even after the boat had reached the river’s heart, the crowd of uncles on the Hitachi shore still appeared like specks of beans. Waving their hands, they had offered their blessings—to Yoshimochi—Bandō’s warlord, sovereign of the wilds—and to his young self, the heir prince—

It was only natural that Father had trusted those uncles' goodwill when dying. Father was not a god either. That today’s uncles were the same men as those from that time—unless one were a god, there was no way to know. Naturally, Father had entrusted both the remaining young children and the rice fields—the inheritance he had cultivated over his lifetime—wholly to the uncles’ goodwill before passing away. ...If spirits exist, how would Father gaze upon Kojirō Masakado—here, now, watching the waters of the Keno River like this?

Suddenly, Masakado's anger flared up anew.... As the thought Damn it! arose, tears spilled onto his knees. If Father were alive, he would never let them get away with this. Those uncles exploit Father’s absence from this world to act willfully. Very well. I’ll make those wicked uncles realize that Father Yoshimochi still lives. Where does he live?—you might ask. ...What a foolish question. I am Taira no Yoshimochi’s son. It’s only natural that Father exists within me.

He abruptly stood up. As if propelled by something. And then, looking around through the reed beds as he searched for a boat to cross to the opposite shore, a man leading a horse— “Oh!” “Master.” “I couldn’t find you anywhere on the river or the banks, so I searched everywhere wondering what had happened.” he called out in an unexpected voice and approached.

The man was one of the retainers of Toyoda Mansion—a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old young lordling named Nashimaru of Ushiku. He was the youngest child of a wet nurse who had once served the household. When word spread that Masakado had returned from the capital, the wet nurse still living in Ushiku village—not forgetting old ties—had sent him here, earnestly requesting he be taken into service. They were, so to speak, milk brothers. Masakado cherished him as a memento of his wet nurse. Nashimaru, moved by affection, worked as the master to whom he would entrust his life.

“Nashimaru?” “What brings you here?” “I’m heading out to Hitachi Province.” “So without a horse, it would be inconvenient for you.” “Eventually, you’ll be making your rounds to Lord Mizumori or Hatori as well, won’t you?” “Hmm… That’s quite a journey.” “I heard from others that you became enraged at Kawahara Field and dashed off right then and there.” “Did you bring the mansion’s horse and come chasing after me?”

“And I too wished by all means to accompany you—that’s why I’ve come.” Nashimaru stared intently into Masakado’s eyes and spoke imploringly. He seemed to know why Masakado was crossing over to Hitachi. Masakado silently nodded. Even in such silence, it was his habit to quickly grow tearful with emotion.

Noshimo Lodging

“The ferry crossing isn’t around here.” Nashimaru immediately helped his master mount the horse and led him five or six chō downstream from there. After loading the horse and boarding themselves, the ferry drifted away from the bank and out toward midstream. The river stretched terrifyingly wide, but here and there lay shallows where the boat’s bottom scraped gratingly each time. Carried further and further downstream, the vessel angled diagonally toward the approaching opposite bank. “Have Masayori and the others returned to the mansion since then?”

“They’ve returned home, but everyone worries about your journey—praying you’ll come back safely without mishap—and frets over your well-being.” “I see… Without me around, they’re still just a pack of greenhorns who’ve never tasted the world.” When he turned from the boat, Toyoda Mansion’s forests and the estate’s low hills stood visible in the distance—so near they might answer if called. (Will I cross here alive again?)

He was suddenly seized by a thought—something like a view of fate—that a human might not know tomorrow or the day after. On the other hand, he understood that he himself was a vessel of resentment not born in a single day—such dangerous rage accumulated over time. (When we reach the opposite shore, I'll send Nashimaru back. Even if misfortune befalls me on this journey, I can't let the wet nurse's child die too.) He had thought this, but then— (No—I don't want anyone collecting my bones. But if even Nashimaru isn't here, who would report any mishap to Toyoda Mansion? I'll take him along after all. Just need to keep him from getting caught in the crossfire.)

The ferry’s bow bit into the bank, and from the recoil, Masakado staggered violently. From his heel, he regained his footing. He moved onto the horse’s back and, while having Nashimaru hold the bit, took the road eastward—ever eastward. The country path had before one knew it been dyed crimson, the long shadows of horse and man stretching across the earth as they journeyed together. Ahead, Mount Tsukuba loomed vivid through purple-tinged shadows, deceptively near yet stubbornly distant on foot. They would need to find lodging somewhere, he thought.

As night fell, clusters of lights twinkling and flickering like scattered fireflies were visible at the edge of the vast, empty darkness stretching endlessly in all directions. When he asked Nashimaru, he said it was the market of Tsuchiura, located in an inlet of the Tone River.

“There’s a market? Then let’s go stay there.”

“If we’re to go all that way, my lord, it would be far closer to go to Lord Yoshimasa of Mizumori’s mansion instead.” “Is that so… Then let’s head to Uncle Yoshimasa’s mansion after all. Who cares if we arrive at midnight? …But I’m starving—my stomach’s empty. …Nashimaru, did you bring any food?” “I did not bring any. I overlooked that.” “If you see a house with light leaking out, go and call on them. It’ll work out somehow.”

“Very well, then.” Outwardly, the master and servant were lighthearted. Both were blessed with youth. It wasn’t unnatural—death, any peril, matters of tomorrow—tonight, they could still play with these things in their hearts to some degree. “Ah... I can see a house. Shall we go check it out?”

“A peasant’s house?” “It doesn’t appear to be. There’s an earthen wall and a gate visible. Ah, yes! I remember now—this is Noshimo Armorer Village. There are still many small houses scattered about here and there.” “Noshimo, huh? Then there should have been an old house here from long ago that made weapons or suchlike. This village has bowyers, blacksmiths, leather dyers, armorers, saddle makers—a settlement where everyone makes nothing but weapons and horse gear.”

“In any case, let us go visit that earthen-walled gate.” “Master, please wait here a moment.”

Nashimaru went alone to knock on the gate. He did not return for some time, but eventually came rushing back in a hurry. “The master came out, and when I explained the situation in detail—he exclaimed, ‘What? The young lord of Toyoda has graced us with his presence?’" “‘Is that truly the case?’" “—and he’s acting as joyfully as if honored guests had arrived!”

“Hey, hey, Nashimaru. Did you tell the master of the house that it’s me?” “I didn’t mention it too explicitly, but since he kept pressing me with questions ahead of time, I ended up saying it was Lord Masakado of Toyoda. Then the master suddenly changed out of his work clothes, ordered the household members to clean the area, came out to greet us at the gate with ‘Please come in,’ and was standing over there. Therefore, my lord, please don’t claim ignorance—instead, tell them you deliberately stopped by on your way to Mount Tsukuba.”

“But I don’t know that household’s master at all.” “They already know you well up ahead—regardless, let me handle the horses.”

With that, Nashimaru, pulling the reins of the riderless horse, followed his master and trailed after him all the way to the earthen-walled gate there.

TERRITORIAL DIVISIONS

With Hitachi and Shimousa forming its banks, the Keno River's terminus converged near Mizukai (present-day Mizukaidō area) with other rivers flowing toward Musashi and the Tone River that emptied into Kazusa's sea. This vast waterland was encircled by districts—Yūki, Niihari, Tsukuba, Toyoda, Sashima, Sōma, Shida, and Makabe—whose farmlands had largely become domains divided between two clans: the Minamoto and Taira. Half lay in control of Masakado's uncles—Kunika, Governor of Hitachi; Yoshikane, Assistant Governor of Kazusa from Hatori; Yoshimasa, Sixth Son of Hitachi from Mizumori; and others styled as Taira clansmen.

Of course, these territories were intricately intertwined with Sekkan family lands from the capital, temple and shrine estates, provincial government-controlled territories, and uncultivated lands of unknown ownership—in essence forming what might be called spheres of influence. Moreover, needless to say, a significant portion comprised rice fields that Masakado's late father Yoshimochi had entrusted to his three uncles as inheritance for Masakado and his surviving siblings. And now all these lands had become property of the three uncle households—if one kept silent indefinitely, they showed no intention of ever returning them.

As for the other half of the territories—

These were the territories and managed lands belonging to Minamoto no Suke, who resided in Ōkushi, Niihari District. Their domain spanned four of the previously mentioned districts, and as a military clan, theirs was a house whose influence dominated the province. The entire clan, like the Saga Genji, each bore their own family names. Suke’s sons—Tomo, Takashi, Shige, and others—each divided territories, established their own households, and collectively came to be proclaimed as the "Hitachi Genji" clan. During Masakado's father Yoshimochi's lifetime, the Bandō Taira clan had maintained an unyielding confrontation with the Hitachi Genji as their eastern counterpart—both factions refusing to concede an inch. Yet after Yoshimochi's death, the three uncle households had all tethered their horses at Suke’s gate, subordinating themselves beneath the Hitachi Genji. No doubt through this submission, they had barely managed to preserve their former gates and territories.

Suke was undoubtedly a bold man who possessed military might and was rich in political strategy. The position of Governor of Hitachi was in fact a role he had held, but he stepped down and had Taira no Kunika replace him. Moreover, he married his own daughter to Yoshimasa, gave his next daughter as Yoshikane’s second wife, and had even sent his youngest princess to be the bride of Kunika’s son Jōhei no Sadamori, who was now in the capital. Thus, through both fame and marital alliances, Suke effortlessly incorporated the three Taira households into the Hitachi Genji clan faction, and now, as the foremost elder among the region’s powerful clans, there was none who could rival his authority.

Amidst this state of affairs, Taira no Masakado had returned home knowing nothing. For thirteen years he had lived in the capital and returned home believing only that the vast land his parents had left behind still existed. However, all that remained was the barren old mansion of Toyoda and brothers who seemed emasculated. In the capital, he had seen more than enough of the world’s vicissitudes and the unreliability of human hearts, but here in his homeland—deceived by the vast, unchanging natural world—he could not yet feel their sting as acutely as they appeared. Somewhere within him still lingered a desire to believe in his homeland. The conviction that those who dwelled amidst these beautiful waters, fields, and mountains—steeped day and night in their essence—lacked the frivolity or wickedness of capital folk refused to leave him. No matter how crafty my uncles are, if I go now and appeal with sincerity, they might surprisingly come to understand. Even if greed drives them, there’s no scenario where they’d refuse to return at least some portion. He wanted—no, needed—to believe that.

But if they absolutely refused to return it—what then? Masakado had of course considered this possibility time and again. Yet whenever rage boiled through his veins at the thought of risking his life over such an outcome, he found himself incapable of approaching the situation with any calculated forethought. He had fully recognized that his own temperamental flaws would thrust him into perilous straits. If preemptive self-reflection could truly prove useful, it would hardly qualify as a weakness—and what Masakado feared wasn't his opponents, but rather himself.

“...Oh. “Now that you’ve graced us with your presence, truly you bear such striking resemblance.” “To Lord Yoshimochi of blessed memory.” “...Blood cannot be contested.” “The very spitting image.”

The arms-crafting old man of Noshimo had seated his guest in the place of honor and done nothing but gaze at him in awe since earlier. He would stare raptly, then prostrate himself again with every uttered word. Seated on the round cushion, Masakado found himself at a loss for how to respond. Both the household’s master and family showed him such reverent deference and ceremonial courtesy. Even after his time washing oxcart wheels in the capital and serving at Takiguchi Guard—where he’d bowed reflexively to every courtier in ceremonial robes at palace gates—the habit still clung to him. It truly felt as though he’d become Minister Tadahira himself.

The truth was, he was unbearably hungry. Rather than formalities, he wanted to eat. Moreover, the night journey ahead demanded haste. "Hey, Nashimaru."

Taira no Masakado turned uncomfortably to speak to the person beside him. “Anything’s fine. Let’s just make do with some millet or barnyard millet for now and take our leave—we can stop by again on our way back.”

Morning mist. The old man made a thoroughly astonished face.

"But why must you depart so soon?" "After you have gone to the trouble of gracing this remote hovel with your esteemed presence..." He had meant for them to stay overnight. To that end, they had already lit the bath in the bathing chamber, while in the kitchen even his elderly wife and daughter were sending up cooking smoke as could be plainly seen—making great commotion to offer him the flavors of field and stream, and their heartfelt sincerity, though they had little else to give.

“To depart so soon would be all too disheartening. To the late lord of Toyoda, how immeasurable was the favor he bestowed upon me. After all, it was by Lord Yoshimochi’s invitation that I led my disciples from the capital and founded this settlement here. In this entire region, there isn’t a single skilled armor maker. Were you to bring master craftsmen down to Bandō, work would never run short for a generation. Bound by that lord’s kindness and wearied of life in the capital—no matter what care I might provide—I summoned disciples and artisans to settle here, and now over twenty years have passed.…After Lord Yoshimochi too departed this world, there were even times when loneliness rarely troubled me—and now, unexpectedly beholding your coming of age before my very eyes, a thousand emotions surge within this old man’s heart as I fondly remember days long past.”

The old man wiped away tears. Taira no Masakado found himself unable to remain standing. He couldn’t bring himself to mention being hungry.

The old man's name was Fushimi no Jō, born in Yamashiro Province, but after migrating to this region as an artisan craftsman, he came to be called simply the Old Man of Noshimo or the Noshimo Armorer. After the death of their sole patron Yoshimochi, the village craftsmen had temporarily lost their work and been at a loss—but then Minamoto no Suke of Ōkushi began placing even greater orders than before, and since then, they said, they undertook armor production for various Hitachi Genji households year-round without respite.

“The splendid armor sets for commanders and foot soldiers alike—bows, spears, polearms—all those countless pieces we presented to your late father Lord Yoshimochi... might they still remain intact in the armory?” “And if I might presume—I would consider it the greatest honor to craft armor specially fitted to your stature...” Masakado’s face clouded with sorrow. Nashimaru’s features too betrayed their shared anguish when hearing this. For provincial lords like them, land formed their foundation—weapons came second. Yet now his lord possessed neither.

“Towards where will you graciously set out tomorrow morning?”

The old man of Noshimo, having already resolved they would stay the night, asked his question thus. When Masakado answered that he was bound for his uncles' mansions at Mount Tsukuba— "Ah, so you go to Mizumori and Hatori?" "Well now, that..." he made an unreadable face. The old armorer's tone suggested he knew full well of Masakado's present straits. That earlier query about whether the armor he'd delivered still lay in storage—perhaps it had been posed deliberately to draw out the young lord's words.

The fact that his uncles had conspired to embezzle the vast lands meant to be returned to Yoshimochi's orphaned heirs had apparently become an open secret known even among the local peasants of nearby villages.—The hospitality shown by Noshimo's old armorer might not have sprung from nostalgic sentiment alone; in truth, it may have contained genuine pity for this very Masakado.

Indeed, as they continued being treated to a feast late into the night and gradually opened up in conversation, it became even clearer that every member of the family here wholeheartedly sympathized with Masakado as a pitiable, wretched, ill-fated young lord. The old man’s wife, a woman who appeared to be over fifty, also came out. While assisting with serving, she wept in sympathy at the edge of the conversation. “Even should you visit Hatori or go to Lord Kunika of Ishida’s mansion, you must never allow yourself to become enraged.” “Everyone knows this.” “Moreover, you must not sustain any injuries to your person.” “That above all would prevent your late father Lord Yoshimochi from resting in peace…”

The old woman also said. The old man also said. Enveloped in people's warm hearts and with his stomach filled by warm food, Taira no Masakado finally slept that night at the Noshimo armorer's house. The house was quite spacious, with many disciples and servants, giving it a prosperous feel. Then, as he was led to the bedroom, somewhere a young girl's voice could be heard. Imagining the owner of that beautiful voice, Taira no Masakado fell straight asleep. Having declared he wanted to leave at dawn, he was roused while the morning mist still hung thick. After eating and receiving a prepared lunchbox, as he passed through the gate escorted by the family, Taira no Masakado suddenly noticed from horseback a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl beside the old woman. She looked exactly like a girl one might have seen in the Heian capital. When Masakado's gaze turned toward her, the girl hid herself in the shadow of her mother's shoulder. The morning sun vividly illuminated her dazzling face.

“...On your return trip as well,” the family members said.

Masakado nodded, but in truth, he had no confidence. As the horse's tail swung toward the earthen-walled gate, Nashimaru immediately seized the bit. Nashimaru, too, did not tell anyone that they would likely travel this path again. “Farewell.” And once the horse began to walk, Masakado turned to look back.—.

The gazes of the still-standing family members all shifted to different directions. Taira no Masakado looked around from horseback. On the distant blue pampas grass, five or six upper bodies came into view. One of them was on horseback. As they drew closer to each other, they inevitably passed by those men. The young mounted samurai looked boldly at Masakado’s face with a sidelong glance. Whether it was the hunting robe, the saddle, or the long sword—his entire attire stood out glaringly in this region. Even the retainers were more splendid than Masakado. Nashimaru turned his face away and passed by.

After they had passed by, Masakado asked.

“Nashimaru.” “Do you know who that was—?” “Hey—who’s that?” “That’s Minamoto no Suke. They say he’s the legitimate eldest son of Minamoto no Mamoru of Ōkushi.” “The Hitachi Genji... I see. They’re quite flamboyant, aren’t they?” “Their sons are already made to be called ‘Young Master’ or ‘Young Lord,’ so they no longer go out to the fields or forests.” “...But my master’s lineage far surpasses that of the Hitachi Genji.” “You’re a sixth-generation descendant of Emperor Kanmu, aren’t you?” “Even the villagers don’t call those people ‘Young Master.’”

Nashimaru kept talking by himself. He didn't realize Masakado was looking back. From his swaying perch on horseback, Masakado watched the Hitachi Genji's young master dismount before the earthen-walled gate he himself had just left - observing through rhythmic bounces how the man and his retainers were being ceremoniously welcomed into the house.

The Lord of the Babbling Brook

At the southwestern foothills of Mount Tsukuba, facing the Tsukuba Plain and the Keno River, lay manors such as Mizumori Manor, Ishida Manor, and Hatori Manor, spaced two ri apart here and three ri there.

All of them were villages nestled against the foothills of Mount Tsukuba. That day, Taira no Masakado first went to the mansion of Yoshimasa of Mizumori, but his uncle was not there. There was no sign that he was pretending to be away. However, on the retainers’ faces, the moment they saw Masakado, there was a swift flicker of expression, _(He’s here!)_ there was clearly visible a kind of backlash. Moreover, the fact that Masakado had come accompanied by only a single young lordling made their tension seem almost anticlimactic in its intensity.

“He’s not here. “Our lord has been away since last night.” “What business brings you?” Several retainers and household servants stuck their faces out from the large watchtower gate, not letting them pass, and spoke only in curt formal tones.

It was likely these fellows who yesterday mistreated my household’s servants and retainers in the riverside fields of the Keno River. Afterwards, the retainer Kagehisa—or whatever his name was—who had erected a placard like a declaration of embezzlement in the riverside barley fields might also be among this group. However, Masakado couldn’t bring himself to pick a fight with such rabble. Their insolent attitude angered him, but he laughed it off and left there.

By distance, the mansion of Ōryō Kunika in Ishida Village was closer from there. However, Masakado saw that great uncle as the true monster and mastermind behind it all. Even back in the capital, he had discerned this through the actions of Kunika's son Jōhei no Sadamori; moreover, from his first days in Kyoto until his departure, the attitudes of Kunika and his son toward him had been riddled with inexplicable inconsistencies.

"I'll handle him later... As the final reckoning." "As the final reckoning."

Masakado decided to first visit Yoshikane, the Kazusa no Suke of Hatori. This uncle might be a schemer, but among the clan he had long been the most devout Buddhist practitioner. He was deeply devoted to Buddhist teachings and was said to have built a temple-like chapel within his mansion. Such a man must harbor some measure of Buddhist mercy. Rather than confronting the most formidable great uncle first, it seemed wiser strategy to begin with this pious uncle. Masakado remained convinced he hadn't lost an ounce of composure or discernment.

The uncle's mansion in Hatori was a mountain villa. Perched on an elevated spot slightly jutting into the mountain from the foothills, its winding stone steps were crowned by a gate resembling that of a grand temple, adorned with ancient cedars and pines growing in natural splendor. He dismounted at the foothills, left Nashimaru waiting below, and entered the gate alone. As he surveyed the main entrance, a samurai emerged from the retainer's hut beside it. At first, the warrior moved to eject him, but when he resolutely announced himself as Sōma no Kojirō Masakado, even this hardened man seemed daunted and modified his tone.

Having left to relay the message, he did not return, and the household servant was taking an exceedingly long time to appear.

The sun approaching dusk shone through conifers like stained glass while evening cicadas sang from deep mountain recesses behind the villa. A sudden murmur of flowing water reached Masakado's ears through the pines, making him acutely aware of his parched throat. "What's taking them so long? What could they possibly be doing?" The retainer who had gone to announce his arrival still hadn't returned—neither confirming nor denying his uncle's presence through that conspicuous absence. Clearly yesterday's clash at Keno Riverbank had preceded him here like ill tidings. If that were true, steel must meet resolve now. For Masakado—whose nature rebelled against suspicion—maintaining this guarded posture in his uncle's own mansion felt like wearing ill-fitting armor. Yet even old Noshimo's armorer had warned him obliquely days prior when inspecting his sword fittings: that gruff artisan muttering while peering at blade nicks—"Youth still clings to you"—as if age alone conferred wisdom against betrayal.

"Alright. No matter what sudden event occurs, I won’t be startled. If that were reason enough to falter, I wouldn’t have crossed the Keno River." Masakado felt compelled to declare this to himself. He strode diagonally across the broad courtyard, then pressed deeper into the mountain garden—drawn by both his parched throat and the elusive sound of springwater cascading somewhere among the rocks. Though he could clearly see the neatly trimmed shrubs, moss-covered stones, and towering pines within arm’s reach, the water’s path remained hidden. Instead, his gaze caught on an unexpected presence in the distant tree shadows.

Earlier, she had been watching Masakado with quizzical intensity. "Ah...?" Masakado's face flushed without cause. Even now, whenever sensing feminine beauty, his entire body would react reflexively before reason could intervene - face first, then spreading through his limbs. The area he'd blundered into might have been the women's private garden. He suddenly recalled Minister of the Left Tadahira's Koichijo villa in the capital. From the tree shadows still peered a woman bearing striking resemblance to Lady Hydrangea - that secret favorite the Minister had cherished there - though slightly more petite and younger, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on his figure.

Tamamushi

“You cannot pass through here”—she gave a well-meaning warning and smiled. “Do you have some business here? … Perhaps you took the wrong gate?” When addressed in this familiar manner, Masakado became flustered once more. While he himself thought his baseless shame was unsightly, the more he dwelled on it, the redder his face became. “No—water.” “I wanted a drink of water.” “Is this water for you to drink?” “Yes. Since I’ve been riding through grassy paths on horseback since morning, when I arrived here and suddenly felt thirsty, I heard the sound of water nearby.”

“Oh ho ho. In that case, please come this way. It’s no trouble whatsoever.” She threaded through the trees of the walled garden and made her way to the elegant house’s water preparation area. Filling a vessel with water, she then appeared from the side door of the corridor and offered it to Masakado. Masakado sat down on the edge of the veranda. Enveloped in an unexpected calmness, he surveyed his surroundings. “Being here like this—it somehow resembles a residence in the capital.”

“The capital… Are you acquainted with that Heian capital?”

“Oh. For a long time, I was away there.” “Oh my,” the woman said with an exaggeratedly nostalgic expression, “which part of the capital were you residing in?” “I resided at the Koichijo residence of the Minister of the Left, and later served in the Takiguchi of the Imperial Palace as well.” “Then, you are the young lord of Toyoda—Lord Masakado, are you not?” “That’s correct. I am Kojirō Masakado.”

Finally able to meet her gaze directly—"Do you know me?" he abruptly closed the distance between their hearts. "No. This is our first meeting, but I had heard the rumors. Moreover, I too was originally from the capital."

“I see.” “I had thought it might be so.” “Why do you say that?” “You bear the capital’s refinement about you—and here in this hinterland of the Eastern Provinces, where the soil grates coarse and winds bite fierce… for one such as yourself to…” “Oh! To speak such words…”

She flushed around her ears and hid her face behind her own shoulder. As her body shifted posture, her long, flowing black hair traced a gentle curve. Masakado caught the long-forgotten scent of Kyoto noblewomen’s face powder from the collar of her robes and forgot everything. Then came the voices of three or four people—undoubtedly Yoshikane’s retainers who had earlier gone inside to relay the message—busily searching around for Masakado. And suddenly, one of them peered through the gaps in the trees under the eaves here,

“Ah! There he is! He’s here! He’s come to Tamamushi-dono’s chambers and is deep in conversation!” “There he is!” “He’s here.” “He’s come to Tamamushi-dono’s chambers and is deep in conversation!” He called out to the others in exasperation. Masakado, as if propelled, left the veranda and began walking toward the retainers of his own accord. Yoshikane’s retainers looked back and forth between him and Tamamushi, their expressions turning peculiar for an instant, but— “Young Lord of Toyoda.” “Lord Yoshikane has agreed to meet with you.” “Please come this way.”

With that, they took the lead. And returning to the front area, they guided him from there into the mansion.

The Ingratitude Controversy

It was likely modeled after Kyoto-style architecture. The main hall followed the shinden-zukuri style with symmetrically paired buildings. However, to withstand this region's harsh climate, the pillars needed to be thick and walls plentiful by necessity. This made the structure stubbornly crude and dimly lit—sharing much with later Kamakura-period constructions. In the broad-floored chamber facing the inner courtyard, its rush mats laid smooth, guest and host had been seated on round woven cushions all this while—laughing brightly as they exchanged cups of sake.

They were Kazusa-no-suke Yoshikane and Mizumori-no-Rokurō Yoshimasa. They were the younger brothers of Masakado’s father,Yoshimochi. In other words—the uncles. Though not present here,Kunika,Governer of Hitachi held highest position,followed by Masakado’s father beneath him then Yoshikane,Yoshimasa order.

“Yoshimasa. “Even if Masakado comes here, don’t torment him too much. Tormenting him and rousing his anger serves no purpose.” “But I think we should break his neck once and for all... Lest it become a habit.” “Well. That may be true, but even so—” “Considering that yesterday at Riverside Fields—after Masakado’s servants and our retainers clashed violently—he grew enraged and came all the way here... It’s clear he’s still clinging to his former territories and must deeply resent how we’ve handled matters.”

“That obsession won’t be shed overnight.” “We must wear him down through varied means—patiently—until he relinquishes his claims.” “You keep saying that, but Masakado’s no sniveling brat anymore. He’s breathed the capital’s air—learned their reasoning. Not some greenhorn you can trick. Crush him with force—that’s the only way.” “Unless we show them—one decisive blow—the full measure of our strength—” Footsteps echoed at the corridor’s end. The two men exchanged glances, faces hardening into silence.

Masakado abruptly stood outside the room. And met his uncles’ gazes with his own. However, forcing a composed expression, “Excuse the intrusion,” he said, sitting down in a corner. The retainers who had guided Masakado there remained stiffly in the corridor, glaring at his back like attendants.

“Ah, Masakado. Won’t you come closer? There’s no need to huddle so far away.” Yoshikane dismissed him with affected nonchalance. Yet Yoshimasa—unlike his brother who hypocritically toyed with Buddhist rites—remained a man whose martial prowess had long resounded through neighboring villages. He kept drinking sake sideways, utterly disregarding his nephew’s presence as one might ignore a gnat—until abruptly turning to glare at Masakado. “What’ve you come for? What business?” ……

and abruptly turned his gaze toward Masakado. Masakado’s entire body seemed to swell with emotion and become rounded. But he clasped his hands and bowed his head as if to hide his fierce expression. “Since my return to the province… I’ve been remiss in paying my respects… So I thought I must come to offer greetings at least once.” “Did you come for gratitude? Years of gratitude?” “For years of gratitude.” “Uh…” “Well… yes.” “What’s this ‘well’?” “You should’ve paid respects long ago to Granduncle Kunika at Ishida.” “Have you been?”

“No. I haven’t gone yet.” “I have not yet paid my respects.” “Why didn’t you go? “If you were coming here, wasn’t that on your way?” “All your methods—Wako’s ways—are completely wrong.” “You went and invited all sorts of unnecessary district officials and random locals from nearby villages to Toyoda Mansion for your homecoming celebration.” “Instead of such posturing, why haven’t you gone around to Granduncle’s mansion—to whom you owe so much—and said, ‘I was greatly indebted to you during my long absence’?” “I did think that, but…” “Masakado!”

“Yes.” “Don’t speak like you’ve got gristle stuck in your molars.” “You’re harboring some delusion here.” “Perverse thinking.”

“……”

“Let me make this clear.” “Listen well.” “For over a decade—through thick and thin—whose compassion do you think raised all those fatherless children, from Masayori downward, to adulthood without mishap?” “……”

“That’s not all! Do you truly believe that without our protection—we uncles—the lands your brother Yorimochi left behind, the mansion, the pastures—all of them—would have remained intact in you brothers’ hands until today without difficulty?” “What an outrageous whelp,” spat Yoshimasa into his cup before downing it in one gulp. “It’s that naive thinking that makes you forget debts of gratitude and breed resentment instead! To your eyes, this vast Bandō Plain might seem like nothing but sunrises and sunsets—but do you imagine the Nasu and Miyagi prisoners up north, or the clans around us, aren’t scheming to gnaw at every inch of land? And who’s been fending them off these dozen years?” “No—even if our old fields and manors have shrunk, you returned from Kyoto to a roof over your head, soil to till, and your family name still honored here! To whom do you owe this?”

“U-uncle, please wait a moment!” “Shut up.” “Now answer.” “Whose power do you think has been defending and protecting these lands and mansions from the wolves all around us?”

“I-I know… but—” “If you understand, then that’s enough. You say you understand—so what’s with those tears? Streaming down… Why are you crying?” “If you insist on speaking thus—then I too shall speak.” “What?!” “You speak of whose grace, whose compassion—but this matter stems from when we brothers were young. Our father Yorimochi—trusting you, his kin—on his deathbed… before dying… made his testament… Did you not swear to him—a dying man—‘Do not worry; once the children come of age, we shall return the manors and cultivated lands’—when you took custody?”

“That’s right… So today, you’re living in Toyoda Mansion, aren’t you? Your brothers haven’t starved—they’re still alive, aren’t they?” “No— There are still things unreturned. The lands my father spent his lifetime cultivating—the hereditary manors granted through his achievements. The majority of the inheritance—the land deeds from the Grand Council of State, official decrees, provincial governor’s certifications attached to those—you haven’t returned them.”

“Don’t get cocky!” Bellowing, Yoshimasa tried to hurl the sake from his cup, but Yoshikane hastily seized his wrist. “Now, now, Masakado. ‘Tis only because we’re kin that I overlook this—but such selfish demands cannot be tolerated.” “Selfish demands?—You claim it’s I who make them, not you Uncles?” “What? What did you say? You… you dare—” Yoshikane too found himself swept into defending his spoils. No—rather, they stood compelled to justify the lands they’d carved up and stolen.

“You simplistically demand ‘return them or not,’ but safeguarding vast rice fields and manors for many years had required commensurate sacrifices.” “Whether it was Lord Kunika or Yoshimasa here—who knows how many times we shed blood in skirmishes and clashes with invaders from neighboring districts or tribal chiefs of prisoners of war for that very purpose?” “That may be so.” “If you Honorable Uncles would but return [the lands], then Masakado and my brothers would feel indebted for life, and should your households ever face turmoil, we would gladly don arms and rush to your aid at once.—Though I was too young to remember, kin on my mother’s side say that long ago, when you stood vulnerable in these lands of Hitachi and Shimousa, struggling fiercely against countless foes and prisoners of war, my father Yorimochi aided you as if you were his own flesh and blood—until at last he secured this vast plain east and north of Mount Tsukuba as your domain.”

“Wh-who said such a thing?” “Everyone knows this—that’s exactly why Father entrusted his orphaned children to you. He surely believed there could be no mistake in this arrangement. If you dare call me ungrateful, then are you not yourselves the faithless ones who betrayed a dead man’s trust?” “Insolent—!” This time, no one moved fast enough. It was Yoshimasa who roared. Before Yoshikane could intervene, he surged up and straddled his brother’s back—

“You dared say ‘ingratitude’!” “You hurled abuse at your uncle.” “You greenhorn!” His large foot lashed toward Masakado’s left shoulder. Masakado seized the leg with both hands. As he heaved upright, Yoshimasa—stepping on scattered serving trays and sake flasks—toppled backward, both movements collapsing into one chaotic instant. “You did it, Masakado!” Yoshimasa roared. But before he could rise, retainers stationed in the corridor surged forward and pinned Masakado from behind.

Cricket Cage Woman

The sturdy fortified house was momentarily shaken by a sound like creaking timbers and beast-like human roars. But—in an instant, it stopped abruptly.

Under the harrowing silence that followed came Masakado's groan—no, the eerie sound of his convulsive, intermittent sobbing. Around him stood several men with blood-smeared eyes and lips, their sleeves and hakama torn to shreds—pale-faced figures who remained motionless, shoulders heaving with labored breaths. “Damn you...” “Should’ve treated you like a nephew and left it at that...” Yoshimasa finally found his voice to mutter these words. His glare lingered on Masakado’s half-dead form—writhing still after being pummeled and kicked by the mob—as if time itself had frozen around that broken body.

“Stand up. Come on.” “Stand up again—go on, try talking like you did just now. Masakado!” “What’s the matter.” “Can’t you stand?”

Yoshimasa, Yoshikane, and the others finally noticed the shattered cups and plates around them, the toppled wall hangings—and began wiping their own nosebleeds with their sleeves.

Masakado rubbed his body, still convulsing with choked sobs. "You fool." Yoshikane commanded the retainers. "The drinking feast we painstakingly prepared lies ruined." "Cast him out." "This nephew—cast him out!" More than ten household retainers and warriors had come running at the commotion. They moved to hoist Masakado up. Evidently brutalized from the savage beating, he could no longer stand. He could only writhe in impotent fury. "Wait—not yet!" Yoshimasa halted the group that had lifted him and begun carrying him away—

“Masakado. “Don’t forget. “I’ll let you crawl back today—but under open skies, you’d be dead. …Just yesterday, my retainer Kagehisa tore down the notice board we’d set at Riverside Fields and flung it into the Keno River. “Even that single incident—in truth, it gives our retainers reason to storm Toyoda Mansion. “Once they start attacking—hundreds of battle-crazed warriors—even if we uncles order them to stop, they won’t listen. “……You hear me? “From now on, curb your recklessness. “Don’t do anything foolish and make your younger brothers suffer.”

With that, Yoshimasa leaned close to Masakado’s ear—the man having lost all control of his limbs—and made certain every word sank in. Masakado too strained with every ounce of strength to cry out, but in that same moment found himself hauled across the long corridor’s bridge and dumped into the open yard beyond. “What’ll we do…?” The retainers conferred there briefly before deciding it simplest to drag him past the mansion gate and hurl him over the cliff’s edge. Though steep, the precipice bristled with giant cedars—their roots snagging his battered body almost at once.

“He’s moving…” “He’s not going to die.” Above, Masakado could hear the retainers speaking and departing. But his consciousness could grasp nothing else. He felt as though he were groping through the void, yet there was no sensation in his hands. He slid from one tree root to another with a scraping drag. When pain shot through him, he managed to lift his head.

“...Don’t move.” “You mustn’t move.” “Because there’s a current below.”

Someone was speaking somewhere. He had apparently been completely unaware of time's passage. The crimson evening sky pierced vividly through gaps in black cedar branches. Evening dew seeped into his skin. "I'm coming now…" "Don't struggle."

The voice was close. No—it was getting closer. Masakado turned his bleary eyes upward.

With desperate care, inch by inch—as though undertaking some perilous adventure—a figure was descending from above. It was the figure in layered robes—the one he had seen during the day. She must be that woman whom Yoshikane’s retainers had addressed as Lady Tamamushi. “Huh…?” Aghast, Masakado involuntarily from below—

“It’s dangerous!” he shouted.

By the time he managed to shout, his consciousness had sharpened—and with it, the pain engulfing his entire body seared with heat, forcing a groan from his lips. He groaned loudly, again and again. Groaning brought relief. Tamamushi had finally descended to his side. She tried to lend him strength and urged him to climb up from there, but it was no use. Yet with her slender arms, there was nothing she could do to move Masakado’s body. “The young lord named Nashimaru, whom I brought with me, is waiting at the foot of the main gate’s stone steps.” “Please send word to that Nashimaru.”

Masakado finally managed to say. She climbed back up the cliff once more, not minding that the skirt of her layered robes had come undone. And before long, she brought Nashimaru. The crimson in the sky faded, and the evening star began to appear.

After finally managing to pull Masakado up, Nashimaru hoisted his master's body onto his back. Along the high, dark stone steps, Tamamushi followed partway while tending to them. She kept watching until those piteous shadows of master and servant merged completely with the dusk at the mountain's base.

Suddenly sensing someone's presence, she turned back up the stone steps. However, there stood a man whose presence made her profoundly uneasy, his face twisted into a scowl. Of course, this was the master who owned her body.

That Yoshikane was indeed a Buddhist believer, but he was also a man who considered keeping multiple women—aside from his wife—in the chambers of this mountain villa to be his supreme indulgence. Tamamushi was the woman he had brought back to the Eastern Provinces after exchanging vast goods in trade when, during an official journey to the capital for governmental duties, he had frequented the Eguchi pleasure district under the guidance of Jōhei no Sadamori of Sakyo. When he heard from the household servants that Masakado had been engrossed in conversation in Tamamushi's chambers even during daylight hours, and now looked into her rooms only to find Tamamushi absent—this was how things stood here.

Masakado had been in the capital as well—and Yoshikane had once heard from Sadamori that Masakado had even been spotted in the Eguchi pleasure district—so now the resentment and jealousy that so easily plague a man entering his twilight years flared up within him. However, he was not one to immediately voice such feelings or seek hasty consolation. “What are you doing in a place like this?” “...I thought Yoshimasa and I might listen to your biwa together—I’ve had them searching for you since earlier.”

“...” Tamamushi only laughed with an embarrassed air, not even uttering an apology. She had what seemed like ample confidence in herself, and her habitual line was that if he found her disagreeable, she could return to the capital anytime.

“Hey! Where are you going? Where?” As she briskly walked ahead alone, Yoshikane called after her. Tamamushi answered dismissively over her shoulder: “But a woman has her makeup to attend to. Asking me to play the biwa or dance in this state—how utterly unreasonable.” Yoshikane forced a bitter smile but followed behind her all the way to the small room of her dwelling—her insect cage—until she entered her chamber.

Moon and Water

Noshimo’s Old Man—Fushimi no Jō, the armorer—was working through the night. Because even yesterday, Minamoto no Mamoru’s eldest son, Suke, had been making exaggerated demands for the set of armor that had been commissioned from him. In three places, lamp stands had been set up, and under each dim light, his elderly wife, daughter, and two disciples—all hunching their backs—were using glue pots, threading armor cords, each pouring their utmost into the work. “...What could have happened to him? The young lord of Toyoda...”

Suddenly, as if remembering, Fushimi no Jō murmured. Yesterday morning at dawn, Masakado had departed from here, and today, the matter of Masakado came up repeatedly in the family’s conversations. “Even today, his esteemed figure has not yet passed along this road... Has anyone seen him?”

The old woman spoke up as well. The disciples shook their heads. Only the daughter, who kept aligning the dyed threads for armor lacing on her white palm and arranging them on the binding board, remained detached from the conversation, as if indifferent. “Until we see his esteemed figure return safely along this road here, I can’t help but feel uneasy… especially since it seems the young lord himself has begun to vaguely perceive those uncles’ black-hearted schemes.” Following the old man’s words, the disciples too began to speak ill of Yoshimasa of Mimori and Yoshikane of Hatori without reserve. They drive their servants like cattle and horses with whips; even their retainers swagger through markets and villages whenever they come, and when we deliver commissioned armor to them, not once have they accepted it without complaint. They don’t understand an artisan’s conscience and only care about prices being high or low… Once they started talking, the disciples went on endlessly.

“Now, now, those two are still the better sort.”

“Now, now, those two are still the better sort,” said Fushimi no Jō. When the old woman and disciples made surprised faces, the old man muttered, “That’s right…”, continuing his work as if talking to himself, then added more: “The one with the truly black heart is Governor of Hitachi Province Kunika-sama, who resides in Ishida. He has greedily swallowed up the vast inheritance of Lord Yoshimochi of Toyoda, leaving only meager scraps for Lords Yoshikane and Yoshimasa. Yet His Excellency himself feigns ignorance, craftily making those two handle everything. When people speak of an ‘old badger,’ they must mean someone like him there.”

In the distance, dogs barked incessantly. As a precaution against bandits, this village too kept dogs. The daughter suddenly lowered her pale face into the lamplight’s shadow, her eyes taking on a frightened look. “Put it away. Let’s get some sleep now.” It was when they tidied the workshop and began dividing tasks to lock the large house’s doors here and there.

Someone knocked on the earthen wall gate.

The two disciples went out to check. The neighing of a horse could be heard. In the low, rain-laden clouds, the moon, now past midnight, was dimly, faintly white.

“Who’s there? ……Who goes there?” “It’s Nashimaru—servant of Lord Masakado of Toyoda, the master and servant you aided two nights past. I beg pardon for the late hour...”

“Huh.” “Lord Masakado, you say?”

“Yes,” “Recalling those words from that time, we’ve been hurrying back ever since.” “Ah! Welcome,” the old man said to the cowering disciples, “Quickly now—open the side gate and let them through!” he barked.

Before long, when they saw Nashimaru enter carrying Masakado on his back, both the old man and old woman lost all color in their faces for the first time. ……The daughter stood frozen blankly in a corner. Nashimaru had loaded his master onto a horse’s back and barely managed to make his way back without drinking water since then, traveling from one wild path to another. To the astonished family who had come to meet them, he resentfully recounted what had happened and pleaded whether they might lend him a room until Masakado’s bodily pains had somewhat healed.

Naturally, there was no refusal from the family here. The entire family sympathized with Masakado and his retainer, and from that very night devoted themselves to administering medicine and care—even staying awake through till morning. “It’s nothing.” “Nothing serious.” “My mind’s settled quite a bit now too.”

When morning came, Masakado expressed his gratitude to the family members and proposed returning to Toyoda Village that very day.

Fushimi no Jō made a face of utter disbelief.

“You must be concerned about imposing on us.” “Yet for us, it brings nothing but joy.” “As I shared last night, we could never repay our debt to your honored father, Lord Yoshimochi.” “That years later we might unexpectedly offer you shelter for a night—this too speaks of bonds unbroken by time.” “To serve you who carry Lord Yoshimochi’s enduring legacy—what greater honor exists in this fleeting world?”

The old man’s words were directly reflected in the family’s sincere care here. Perhaps because his guard had lowered, Masakado developed a high fever from that day onward. The next day too, his condition remained in a twilight state between waking and dreaming. When he regained fragments of consciousness, he would weep bitterly with visible frustration. This lack of shame in public tears was common to all Japanese of this era—the Heian period—but Masakado had been particularly quick-tempered and tear-prone since childhood. It may have been that this Masakado, having encountered such unexpected human warmth in a wilderness dwelling after sudden calamity, had regressed entirely to an infantile psychological state. Moreover, he must have been one who had starved for affection in his daily life to such a degree.

However, from around the third day, he consciously stopped crying. The reason was that whenever he cried, the young girl of this house who nursed him at his bedside would also cry along, until finally she would stifle her sniffling sobs in her sleeve.

The daughter’s name was Kikyō. Of course she had not yet passed twenty years of age. The disciples called her Lady Kikyō. “Lady Kikyō.” “Why are you crying?” On one occasion, Masakado said to her.

There was nothing that brought hearts closer together as rapidly as between patient and nurse. "But...because Lord Masakado was crying," Kikyō answered bashfully. "When someone weeps, you needn't join them in tears."

“It’s not about keeping you company.” “Because I want to cry.” “Why do you feel like crying?” “But… because you’re crying.” “Then if I weren’t crying…”

“I would not cry either. But Lord Masakado, deep down, there must be times when you cannot help but cry.”

“That might be true.”

“If that’s the case, then perhaps even I might sometimes find myself unable to keep from crying in my heart.”

"Huh? Why?" "Why do you think that is?" "Even when silent, your heart—each part of it—reflects and sways within me like moonlight on water." "Lady Kikyō... Is that true?" "Oh. Truly." "If that's true..." He reached out his hand. Then suddenly jerked upward trying to rise—

“Ouch,” he grimaced, doubling over.

“Oh. “You mustn’t.” “You mustn’t sit up so suddenly.” Kikyō held him and settled him back down. It was a gesture like an older sister tending to her younger brother.

Bruise.

His body had recovered. He could move freely now. The younger brothers left behind at Toyoda must surely be worried. He supposed he must return. But he also felt reluctant to return. The same state showed itself in Kikyō. As if sensing something unspoken between them,the old armorer couple from Noshimo remained kind to Masakado. It was warmth beyond guest treatment—the comfort of family. "If only we could gather like this at mealtimes," he thought,"laughing together morning and night—even at my own mansion."

He found it enviable. Even amid the family gathering, he would sometimes forget to hold his chopsticks and find himself gazing at Kikyō's profile. He had sent Nashimaru to Toyoda with orders not to worry, yet despite that, his brothers Masahira and Masafumi—the two of them—came to meet Nashimaru. Masakado took that opportunity to express his gratitude to the members of Fushimi no Jō's household and, together with his brothers, departed from Noshimo Armorer Village. "You didn't have to go out of your way to come meet me with both of you together like that."

Aboard the ferry crossing the Keno River, Masakado said. The image of Kikyō wouldn’t leave his mind. Even with his brothers before his eyes, her face still appeared superimposed over theirs. He had wanted to stay one more day though. ——

It was his grudging irritation that had made him say it. "But... during my absence—was there any change?" "Oh. Nothing particular. ...While you were away—"

The younger brothers were afraid of their elder brother. To this brother who had returned from the capital, they believed he possessed immeasurable new knowledge, ample life experience, and future aspirations—and they revered him. It was as if a great pillar had risen to replace their father, and they drew strength from it. "How is Masayori doing?" Masayori was so timid… He must have been worrying himself sick. "But as you can see, I'm perfectly fine. Even if those uncles band together, I won’t fear them!"

When he spoke of his uncles, Masakado’s eyes ignited from their depths, unbidden. He turned to gaze at the distant shadow of Mount Tsukuba and remained silent for a while. Suddenly, he came back to himself— “In case something were to happen again on the way—even with Nashimaru here—sending you two to meet me must’ve been Masayori’s doing.” “Don’t go borrowing trouble like that.” “You shouldn’t turn as skittish as Masayori now.”

“No. That’s not it.” “What’s different?” “The one who told us to bring you back quickly was a guest from the capital.”

“A guest from the capital?”

“Oh. He’s been staying at Toyoda Mansion all this time waiting for your return.” “Idiots! Then why didn’t you tell me that straight away?” “Because he said he wanted to surprise you, Lord Masakado—we were strictly ordered by the guest to keep quiet until you meet.” “In the capital they call that ‘foolish honesty’. Who’d be taken in by such a childish prank? So—what name did you hear for this person?”

“We haven’t been told his name.” “Didn’t you ask Masayori either?” “No—even Elder Brother Masayori doesn’t know.” “But he said he must be someone important.” “How old is he?” “Around forty, I think.” “Alone?” “Oh yes—he came alone.” “But he has a magnificent sword laid out and calls everyone by their bare names—people from the capital, nobles of the Left Minister’s house, even our provincial governors and district officials. And he drinks sake from morning till night, keeping Elder Brother Masayori at his side all day without ever setting down his cup.” “He knows everything—from Kyushu’s farthest reaches to matters here in Bandō—so thoroughly that even Elder Brother Masayori clicked his tongue in awe and treated him with reverence.”

“Hmm… Who could it be?” “Who could it be?” Masakado couldn’t think of anyone. If it were an envoy of the Left Minister, he reasoned, they would have brought four or five attendants.

Even so, Masakado was dumbfounded by Masayori and his brothers' uncritical nature and worldly ignorance—not only housing a traveler of unknown lineage at the mansion but even serving him sake from morning and attending to him. Given this, he thought it no wonder those uncles had come to harbor ill intentions. He did not consider himself some naive pushover. Far from it—he had realized that excessive kindness only bred villains around oneself. And while anger burned at his vexing brothers' simplicity...

(The capital remains the capital, and the countryside is like this. A world where honest people can live honestly—there’s no such place. To survive in this world while supporting my five younger brothers and prevail against it, I must cultivate a ruthlessness surpassing even those uncles. Alright, at least I will—) "At least I will," Masakado vowed in his gut. To repay those uncles as one of Toyoda’s six orphans—he attempted to adopt a ruthlessness alien to his nature. If he chose to become one, he resolved that it was not impossible to transform into a villain even more merciless than his uncles.

When he visited Yoshikane and Yoshimasa in Tsukuba, what he brought back in his resolve was precisely that. No—along with that, under his left eye remained a faintly black bruise from the blow.

Wandering Rogue

The night he returned to Toyoda Mansion. He, after briefly showing his unharmed face to the joyfully welcoming household members and servants, immediately— “Where is this guest from the capital?” he asked Masayori.

Unaware of his reproachful gaze, Masayori eagerly—

“He’s been staying four days now, waiting eagerly every day. In the inner guest hall.” He was already about to dash ahead. “Wait, Masayori. Let me see his face first. I can’t think of any capital acquaintance who’d come this far to visit me. Seems suspicious.”

Masakado went to the inner quarters, leaned against the wall of the corridor, and stealthily peered at the guest's form.

Indeed, there was an unfamiliar man. Moreover, as if he’d drunk himself into satiety, he lay sprawled out using his arm as a pillow—utterly at ease—with cups, plates, and food trays scattered about in a revolting mess. “……?” Masakado gripped his sword scabbard with his left hand in both displeasure and bewilderment. Though candles flickered in two locations, their light unfortunately failed to reveal the man’s sleeping face—prompting him to stride boldly up to the figure. Then he peered directly down at that brazen sleeping countenance.

"...Oh?" At that thought, the man reflexively opened his eyes. The eyes in the face as ruddy as a ripe persimmon were still somewhat bleary. But Masakado gazed intently, like an awl. And then, it seemed he had remembered before Masakado did. That voice held nostalgia.

“Ah, isn’t this Fushinin?” “—Yasaka no Fushinin.” “Oh, you’re back, Kojirō.” “Kojirō.”

The man sat up abruptly. He reached out toward Masakado’s hand. And they clasped hands tightly. Sitting cross-legged opposite each other, their faces pressed close together, the two men found themselves staring blankly at one another.

“It’s been a while.” “Kojirō.” “Though I hear these days they call you Masakado.”

“Hmm. Long time no see. Never imagined our guest would be Washū.” “Surprised you?” “Honestly was. Shocked me.” “Ahahaha! Good to see you’re still breathing. Heard even in Kyoto about your mansion—impressive work. Typical of Bando’s great clans, descendants of Emperor Kanmu himself through Prince Katsurabara’s line. The shadow of Taira no Yoshimochi’s era still hangs here. You’re his trueborn heir, aren’t you? Hey! Quit slacking!” “I’m not. Handling things right.” “Properly.”

“Don’t lie. If I asked your brothers while you were away, didn’t they say your father Yoshimochi’s manors and family assets had been carved up and stolen by your uncles? And I hear just days ago at Uncle Yoshikane’s mansion in Hatori, you got mobbed by a whole pack of them.” “You knew? Then you understand. This bitterness—it’s unbearable. How do I purge this rage? That’s all I thought about returning here… You’ve come at the perfect moment. Hey, Masayori! Get this place cleaned up properly and bring fresh sake. I need a drink too.”

To the brothers, it remained unclear what relationship existed between their elder brother and this guest. They could only surmise he might be some close companion from their brother's time in the capital. The retainers trimmed candlewicks, tidied the seating area, and brought out fresh stands and sake decanters. Throughout this, Fushinin and Masakado never ceased their conversation. With mountains of things to share and ask, both men appeared equally urgent to untangle their lingering shared history—yet neither knew where to begin.

The Mount Hiei Pact

Back when Masakado was still at the Left Minister’s residence in the capital—one year, when Fujiwara no Sumitomo declared his return to Iyo Province, a great many friends poled a boat to Eguchi’s pleasure district and held a grand farewell banquet for him, parting ways only after a night of raucous revelry.

It had been a long time since he had last met Fushinin—since that occasion. One reason was that Masakado had been transferred from the Left Minister’s household to the Takiguchi Guards. During that period, Yasaka’s comrades who had betrayed the Left Minister’s household were arrested, and rumors spread that their leader Fushinin had perished in a Ministry of Justice prison. Later, when Sumitomo made his second visit to the capital, Masakado climbed partway up Mount Hiei with him. As they poured sake for each other and grew drunk on youthful aspirations, they gazed down at Heian-kyo spread beneath them,

“Behold,” “Before long, heavenly troops will rise from a corner of Nankai to initiate a great undertaking.” “If someone appears who will shake apart the rotten seat of aristocratic rule and bring merciful rain and hope to the world’s destitute—know that it will be Sumitomo of Iyo.” “You too were born in Bandō’s wilds—moreover, are you not a scion of an imperial lineage family?” “Sumitomo—if you hear I’ve risen in the west, you must rise in the east.” Thus, having been sung this passionate ode, Masakado, too—

(Hmm. You’re right. Listening to what you say… it truly cheers me up.) he thought. Sumitomo raised a cup in one hand,

“Then, let’s commemorate today’s pledge,” he said. “You too, take a cup.” With that, the two of them toasted. And then, they roared with laughter. In the capital on a spring day, such memories did exist for Takiguchi no Kojirō—albeit distantly. “The life or death of Fushinin remained unknown,” Sumitomo had added. “If you find out, let me know in Iyo.” This was something Masakado had heard for the first time from Sumitomo then and had also been requested to do. For that reason, Masakado had even gone to visit Inukai no Yoshitsugu, the prison warden of the Ministry of Justice, to investigate. However, contact with the Yasaka group had been lost, and Fushinin’s whereabouts remained unknown; since then, he had let it slip from his mind without meaning to. After returning to his homeland, both his lifestyle and mindset had completely transformed. He was far from idle—day after day, he remained relentlessly occupied with countless tasks.

“...By the way.” “You’ve been asking about me and talking about me all this time—” Masakado said as the sake service was renewed. He formally offered a cup to his guest and redirected the conversation toward Fushinin’s circumstances. “First—what became of Washu after that? Now that we see he didn’t die in prison and lives... Yet for him to come all this way to Bandō’s hinterlands seeking you—there must be some grave purpose.” “There certainly is.” “Who would come to such a remote province without cause?” “However much you might miss Kojirō Masakado—”

“Let’s hear it.” “First of all—” “To put it plainly—I’m Fujiwara no Sumitomo’s messenger.” “This spring at Seto’s Murotsu, I met Sumitomo and was told to come east once more—to begin preparations for finally setting into motion that old pact between Kojirō Masakado and him.” “Old pact…?” “The so-called Mount Hiei Pact—where Washu and Sumitomo raised cups and swore their oath.”

“Hold on. I never made any promises.” “No—Sumitomo confided. ‘To me alone,’ he shared that secret.”

“Hmm… Is that so…” “Hmm… Is that so?” “Back then…”

Masakado tilted his head. He remembered how they had vented aspirations as vivid as rainbows while drinking together. He did recall Sumitomo denouncing corrupt nobles, eyes blazing with worldly indignation as he ranted about saving the suffering masses or becoming some benevolent savior-father. But that was Sumitomo’s signature performance. Those impassioned tones and drunken tears inevitably surfaced whenever he drank—hardly unique to their Mount Hiei encounter. Masakado had dismissed it as mere histrionic habit. While sharing similar grievances against the world, he’d only ever joined those indignant toasts as drinking accompaniment—never imagining they’d casually forge some secret pact to overthrow the realm in their cups. To have this so-called “Mount Hiei Pact” grandly invoked now left him thoroughly flustered. Masakado found himself speechless.

“Hmm... Come to think of it, Sumitomo often talked about grand ambitions, but since he’d also committed piracy in the Seto Inland Sea before, I’d assumed he meant that.” “What does this ‘Mount Hiei Pact’ refer to?”

“Ahahaha!” “No need to hide it.” “I’m one of the gang too.” “But regarding that—you came as a messenger?”

“Now, now—there’s no need to rush to settle things so hastily.” “We both are men with grand plans.” “For now, I plan to stay here a while, so let’s have a proper discussion when the time comes… But more importantly—what about after that?” “…Hey, Masakado.” “Haven’t you met that grass-whistle-like girl from the Eguchi pleasure quarters since then?” “Ahahaha!” “You’re still single, aren’t you?” “Still spineless after all this time?”

Wolf Companion

He couldn't measure up. He simply couldn't hold his own. Between Fushinin and him, it was like an adult versus a child. To be fair—on that very night when Masakado, having first set foot in the capital at sixteen that spring, was abducted by a strange nun and taken to Gion Forest—even then, Yasaka no Fushinin had already been recognized as a full-fledged bandit chieftain among the shadowy night-dwellers gathered around bonfires.

(It's only natural I can't keep up...) Masakado removed his metaphorical helmet internally. At the same time, recalling Fushinin's uncanny ability to appear and disappear in the capital, his drunkenness abruptly turned to chills—through a strange bond dating back to his first days studying in the capital, when this man had taught him the taste of sake and he had grown familiar with the man's emotional side, they had come to interact like irreplaceable friends without any fear. But upon reflection, this was an extraordinary guest indeed.

It was fortunate for his brothers that he had not yet revealed his true identity. His past identity must not be revealed. Moreover, if his enemy uncles were to learn of it, the consequences would be disastrous. It was perfect material for malicious propaganda to bury him. Masakado found himself torn this way and that, unable to even get drunk. “...Hey.” “What’s wrong?” “What’s this? You’re not even tipsy?”

Fushinin kept drinking alone, cup after cup,

“A mansion without a woman’s touch feels desolate. Why don’t you take a proper wife?” He fixed his gaze on the other’s sober face. “Well, I’ll wed someone eventually.” Masakado smiled faintly. Kikyō’s image rose in his heart. “Wed her then, quickly. Youth’s flame burns brief. Once consumed by grand ambitions, you’ll find no moment to glance at blossoms from horseback... Do you have someone? A sweetheart?” “There might be.” “Splendid! I’m eased—eased enough to sleep tonight. Forgive my thoughtless cheer. Wako must have been wearied to the bone. Spare us both now, spare us!”

He was a manageable guest. Yet there was something of a starving wolf in his bearing. You never knew when he might devour chickens or rabbits with that thinly curled belly.

The next day, Masakado told his brothers: “His way of speaking might be rough, but he’s an interesting man. That man in the capital was the esteemed second son of a noble courtier holding the Fifth Rank Chamberlain position. They say he ruined himself like a fallen aristocrat through heavy drinking and debauchery that made him unfit for office... But when I was studying there, he showed me kindness. All of you must treat him well. He likely plans to tour the Eastern Provinces awhile before returning.”

The brothers did not doubt. Masakado found a single satisfaction in seeing his brothers' faces nodding in unison. It was their absolute obedience—this unconditional trust in their elder brother. A naivety surpassing even an elder brother's—the simplicity of those ignorant of the world. He felt responsible. He shouldered the burden of needing to bring happiness to each of these faces.

“Elder Brother… What is the guest’s name?”

The youngest brother, Shichirō Masatame, suddenly asked.

“Ah. Right. “His name is Fujiwara no Fushinin. “—Since he’s idle, he holds no official position.” While answering, somewhere in his pores grew damp with sweat. Fushinin himself had already been drinking since noon. Masakado, feeling that if he got caught again he wouldn’t be able to extricate himself from the gathering, “I’ll head to the provincial office now while I can.” With Nashimaru and Koharumaru, two child retainers, holding the horses’ reins—and due to the incident a few days prior—he took along ten or so other retainers behind him and set out for the provincial governor’s office.

Though the exact reason remained unclear, a summons ordering his appearance had arrived during his absence. The round trip to the provincial office required an overnight stay. Fearing that Taira no Kunika or Yoshimasa might have preemptively filed a lawsuit, Masakado—though filled with trepidation—had prepared countless arguments along the way to dismantle their fabrications. His expectations proved mistaken. Yet fortune had smiled upon him instead.

Through the directive of a Daijōkan proclamation, an official appointment reached him from the central government. It stated: "The Seventh Rank Official, former Takiguchi Guard Taira no Kojirō Masakado, is hereby appointed as Local Steward of Sōma Manor." Masakado’s joy was all the more intense for being unexpected. An imperial manor referred to estates under direct imperial control across various regions. This position entailed managing prepared foods for the Imperial Table Office—fish, fowl, fruits, vegetable oils, and vegetables harvested there—and dispatching them seasonally to the court. Compared to capital courtiers, it ranked as a minor provincial post. Yet in rural areas, even the lowest official appointment carried vastly different weight in residents’ trust than having none at all. Masakado forgot his years of resentment toward the Left Minister’s household that had exploited him. Turning his heart toward distant Lord Tadahira of Koichijō, he offered sincere gratitude and returned joyfully to Toyoda.

The younger brothers rejoiced. The family members and servants all offered their congratulations. For the old mansion plagued by misfortune, this was truly the sole auspicious event since Masakado’s return home. That’s why the servants immediately spread the news throughout the village, turning it into a celebration for the entire settlement—the mansion’s gatefront buzzed with activity. Yet hearing this, only Fushinin in the inner quarters sneered. “What a farce, Masakado. They appoint you caretaker of fields and marsh birds—what’s so celebratory about that? Well, if it were some grand stratagem I’d understand… But with all this commotion, even I must force out some hollow congratulations.”

Old familiar ways

The homeland loved its festivals. Whether it was Sashima, Katsushika, Tsukuba, Yūki, or even this Toyoda District—whenever there was reason for celebration, there was a festival. When the indigenous people heard their lord’s son had received a Daijōkan proclamation appointing him steward of the imperial manor, they gathered at the ubusuna god’s shrine amidst auspicious winds and timely rains. They brought out primitive instruments and masks to perform twenty-five kagura ritual dances, pounded rice cakes in every household, poured black sake, and sang. At nightfall came song-gatherings in shrine precincts where countless lanterns were extinguished—maidens and wives alike waited in heart-pounding darkness for men’s hands. Another’s husbands and another’s wives. Unknown youths and unknown maidens. However they frolicked together in those festival grounds, neither people nor gods condemned it as sin—such was the custom of that time. They merely preserved ancient human practices from when giant beasts had roared through these primeval forests. This was their supreme joy—these local folk who gave no thought to capital skies above or sweat-soaked earth below.

“Well then, Masakado. Take care of yourself—when I return from Mutsu, I’ll definitely stop by again. After winter passes—it’ll be next year by then—but I’ll definitely stop by.”

That evening.

Fushinin suddenly announced his farewell. He said he was going deep into Tōhoku—where the Emishi people still held considerable sway—to Hiraizumi or thereabouts. The purpose was gold. To raise an army requires gold. He intended to obtain gold dust and bring it back. Masakado had no knowledge of the geography. He could only listen wide-eyed. (Is he off to steal?)

He had very much wanted to ask—but as he couldn’t bring himself to voice it, Fushinin seemed to read Masakado’s mind from his expression alone and burst into laughter. “Even a capital phantom thief becomes a monkey fallen from its tree once driven out of the city,” he said. “The sticks are no place for me to work—can’t vanish and reappear at will here. Quit making that face, Masakado. I’m not going to steal—plan to bring proper trade goods and barter for gold dust.” “That’s well enough—but what goods?”

“The goods for exchange have been placed in another’s mansion.” “Take a guess.” “What the—”

“How the hell should I know?” “About stuff stored in someone else’s mansion?” “However, Wako, you should have seen it.” “Me? Hmm?” “At Yoshikane’s mansion in Hatori, there was a beautiful woman, wasn’t there? A city-bred woman—slightly older, around twenty-five or twenty-six—” “Huh. ...Tamamushi?”

“That’s right.” “One year we accompanied Sumitomo, Kiemo, Tokinari and the rest when they returned to Iyo—saw them off all the way to Eguchi’s pleasure quarter.” “Wako came along too.”

“There was… but what does Tamamushi have to do with any of that?” “To be frank, she was someone I knew. Though from a different pleasure house than where I caroused with Sumitomo, Jōhei no Sadamori used to visit her often. That Sadamori once guided Yoshikane on his visit to the capital, which led to her being relocated here to the Eastern Provinces. That’s Tamamushi—kept at Hatori.”

He couldn't believe it. Masakado couldn't reconcile this description with the woman he knew. She had seemed a noble, kind-hearted woman. At least, that was how she had appeared through his impressions and profound experience.

“You’ll understand in time. Anyway, I’ll visit again next year. Farewell…”

Even though it was night, he departed from Toyoda. Without borrowing a horse or revealing where he meant to lodge, even Masakado—raised in wilderness—found himself astonished by Fushinin’s way of existence. Like an owl, he had become one with the darkness. Masakado recalled how Fushinin used to light a solitary bonfire in Gion Forest’s shadows, keeping dubious companions about him. There was also that incident where he’d stripped Left Minister Tadahira naked, stolen away his lover Lady Ajisai, hidden her until her beauty dimmed, then returned her to the minister’s bedchamber. The man could only be described as extraordinary. Whether he’d truly return next year remained uncertain. Having finally seen off this peculiar guest, Masakado felt something like relief.

However, when about half a month had passed, an unpleasant rumor reached his ears. When Nashimaru—who had gone on an errand as far as Shimotsuma in Hitachi Province—stopped by the house of Fushimi no Jō, the Noshimo armorer, to express gratitude for a recent favor, he heard the rumor there too and elsewhere besides. The rumor was that Tamamushi—Yoshikane’s neglected lady-in-waiting—had abruptly vanished from Hatori Mansion. They searched in groups but found no trace. As a result, This must certainly mean she fled to Masakado’s side. (There was sufficient reason to suspect)

The people of Hatori spreading the word served as the catalyst, and their speculation grew wings, To think Toyoda's young lord would brazenly steal his uncle's beloved concubine!

Such talk was now being gossiped about far and wide. Nashimaru had also heard that it was Minamoto no Suke, the eldest son of Minamoto no Mamoru, who had come to the Noshimo armorer’s house, declared it to be Masakado’s doing, and cursed him as an inhuman monster. After reporting this exactly to Masakado, Nashimaru went on to say:

“That’s impossible! It’s a complete lie! If those Hatori bastards suspect it so much, why don’t they come to Toyoda Mansion to see for themselves? If they don’t even come to see for themselves, what are they talking about? So thinking this, I yelled at Noshimo Armorer Village. But the old man and woman there were also furious, saying ‘That’s right! That’s right!’ The daughter, Lady Kikyō, was crying too... It’s so frustrating! The other day was bitter enough, but today I returned swallowing even more galling tears of resentment.”

Masakado simply listened in silence.

Wondering if his master was even slightly concerned, Nashimaru suddenly looked up at the lord who resembled a wooden statue. A countenance lingered there that defied distinction between rage and weeping. Regretting his outburst, Nashimaru closed his mouth. While fighting back tears as he bowed before his master, two streams steadily trickled down from both eyes of the wooden-faced lord.

The Silent One

To vow to oneself for a period of time to work silently and diligently like a fool—this was something serious individuals often resolved to do. It was a form of self-abasement, yet held secret satisfactions no observer could fathom. The year had ended with his anguish unresolved, but as Jōhei 2 dawned and its first month arrived, Taira no Masakado underwent an abrupt awakening. He clenched this kindred oath within his breast alone.

Self-discipline. Become a fool, become a fool—that was his resolve. And he set a goal: Just wait and see. "This is a relief." Taira no Masakado believed he had saved himself from crisis. He, who was no fool, would become like a fool and yet in truth press diligently toward his goal.—In five or ten years' time, he would clearly demonstrate through his achievements that he was no fool—that he who had been thought utterly foolish—and make those uncles regret their scorn.

How intriguing. To become the Silent One. If I think of myself as once again becoming a carriage attendant for the Left Minister’s household, it’s nothing.

He plugged his ears to the world. No matter what rumors the family members and slaves might hear outside and bring to him, he resolved to laugh them off. As long as they reclaimed land, new farmland could be endlessly acquired. They cut down mountain forests, filled in marshes, and strove at flood control—even in just that single year, the area and agricultural production of Toyoda Village completely transformed. At that time, from Jōhei 2 to 3, a nationwide great famine struck throughout Japan.

In autumn, the cold persisted; in May of the following year—despite it being apricot blossom season—frost fell across various regions; then that summer saw repeated typhoon strikes and the emergence of floods.

Therefore, by the autumn of the second year, the local tribute goods (taxes) were not sent to the capital at all.

The Emperor issued an edict reducing the regular provisions for the imperial household to one-fourth of their usual amount. (—Furthermore, reduce the regular provisions for the Imperial Household to one-fourth.) This edict, issued to exemplify frugality for high officials, was promulgated up to twice a year.

Moreover, in the western sea regions such as Shikoku and Kyushu, which had suffered relatively little damage, pirate uprisings were frequently reported. The Inland Sea pirates targeted and attacked the tribute ships being transported to the capital’s official storehouses. “It’s Sumitomo of Iyo… It’s Sumitomo’s doing.” And this, too, compounded the capital’s unease. The Granary Bureau’s stockpile was diminishing at such an alarming rate each day that even just providing gruel to the impoverished within the capital became a cause for embarrassment. At the Granary Bureau of the Ministry of the Imperial Household, the financial officers turned pale and grew frantic in their efforts to pressure manor offices across the nation regarding the collection and transportation of taxes from both private and public fields.

Naturally, in all regions, the collection by tax officials reached extreme severity. Whether they resisted or appealed, the powerless people of this era—bereft of any legal protection—could only submit to whatever oppressive exactions were imposed upon them. Even when wrung dry of their lifeblood, they still had to pay. In the folk songs of the Heian court people of that time: Hair combs— Seventeen There was one, The Assistant Governor of Takefu’s Taken in the morning, taken again at night, Once they took it all, No hair combs remain. It was a ballad so vivid one could almost see the face of a peasant’s wife lamenting how even her hair ornaments had been taken by local officials under the Assistant Governor in place of meager tax payments. It seems the local children innocently sang of that resentment for generations to come.

But when even combs were gone—when they had nothing left to sustain their meager lives—they resorted to a final measure: abandoning their huts, leaving their villages, scattering their families, and each individually selling themselves into slavery. Be it temples, government offices, or households of powerful clans—anywhere with power—they would enter service as servants or slaves. To such unregistered people, taxes could not be imposed. In other words, they were discarding their status to escape the burden of taxes.

Such tax-fleeing refugees flooded into Masakado’s Toyoda Village in great numbers. Taira no Masakado did not drive them away. Rather, he welcomed it as a blessing, “Those who can’t eat—work with me. Where there’s work, there’s no famine.” he took them in. As a result, the mansion’s extended family structure expanded, and the number of villagers continued to grow; employing slash-and-burn methods for rapid reclamation, they worked together with desperate intensity for roughly two and a half years. Though the world was said to be in the great Jōhei famine, Toyoda Village instead increased its wealth during this period.

He consistently sent the tribute goods from the Sōma Imperial Manor—appointed by the Imperial Court—to the capital each spring and autumn, and also managed to fully pay the taxes.

Moreover, the broodmares in the pastures—which had promptly begun breeding—all gave birth to foals, and now three-year-old spring colts, two-year-olds, and yearlings were beginning to play in herds at Ōmusubi Pasture, presenting a scene nearly reminiscent of days gone by. No—rather, an even greater force came into play: the minor clans of neighboring districts like Yūki and Sashima, drawn by the allure of being descendants of Emperor Kammu’s lineage and witnessing both his efforts and Toyoda Village’s rapid growth, began forming various bonds with Masakado’s mansion.

To this, he,

“Hmm, so you wish to unite as one? Very well. Rather than remaining small and cramped, growing thickly together, let us unite as one clan—join our strength, take deep roots, and become a great tree.”

He refused none who came, exchanging sake cups with all. It seems he possessed a certain boss-like quality that naturally inspired such devotion. The origin of the chivalrous custom in Kantō Hasshū—where bonds of loyalty were pledged through shared sake cups well into later eras—could not be denied as a remnant of clan alliances naturally devised within this region’s primitive systems during the Bandō wilderness era of the Heian period, forged for survival in harsh conditions.

Kikyō made her entrance.

Though it ultimately could not compare to the vast inheritance embezzled by his three uncles, Masakado managed to restore his family’s fortunes for the time being. He restored the ancestral Toyoda Mansion, which had nearly become a rotten shell on the verge of collapse. Though not a single field had been returned from his uncles’ hands, he reclaimed a fraction of the stolen family estate lands through his own efforts and sweat.

"Heaven has shown me mercy," he thought. "I have my drive. I even have secret joys no one knows." The secret that had occasionally made him smirk during three years of silence was first revealed to his clan brothers in the New Year of Jōhei 5 (935 CE). "This year, I'll take a wife," he declared. "...Who do you think it is? Take a guess."

Thus came the night of the New Year’s banquet. Suddenly before the crowd, he declared it in his characteristic way. “If true, it would bring joy to the clan.” “Our lord has already reached thirty-five years of age.” They murmured in commotion and raised their cups together—but who could this woman be that Taira no Masakado had resolved to take as his principal wife? None could fathom it. In those days, the custom of early marriage prevailed not only in Heian-kyō’s capital but also in the countryside, where many took wives at thirteen or fourteen—or even fifteen or sixteen years. This did not mean Taira no Masakado had kept no women by his side until thirty-five. He had maintained unofficial wives within the village. They might have dwelled in separate wings of the mansion. Yet he had taken no principal wife.

“Brother. I know… Shall I try to guess?”

The one who had spoken was his younger brother, Masayori.

Masayori exchanged glances with Nashimaru, who was behind him, and laughed. “What.” “You know?”

“I know all about it.” “Take a guess.” “If I guess right, what will you give me?” “To you, I’ll give Moriya District—including the imperial manor lands.” “What... Brother, I wouldn’t make such a demand.” “Enough—speak. Take a guess.” “Noshimo’s... Lady Kikyō, I presume.” “That’s right.”

Taira no Masakado clapped his hands. The voice that declared “That’s right” was so extraordinarily loud that everyone froze in astonishment and stared at Taira no Masakado.

Moreover, Taira no Masakado hurriedly brought the cup to his lips, tears welling in his eyes. And then, he gave a cup to Masayori.

“You guessed it, Masayori. You understood after all—that gladdens me. …What say you, Masahira? Masafumi? Masatake? Masatame?” He swept his gaze across all his brothers’ faces. “Is it acceptable for me to wed Lady Kikyō? That’s what I must know. Speak your minds—all of you! Hold nothing back! Should she become the principal wife of this mansion or not?” he demanded with fearsome intensity. Beginning with Masayori, his brothers answered in turn.

“There is no question of good or bad.” “If you like her…” “You too must have firmly resolved yourself on this matter… Elder Brother.” “We had vaguely heard about it from Brother Masayori.” “Even though there’s someone you love so much, we’ve been the ones wondering when you’d finally marry her—we could hardly wait!” “……” Taira no Masakado nodded at each word from his brothers as if gaining powerful allies, carelessly wiping away tears from the bridge of his nose along with his snot.

“I see. If you all say that…” “Why do you trouble yourself with such concern for us?” “No—to marry her, I must rely on your help as well. To put it bluntly—if I may cut straight to the conclusion—Lady Kikyō’s father, Old Man Noshimo, declares that since she cannot be wed through proper channels, if we must force the matter, we should ‘steal the girl away.’” “Ah, I see. Their parents—those honest folk—are belittling themselves because our statuses are too different, then?”

“Well… no, that’s not it. The reason is entirely different.” “Then why would they insist on such an antiquated custom? I’ve heard there was an old practice where the groom’s clan would raid the desired bride’s home to carry her off for the wedding.”

"That too is their wish, so there's no helping it." "I fully understand Lady Kikyō's parents' anguish." "And I fear this pain will eventually burden you all too." "...But I can't give it up." "I... This brother of yours..." Taira no Masakado swept back his hair with his fingers. His hand stayed there, clutching his hair as he let out an uncharacteristic sigh.

To Masayori and Masahira, the deeper circumstances were beyond their understanding. They only knew their older brother had kept this love hidden in his heart for four years. And seeing that brother now in such anguish before the crowd—not in drunken revelry—how could they possibly refuse? In unison, their brows took on expressions that seemed to spur on his love. As for the family retainers and vassals, while they might have been ready to keep raising celebratory cups here endlessly, there could be no objections. Soon, with one voice,

“Auspicious matters should be hastened. There’s even the saying—rain threatens blossoms, clouds obscure the moon.” they cheered as if singing a victory song.

Encouraged and blessed by his clan in this manner, Taira no Masakado seemed to finally steel his resolve, “Then, by February, we will bring Lady Kikyō here. Make sure you’re prepared for all eventualities!” he declared.

The capacity for strong drink was a distinctive trait of this era’s people—particularly those of this wilderness. They emptied ten jugs of black sake (millet wine), yet it still wasn’t enough. The clan got drunk like mud turtles. And they celebrated Masakado’s love and the New Year’s night to the fullest.

However, there was one old man who alone watched this uneasily. He was Taji Tsuneaki, a veteran retainer who had served since the time of Masakado’s father, Yoshimochi. Tsuneaki, now with dimmed eyes and a bent back, was of such advanced age that he was of little use. Stationed at the guard post of the Imperial Manor’s pond, he rarely came to the mansion—but having chanced to attend the New Year’s banquet, he instead wore an intensely troubled look. He too seemed to have something he wanted to say, but to oppose the atmosphere of these robust, wild youths intoxicated with drink was not something an old man’s feeble willpower could readily accomplish.

As if having realized this, he alone trudged back along the dark, distant road to the Imperial Manor’s garden.

Hitachi Genji Clan

Throughout the New Year, congratulatory guests never ceased. Taira no Masakado remained seated as he received guests, appearing to be in a perpetual state of drunkenness. Today, Sugawara no Michiyuki came again. “Well done, well done! You have persevered until now.” “If the late Lord Yoshimochi were here, how delighted he would be!” “Truly worthy of being a descendant of Emperor Kanmu, Lord Masakado.” “I cannot express how happy I am.” “I have been permitted to celebrate this fine New Year in this fondly remembered mansion.”

Michiyuki lavished praise on Masakado’s years of self-restraint. Before this scrupulous gentleman, Taira no Masakado reverted to being the snot-nosed brat of his youth—sitting rigidly upright, thanking him for past kindnesses, and vowing future diligence to restore his family’s fortunes. These were the only topics he could voice. “I entrust this to you.” “Let us proceed together from here.”

It was Michiyuki departing after offering encouragement as if he were a true father to his true son.

After escorting that person to the mansion’s middle gate, he glanced toward the earthen storehouse and noticed five or six packhorses had arrived. His brothers and household retainers were carrying straw-wrapped bundles of weapons they’d unloaded from the horses’ backs into the armory. “Ah,” he called out, “has another batch of armor we commissioned from Noshimo come in?”

“Yes.” “Additionally, spears, bows, and such that have been completed will be delivered successively from Noshimo in the coming days.”

“The horse gear, long-handled weapons, and bows must have accumulated quite a considerable amount by now.” “They have been gathered in considerable quantity. Would you care to view the three storehouses once?” “No, let’s not today.… Instead, Masayori and Masahira—could you come to my room for a moment?” Taira no Masakado soon positioned his two brothers, who had followed from behind, before him and said this: “It was the night before last. At the New Year’s night banquet.”

“Yes.” “It seems my heart was truly adrift.” “I let slip about Lady Kikyō without thinking.” “She’s someone I can’t bring myself to abandon—I’ve never considered giving up on her—but still… I hadn’t meant to speak of it.” “Wouldn’t it be better this way? Far better than endlessly wrapping your true feelings in secrecy…” “Hearing you say that… tears fell from my eyes.—Masayori, Masahira.” “To confess… the truth is there’s another man risking his life for Lady Kikyō’s love besides me.” “For me, he makes a fearsome rival in this contest of hearts.”

“What’s wrong?” “Brother, how can you let yourself be defeated by love?” “If there’s a rival, we won’t let you become heartbroken.” “Hey, Shirō.” “Exactly!” “Who’s the opponent?” “Well...” “Minamoto no Mamoru’s sons.” “Sons? That’s absurd.” “You mean his eldest—Suke?” “The second son—Takashi?” “Or the third—Shigeru?”

“Indeed, it’s absurd.” “That Suke and the second son, Takashi, are also competing over a single Kikyō.” “Therefore, those brothers too find themselves unable to secure Kikyō outright, and Kikyō’s parents have skillfully used this as a pretext to refuse both suitors’ requests… but it seems they’ve now been cornered into such urgency that such excuses can no longer hold.” “Are you saying that—”

"The brothers Suke and Takashi, being brothers as they are, apparently discussed this romance, drew lots to determine which of them would have the good fortune, and decided to settle Kikyō’s ownership." "Th-They’re mocking us! Using a woman in love as a betting chip..." Even the gentle Masayori could not contain his outrage. "Then—does Noshimo’s Fushimi no Jō intend to give his daughter to one of them?"

“No—that old man may be an armorer by trade, but his spirit’s forged of iron.” “Of course he’d never agree to it.” “He swore as much to me himself.” “When did you meet with him?”

“If he comes here, it’ll draw eyes. So he always slips into the imperial manor gardens instead. We’ve met countless times at that Ikemori Cottage where Tsuneaki lives—old Fushimi’s so worried about his darling Kikyō, he’s like that proverb about the crane wandering lost at night for its chick. Comes to me over every little thing now.” “Then Lord Fushimi wants to marry her to you, Brother—and Lady Kikyō feels the same way.”

“Well… That’s how it is.”

Taira no Masakado’s face turned red. He nodded reservedly, perhaps fearing his brothers would laugh at his self-conceit. “Then what reason could there possibly be for your hesitation?” “If you, Elder Brother, promptly carry out the means that the old man has devised so that Suke and Takashi can plausibly explain it away, then that will settle the matter.” “But what I fear is what comes after that.” “After all, the Minamoto no Mamoru family is the main branch of the Hitachi Genji clan spanning the three districts of Nihari, Makabe, and Tsukuba.” “They are one of the few great clans across the Bandō region and have allies from the Saga Genji clan in various areas.”

“But… Elder Brother.” “It’s love we’re talking about, isn’t it? The real issue—” “No matter how he’s the Saga Genji clan’s eldest son, could any man wield such open power over one woman alone?”

“But… brother,” “Unfortunately, even those two daughters of Mamoru have married into our uncles.” “One became Lord Yoshikane’s wife.” “The other entered Lord Yoshimasa’s household.” “No matter how the family ties may be woven—then, Elder Brother, can you bring yourself to abandon Lady Kikyō?” “I can’t…”

Taira no Masakado closed his eyes. "Then you must steel yourself to see it through - complaints afterward and some unpleasantness be damned. There's no other choice, is there?"

“Will you forgive me?” “Such weak-spirited talk!” “I’ve no hesitation. “This is my own love. “I’d stake my life to see it through.”

“Then Masayori—you’ll split from me to form a branch family as we talked two nights back, and settle near the Imperial Manor soon.” “I’m giving you the Moriya rice fields in that area.” “And Shirō—take Sarushima’s Iwaī.”

“At a time like this, you needn’t concern yourself so deeply with our circumstances.” “The time will come when I must do the same for Masafumi and Masatake as well—they’ve all reached that age. Since it’s a fatherless household, I must accomplish what Father left undone.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “Now, being caught up in love and making even you all worry—I’m such a troublesome substitute parent. You probably think my reliance on you isn’t effective.” The two brothers meekly looked down, their childhood sorrows reawakened. Taira no Masakado wore an expression of remorse, as though he regretted having made them weep.

Then, despite being typically timid and high-strung, Masayori resolutely wiped away his tears and spoke up. “I understand.” “Your feelings and your circumstances—I’ve come to fully grasp them.” “As ordered, I’ll leave for the Imperial Manor within days.” “Shirō—you do likewise.—Now then, Elder Brother.” “Elder Brother—when will you bring Lady Kikyō home?” “When you go to seize her from Noshimo—take me with you that night.” “Elder Brother… I too.”

Then Shirō Masahira also pressed his elder brother.

Plunder

The fields and hills still lay barren in winter’s grasp. The wind at the beginning of the second month whistled through the reed plumes, while hail that had fallen abundantly by evening glistened with a moonlit whiteness across the field paths and village roofs.

That day. Fushimi no Jō’s house remained hushed throughout the day. Neither the old man nor his apprentices showed any sign of work begun. At evening meal time, parent and child quietly exchanged cups with earthenware vessels, and the old woman who was Kikyō’s mother kept dabbing her eyes. She applied makeup. Time and again she fixed her tear-swollen face before the mirror.

The disciples were keeping watch on both sides.

Before long, torches could be seen being waved in the distant field. “Then…”

At this, suddenly both the old man and old woman—along with the entire household—erupted into commotion. “Quiet now... Keep quiet.” With tears streaming down their faces, they saw Kikyō off through the small opening in the earthen-walled gate. Kikyō wore a layered robe with collars of pale plum, green, white, and purple, her glossy black hair let down behind her back. But when she stepped a few paces beyond her parents’ gate, the Akagi wind whipped her black hair and robe sleeves upward as if tearing them toward the sky. They must have been lying in wait nearby all along. Suddenly from tree shadows and grassy thickets rose over a dozen figures who approached Kikyō.

Kikyō let out a faint "Ah—". In an instant, she was hoisted onto the horse's back, bound to the saddle with cloth, and galloped off eastward. As if signaling to those waiting in the distance, the torch seen earlier now swung busily about across the field. To some eyes, those flames might have been conveying something to Noshimo's old couple. The old woman and old man returned inside their house, comforting each other over the unending flow of aged tears.

“Ah, how lonely,” “It feels as though we’ve lost a jewel from our hands… Yet our daughter’s wish has been granted.” “It may be a sorrowful marriage, but put yourself in Kikyō’s place and rejoice for her.” Kikyō’s heart must have already been in Toyoda. No—the torch seen waving in the distant field might have been the son-in-law himself brandishing it.

All through the night, the old couple talked of memories from Kikyō’s birth to this very day as though they could never exhaust their stories, sinking into tears each time they spoke. The following day too, this armorer’s residence remained as hushed as night. The disciples, even to their fellow craftsmen in the village, “Lady Kikyō has gone missing since yesterday evening.” as they concealed the facts. And,

“Whether she was abducted by human traffickers from Hiraizumi or snatched away by a band of outlaws—or something.”

they deliberately exaggerated and spread the rumors. Such cases were not unheard of. It was said that in territories controlled by subjugated Emishi (semi-Ezo regions) of Mutsu, beautiful women fetched high prices at market. Moreover, human traffickers importing beauties from the distant capital frequently passed through northern routes. Indeed, just a few years prior, there had been a woman confined within Hatori no Yoshikane's mansion—even someone from such a secure stronghold had abruptly vanished without trace. Moreover, this was a matter where even appeals to provincial governors' offices or district magistrates proved futile. Not even Hatori no Yoshikane's considerable influence could ultimately determine what became of his beloved concubine Tamamushi after her disappearance. For a time, suspicion had focused on Masakado hiding her, but upon confirming she was truly absent from Toyoda and all other locations, the rumors had finally subsided over the past year or two.

Scion of a noble house “What? What’s this? Kikyō has gone missing?”

Minamoto no Suke, the eldest son of Minamoto no Mamoru, had gone that day to visit Yoshimasa of Mizumori at his mansion. Before even meeting Yoshimasa, at the gate, he was informed of the matter by Yoshimasa’s retainers. “That can’t be left alone! This is a crisis!” He immediately wheeled his horse around and galloped toward Noshimo. The heir of the Saga Genji clan was also well into his years. He had a legal wife and concubines. But when it came to love, he seemed to tread a different path—a rare dandy in the provinces whose resplendent long sword, hunting robes, and ornate horse trappings never failed to catch the eye of peasants in that remote fief. And he was always accompanied by seven or eight retainers.

“Hurry up! You fools! Don’t fall behind!” He turned on his horse to berate the lagging retainers, his tone urgent as if racing to battle. “Could this be Takashi’s work? … Yes,” he muttered, conviction hardening. “That brother of mine would stoop to such tricks.” Fueled by suspicion, he charged into the tribal residence of Fushimi no Jō, Noshimo’s master armorer.

However, his brother Takashi had already arrived there first—how he had learned of it was unclear. The old man and the old woman had taken to their beds since that evening, sunk in grief, and refused to see anyone. He had gathered the disciples and various craftsmen of the village and was meticulously questioning them.

“I just can’t figure it out—it seems true that Kikyō has vanished, but the circumstances before and after don’t line up.”

“Takashi. Is there nothing—no clues at all?” “Ah, Elder Brother. This was a bit of a blunder on our part. I surmise it might be Toyoda.” “Masakado… Hmm, I did consider that once. But that coward couldn’t pull off such audacity. He should know full well Kikyō breathes under our shadow.” “Could our complacency have let a kite outwit us? Upon reflection—these past years, most arms forged in Noshimo went to Toyoda’s coffers. Unbeknownst to us, Masakado and Fushimi no Jō might’ve struck their pact.”

Takashi shook his stout, short frame and kept darting his hollow eyes about. He declared with absolute confidence in his own instincts.

Suke turned pale. It seemed to be his nature to turn pale when enraged. “Hey, Takashi. Tie Fushimi no Jō and his wife to your horse and drag them back to the mansion afterward. Is that clear?” Having given these orders, he returned to his own mansion ahead of them, seething with displeasure.

Soon, Takashi came from behind. However, he had not brought the old couple of Noshimo with him. When asked what had happened, it was said the old man and woman had cleaned a room, arranged their pillows, and committed suicide as if sleeping. “Send secret agents into Toyoda territory—you’ll know immediately.” “Can there be any room for doubt now?” Takashi’s words were confirmed a few days later. United in their despair, these brothers—bound by hatred for Masakado and a shared thirst for revenge—suddenly grew closer than any siblings ever had.

“That bastard has retainers and family members.” “We can’t move carelessly.” “How should we handle this?” The two brothers racked their brains, knowing any plan they executed must completely strangle Masakado’s life when carried out. But when it came to total annihilation, no brilliant schemes readily came to mind.

Then, it was around the end of February.

A messenger arrived from Dajō Kunika of Ishida. When they opened the letter, it read as follows.

My son Jōhei no Sadamori, who had been residing in the capital for an extended period, had suddenly returned home. This homecoming served both to inform this old father of his recent appointment as Right Horse Keeper and to conduct an official inspection of the tribute horses from pastures across the Eastern Provinces for this spring's Imperial Horse Presentation during his official journey. It was said he had only a mere two or three days to rest his travel-weary self at our rural residence. I earnestly hoped we might meet again after so long during this brief interval, exchange tales from all quarters, and fully express the daily longing I had cherished.

I await your arrival. I humbly request that you both come together.

Wealth and Accumulated Sins

In Hitachi, the seasons differed markedly between north and south. Ishida Mansion stood in Minami-Hitachi.

February. The wind from Tsukuba was still cold, but red and white plum blossoms had already begun to bloom on the grand mansion’s earthen walls and the bamboo fence of its middle gate. Dajō Kunika was in high spirits since morning. Like a sage of Penglai, his white hair had been neatly combed and styled into a topknot, with sparse white whiskers cascading down the chest of his noble robes. He kept his court cap and robes perfectly arranged as he busied himself with preparations for receiving guests. When household staff and samurai arrived to report the completed preparations, “I see. You’ve cleaned not just around the guest gate but also the stables where visitors’ horses are tethered? I detest sloppiness in the stables.”

“We’ve cleaned so that not a single straw lies scattered.” “Good, good… They should be arriving soon,” he murmured happily, squinting his aged eyes as he gazed blissfully at the spring sunlight in the garden——. “What is Lord Right Horse Keeper doing?” “He has just left the bathhouse and is now graciously changing his attire.” “He’s become quite the capital gentleman.” “He’s quite the stylish one.” “When you’ve finished preparing, tell him to come here and talk with his father until the guests arrive.”

Lord Right Horse Keeper referred to his own eldest son, the aforementioned Jōhei no Sadamori. Having newly been promoted to Right Horse Keeper, this old father had recently been deliberately making the household members call him that out of both affection and pride. “Father, please come here.” “Oh, Sadamori. Well, sit down. The weather has blessed us with favorable conditions.” “Who exactly are today’s guests?” “The main guest is Lord Minamoto no Mamoru. I’ve kept it strictly to close associates—Yoshimasa of Mizumori, Yoshikane of Hatori, and such.”

“And Lord Mamoru’s sons?” “They will come. I had arranged their invitation.”

“Though I left for the capital and have not returned home for so long, the manors have expanded beyond comparison to before, our retainers multiplied, and this mansion has become splendid to the point of being unrecognizable.” “You’d need to be a Minister or Governor in the capital to maintain such a lifestyle.” “Yet my official rank remains merely Dajō.” “After all, staying in the countryside puts one at a disadvantage.” “You’ve become Right Horse Keeper and will soon rise to Head of the Imperial Guards.” “In official rank, you’ve already surpassed this old father.”

“In the capital, I have managed to receive patronage from such figures as His Highness the Minister of Ceremonial at Ninna-ji, the House of the Right Minister, and Lord Fujiwara no Morosuke of Kujō.” “In the capital, above all else, one cannot rise in status without gaining proximity to the regent and chancellor families or imperial princes.” “Oh, that reminds me—how has Kojirō Masakado been lately?” “Masakado… Heh heh heh,” Kunika laughed, curling his lower lip. This old father, who melted with such deep affection when looking at Sadamori that he seemed ready to take him into his very eyes, would reveal a glint of curses from the depths of his gaze at the mere mention of Masakado’s name.

Even Dajō Kunika—who now resided in Bandō with a mansion rivaling those of the capital, sat enthroned over his cowering household and kin, and exuded the air of a virtuous elder—must have, over half a lifetime spent attaining his current eminence in Jōnan, strangled within himself all notions of trust, mercy, and affection, deliberately choosing ruthless means as his keys to success while accumulating wealth through insatiable greed. Now over seventy years old, even the vestiges of that bygone era when he had been a demon of material desire—though now deeply buried—would sometimes seep out from the depths of his wrinkled countenance.

“Ah, that Masakado wears me down… Even now, at the slightest provocation, he drags out Yoshimochi’s will or some old manor deed and starts clamoring.” “It seems he nurses a deep-rooted grudge.” “Because of that, we can’t sit idle.” “Yoshikane and Yoshimasa both say this single matter poisons our clan’s prosperity.” “A dullard’s obstinacy, no doubt.” “His lack of cunning only makes the problem more vexing. Hahaha.” “You find this amusing, Sadamori?” “The fault begins with your own negligence.”

“Oh? Am I at fault as well?” “There is—don’t play forgetful like that.” “Hmm? Do enlighten me.” “It’s a matter of the past, but when Masakado was still in the capital, I did instruct you via secret letter. ……If that wretch Masakado were to return safely to the homeland, it would cause complications. While he remained in the capital, I told you to dispose of him somehow.” “Ah, right—it does come back to me. During his time in the capital, I too secretly tried to tail him whenever an opportunity arose. But had I botched it clumsily, it would have caused great trouble. In the end, I simply never found the right moment to kill him. Moreover, given that he’s such a dullard lacking in wit, we assumed that even if he did return home, Father and my uncles could handle him however they saw fit—that too was part of why we took it lightly.”

“No—dull as he may be, letting that wretch return home was like raising a beast’s cub we’d driven into a capital cage, only to deliberately release it back into Bandō’s wilds.” “Your negligence—that alone was the cause.”

“This is an unexpectedly harsh reprimand to receive after the fact.” “I’m not speaking formally here, but mark my words—at today’s banquet, Yoshimasa, Yoshikane, and the others will inevitably dredge up that matter again.” “I’m telling you this beforehand out of a father’s care.” “If those uncles lay blame at your feet, find a way to talk your way out of it.”

Diabolical Scheme

While it was framed as a farewell banquet for Sadamori's return to the capital, it likely also served to celebrate his recent promotion to Right Horse Keeper. The lavish feast continued until nightfall.

The guest of honor, Minamoto no Mamoru, due to his advanced age, made a brief appearance but departed by palanquin while daylight still lingered. Most of the clan also dispersed, each choosing their moment to leave.—Those remaining were Yoshikane, Yoshimasa, and Mamoru’s sons Suke, Takashi, and Shigeru, who had arrived slightly later—five people in total.

The reason Kunika’s inner circle alone remained, having gathered the candles in the hall into one corner and continued drinking late into the night with Kunika at their center, was that their conversation had turned to Masakado.

“Today, please listen to this brother’s lament too,” said his younger brother Takashi, setting aside his own illicit love— “For years now, my elder brother has been in unbearable grief—the woman he loved was taken by Masakado... If you don’t let me drink my fill and give me strength, I might die of heartbreak!” he went on drunkenly. Sadamori, instead, half-mockingly,

“Ah, Lord Suke. That explains your sullen face.” “But heartbreak can’t be healed with drink… even doctors would throw down their spoons.” He laughed mockingly. Yet Yoshimasa and Yoshikane deliberately maintained grave expressions without laughter. They had known of this matter for days; hearing Masakado’s involvement had filled them with shared humiliation—thus they stoked the flames. “If Masakado retaliates and shames you, your manhood would crumble—but neither can we remain passive.” Resentment festered.

It was truly infuriating—even these two elders, who were not young men, could not contain their anger. All the while, Kunika wore a stern expression, stroking his sparse beard while darting glances at the brothers' faces and nodding emphatically at Yoshimasa's inflammatory remarks. Even without that provocation, the fiery blood of Suke and Takashi—already smoldering with pent-up resentment—had been needlessly stirred. Then in vehement tones, they began voicing their usual bold ideas.

“Of course, we are not sitting idly by like this. How can we lure Masakado into a fatal trap? —In truth, I’ve been devising that very scheme all this time. If any of you have a good strategy, please share your wisdom.” He pleaded, his drunkenness subsiding into pallor. While temporarily appeasing that youthful vigor, words that in truth seemed to fortify an unyielding will could be seen in the cunning attitudes of Kunika, Yoshikane, and their ilk.

Sadamori also thought that if what he himself had been unable to accomplish before could be carried out by Suke and Takashi, nothing would surpass this. That too depended on who executed it, but if done by the Hitachi Genji clan's heir or second and third sons, even those in surrounding regions and neighboring provinces would likely voice no objections to their judgment. The provincial governor's office could be maneuvered as needed. As for the central government's perceptions—once he returned to the capital, he could strike first and undertake preparatory groundwork.

Sadamori also voiced such an opinion. When he—with his characteristically intellectual bearing—spoke these words, Suke and his brothers grew even more resolute in their convictions. That Sadamori would personally manage affairs with the central government became a pillar of their confidence. By night’s end, a conspiracy had undeniably taken shape. In retrospect, Sadamori’s presence—rare for one so long entrenched in the capital—seemed almost providential.

That Sadamori eventually returned to the capital.

The splendor of spring fields across Bandō, transitioning from March to April, defied description. The pinnacle of natural beauty spread out across the boundless wilderness in all directions. Masakado, immersed completely in that nature, continued working while exhorting his family members and servants. Especially after taking his lover as his wife and creating a new household as sweet as honey with Lady Kikyō in one wing of the mansion, he worked even harder, striving to become a good husband.

Then came early May. It was the day right after the moon waned. A polite messenger arrived from his granduncle in Ishida—Daidai Kunika. There was a document addressed to Masakado. When he opened and read it—an invitation to hold a memorial service for Masakado’s father Yoshimochi.

"Ah... So it’s already the seventeenth anniversary of my late father’s death."

He suddenly found himself dazedly caught in distant recollections. The date is May Fourth. The location is Daihō-ji Temple in Nihari District. We wish to gather as a clan and conduct a memorial service for Lord Yoshimochi. As this concerns none other than the departed, we earnestly entreat you to let bygones be bygones and grace us with your presence. It was a document bearing precisely that message.

“...I will attend. No matter what comes first.” Before he knew it, tears had pooled in his eyes. He prepared his written reply and conveyed an oral message to the messenger.

A Hundred Days of Happiness Kikyō lowered her eyes beneath the shadow of her lashes with a troubled gaze upon hearing about the fourth. Like a new bride, she still maintained a certain reserve even toward her husband. “Must you really go…?”

She lowered her eyes, said only that, and maintained a posture that showed no sign of wavering. The day arrived. Kikyō asked again, “Must you really go…?”

She said the same thing as she had two days before.

Masakado slightly hardened his brows— “Enough about that—did you finish sewing the new hunting robe? And the hakama?” “Yes…” “Your ceremonial attire is all prepared, though…” “Why do you make such a lonely face?—Kikyō, stop that—quivering your lashes so sorrowfully.” “Even I end up feeling sad—somehow I don’t want to go anymore.” “Please…”

Kikyō pressed her wet eyelashes firmly against her husband’s hand as he held her. “Please don’t go… To the memorial service on the fourth.” “Why? Why?”

“But… I can’t stop worrying.” “No—your honorable younger brothers have gathered too, all deeply concerned. They’ve been urging me to strongly persuade you against going.” “Is it Masayori?” “No. Lord Shirō and Lord Masafumi as well.” “You’re worried because Daihō-ji Temple in Nihari feels like enemy territory—but the Hitachi Genji’s sons have no part in this memorial service.” “Our uncles from Hatori and Mizumori will likely be there, but if I endure whatever comes, matters will resolve themselves.” “Were this anyone else’s memorial, perhaps—but since it’s for my late father Yoshimochi, I cannot refuse to go, no matter how many unpleasant faces gather there.”

“Couldn’t Lord Masayori attend in your stead?”

“But I’m the clan heir here.” “……And above all, if we’re being truthful, this memorial service ought to be held under my name.” “Right… That’s how it should be, but—” “Uh… Uh…”

“For these past two or three years, I’ve been single-mindedly devoted to restoring my family’s fortunes." “When I woke, I’d go out to the fields—work covered in dirt alongside my servants—and when I lay down my weary body… Kikyō, I saw only dreams of you.” “...Dreams spurred on my daytime labors, and the weariness of day was spent in anticipation of night’s dreams—that’s how I’ve lived these three years.”

“...I too... I too have been.” “Our dreams became bound together this way. This happiness since that February night... Now I’m filled with it every single day.” “That’s why I want to protect these precious days quietly—to make them last forever.” “Naturally. But being blessed with such happiness these hundred days—truthfully, the seventeenth anniversary of my late Father’s death hadn’t even crossed my mind. They may call me unfilial, but... Father knows. He must have forgiven me.”

“............” “I never knew my mother’s face before we parted, and my father died when I was still a boy.” “In a manor like this, I never had days to be spoiled by him before we separated.” “I think it’s all right to indulge in being spoiled by him now that he’s gone.” “Don’t you agree, Kikyō?” “That’s why… even regarding tomorrow’s memorial service—” “Are you telling me not to go?” “It’s too late for that now.” “I’ve already sent my reply saying I’ll attend—if I don’t show my face that day, the whole assembly will roar with laughter about the cowardice gripping me.” “It would shame my late father Yoshimochi.” “I am the head of the Bandō Taira clan.” “I’m going.”

Kikyō lost the words to stop him. Moreover, she found herself drawn to that dignified masculinity of her husband. She suddenly realized she had become entranced by a frightening allure. And within those captivating arms, that night too slipped away as one spent in bliss.

Ambush

“I’m off!”

Masakado left his manor from the horse station, mounting his horse. From the saddle, he turned back and left a cheerful remark for his newlywed wife among the retainers. He had brought only two young lords and about ten retainers. It was May fourth in the fifth year of Jōhei.

The early morning wind through fresh greenery was refreshing.—He passed through Toyoda's townhouses. The village’s elderly and children hastily moved aside to avoid the horse and offered polite morning greetings. ―Masakado, "The gates of each townhouse have improved compared to before." "Have everyone’s purses grown a bit heavier?" he mused, surveying the scene. The route to Daihō-ji Temple went from Toyoda along Shimotsuke Road, following the Keno River.—Then, from somewhere along the way, a group clad in armor began tailing Masakado’s retinue from behind, their figures flickering in and out of sight.

“Ah, my brothers’ retainers,” he muttered. Was it Masayori? Masahira? Masafumi? Or were they all here together? They must have gathered out of concern for me after deliberating. Loyal men indeed. There was no need to rebuke them and send them away. Masakado pretended not to notice.

However, when they came to Nozumehara in Kawanishi, beyond the reeds and rushes and the undulations of low hills, numerous bow tips could be seen. The spear tips were also glittering. What’s this? ...Could that also be my brothers? From the saddle, as he straightened up, a strange sound whizzed past his ear. Whish, whish—countless arrows spilled their whistling sounds into the surrounding grass thickets and stirred the arrow wind into a frenzy. “Wha— They’re not allies!” he shouted.

Masakado, startled, shouted. “Wh-what’s this? That number of people—could they be mistaking us for someone else? Hey! I am Masakado of Toyoda. Don’t mistake me—I am Masakado!”

He still hadn’t noticed. He wore his everyday hunting attire. A single arrow would have ended him, yet he kept swinging his arms high as if inviting target practice. What a fool of a brother. Too trusting by half. Rather than focus on the enemy ambush—as though infuriated by his very existence—two iron-clad warriors charged from behind. “Brother, look out!” Bellowing in fury, they overtook him and galloped toward the distant thicket of bows.

He caught a glimpse of the two riders' profiles. "Ah! Masafumi! Masahira!"

At this, even he—slow-witted as he was—finally realized the situation was no ordinary matter. Then, from right behind him, Masayori came galloping up on his horse. “Brother! Please put this on at once—hurry!”

and dismounted from his horse while clutching a suit of armor. Masakado, too, jumped down, compelled by the motion. “Masayori. Just who are these enemies?” “We already know full well. They’re Minamoto no Mamoru’s brats. Look at their armor!” “What? Suke and Takashi?” “Why are you so surprised now? Brother, did you not yourself warn us to be prepared for such things when you went to bring Lady Kikyō to the mansion?”

“But… That was a matter of love… Today’s journey is for a Buddhist memorial service, is it not?” “What reason could there be to show restraint toward enemies targeting you, Brother? When we had people investigate, that memorial service proved false. It’s an ambush scheme to lure you out and cut you down in one stroke. What room for doubt remains? Come, Brother.” Masayori helped fasten his armor and heaved him back into the saddle.

The arrows had stopped flying. However, in the distance, the Toyoda retainers who had followed Masafumi and his group had engaged in close combat with the enemy. Masakado seized his retainers' long-handled weapons,

“I won’t endure any longer! It’s me!”

he turned toward the wilderness and let out a shout.

Nozume Battle

There was a grove of zelkova trees.

Where there were well-tended groves, one could never mistake them for anything but places housing settlements. These stood as communal bulwarks of collective life—windbreak forests first planted by the plains' inhabitants—their forms inherently distinct from untended woodlands. The cavalry troop—threading through marsh reeds, galloping across open fields and farmland, trailing a single plume of dust—now disappeared into the zelkova grove's shadow as though swallowed whole.

“Here he comes! Masakado!” “Soon they’ll charge like wild boars!” “Take cover—stay out of sight!” Positioning the eastern bank of the Keno River as their first ambush line and this zelkova grove as their second, the brothers Minamoto no Suke and Takashi’s forces lay in wait in a two-tiered formation. The mounted scouts returning from the front line shouted warnings to their allies as they reached the largest house in the village and hid their horses within its earthen walls.

“What happened? Where’s Masakado?”

There stood Suke and Takashi in formidable armor awaiting news. With twenty rugged retainers encircling them like shields about a general’s command post, they barked: “Well? Did you bag that cur?” “Is he still thrashing about mid-battle?”

Along with his elder brother, Takashi too asked the scouts in this manner. From among five or six scouts, one answered. “Yes, sir.” “The battle is now taking place between Nozume’s marsh and hill.” “However, we cannot say things are proceeding as hoped.” “It seems Masakado’s side had also made preparations.”

“What? They had already made preparations for battle beforehand? That’s strange, isn’t it? …Surely none of our men leaked the plans.” “I don’t know how, but Toyoda’s retainers had formed ranks and followed Masakado from a distance. That’s why our small vanguard force couldn’t surround and capture him even with long-range arrows.”

“Damn it! Then we should’ve kept all our forces lying in ambush at that one spot after all.—What’s happening in the battle?” “With Lord Masakado flying into a rage, the Toyoda forces became unstoppable. And now that Masayori, Masafumi, and his other brothers have joined forces, our allies are being scattered like leaves.”

“Then don’t come—over here!” “Undoubtedly, they’ll chase after our crumbling allies and keep pursuing them to attack, I believe.” Suke appeared to be holding back, but beneath his armor he trembled, his face stiffening.

Takashi, instead, sneered.

“What’s wrong with that? It’s going exactly according to our plan—we’ve hidden a second ambush unit here too! We’ll feign triumph to lure that bastard into the village, then torch it from all sides and burn him alive!”

A voice roared from above the rooftops. It was Shigeru, the third son. Sliding down from the massive zelkova tree as he shouted: “From the Keno riverbanks—a dust cloud black as night comes charging this way! It must be Masakado and those Toyoda dogs!” Within the earthen walls, chaos seethed with lethal intent. Suke’s men leapt onto their horses and galloped off. Retainers followed in their wake, while those remaining melted skillfully into house-shadows.

Before long, the voices and hoofbeats borne by the dust whirlwind began to drift like smoke into the zelkova grove. The ambushers from Suke’s forces, pursued by Masakado and his household warriors, scattered in every direction like hunted hares. At last, not a single trace of the enemy remained visible; all that met the eye were Masayori and Masafumi trailing after Masakado, along with the rest of the Toyoda retainers.

Unwelcome Allies

Even they, worn out from fighting, took stock of their own figures smeared with blood and soil. On everyone’s armor, arrows were lodged.

“Stop the pursuit. They’ve learned their lesson well enough. This wilderness stretches endlessly—chase them to the ends of the earth and you’ll still find no end in sight.”

Masakado dismounted from his horse. He wanted to drink water. A water conduit ran between the houses. He pressed his face to the outlet of the bamboo water channel there. Masafumi also imitated his brother, and the retainers crouched together around the pond. Then, Masayori cautioned. “Oh, Brother.” “You mustn’t dismount from your horse under any circumstances!” “Danger, danger!”

“Why? Masayori.” “Why, Masayori?”

“Look.” “Every farmhouse stands vacant.” “This whole village is abandoned.” “From what I can tell—enemies were here until moments ago.” “They likely plan to set fires from all directions.” “Ah—right.” Masaka do hurriedly drew his horse closer. He had always considered Masayori spineless and timid—yet here was this same man showing more composure than himself today—startlingly alert. “We must reach open ground.” “Our men will regroup soon enough—but clustering here invites disaster.” “No visibility either.”

“Oh, you’re right!”

Suddenly, they gathered their men and began to run, but just as Masayori had feared, that action was already too late. Black smoke crept through the narrow gaps between houses, but whichever path they raced down, they found mountains of brushwood piled up—now crackling and bursting into flames. Flames crept out even among the trees and bamboo thickets. Moreover, among the trees were places where ropes had been stretched across and trees felled, making it not only impossible to bring horses through but perilous in the extreme to run on foot.

“Watch out! It seems there are still enemy ambush forces around here!” As if answering his warning, bowstrings twanged and arrows whistled from all directions. Through smoke and licking flames, shafts flew toward crimson-hued figures. “Ah, Brother!” “Brothers! Brothers!” They called out repeatedly as they wandered battling invisible foes. This Nozume Village trap had cornered Masakado in such bitter torment and looming peril that it fundamentally altered his character thereafter. He had fallen completely into their snare. Resignation gripped him—this must be his end. Yet on this same day, true fury ignited within him toward that cabal—Suke’s faction who’d cunningly plotted under Great-Uncle Kunika’s name to lure him out relentlessly. The phrase “rage so fierce it pierced heaven” might well have described his flame-lit visage.

After all, he had faced death there, but there was one stroke of luck. This was because, during the melee along the Keno River, Shirō had lost sight of his brother and thus rushed off elsewhere, making him the only one among the brothers not caught in the flames. Shirō had been pursuing different enemies in another direction, but upon seeing the smoke, he raced there at full speed. And after clearing away the obstacles on the path and the burning brushwood, he rescued his brothers from within the village out of the fire.

“Shirō?” “I nearly died back there.” “You came through.” “I’m alive!” “Are you wounded anywhere?”

“Two or three arrow wounds are nothing—I survived.” “Brothers, watch me.” “What I’ll do—”

“—But, Elder Brother.” “We should withdraw to Toyoda for now.” “The enemy attacks fully prepared.” “This battle finds us unprepared.” Masayori’s warning proved inadequate to temper Masakado’s fury. He stubbornly refused retreat, rallying kin and retainers to secure provisions while dispatching scouts to locate Suke and Takashi’s position.

It was discovered that the Hitachi Genji forces of Suke, Takashi, and Shigeru were camped at Nodera Temple about half a ri to the east from here. Moreover, it was said that not only the three Hitachi brothers but also Masakado’s uncle Yoshimasa of Mimori had joined them there with his own forces. “Look. Those bastards are colluding with my uncles.” “No matter what means they use, they must be intent on not letting me live.” “If I retreat, those bastards will chase us all the way to Toyoda—that’s certain.”

Masakado declared in a resolute tone to the surrounding clan members. “If we barricade ourselves in the mansion, it’s our defeat. “I can’t stand by watching those bastards burn Toyoda’s peasants and plunder villagers until they flee in panic—if we’re doomed either way, we strike first! “Burn their mansions and homes—every last one!” He was already mounted, charging forward like an Ashura at the vanguard. What began as a modest force of 150-160 men swelled rapidly—news of the Keno River clash had spread through Toyoda Honmura, drawing wave after wave of men fearing for Masakado’s safety.

From the mansion's servants to local samurai living in the villages—all those who harbored resentment toward the Hitachi Genji clan or found themselves in oppressed positions called out to one another,

“Go to Nozume! Save Lord Masakado!” Seeing the flames, they came gathering—those who had long detested Kunika, Yoshimasa, and Yoshikane’s years of wickedness in this land that once belonged to Masakado’s father Yoshimochi. Many among them had secretly sympathized with him. All these people too— “There’s a battle at Nozume!” When word spread, they came rushing—some in tattered armor clutching rusted swords, others straddling wild horses bareback.

Thus, Masakado soon launched his offensive toward Nodera Temple, which he had identified as the enemy's stronghold. But when he suddenly turned around, he found that the number of men—which should have naturally dwindled from their initial count—had instead multiplied severalfold. Even Masakado himself—

“What? Why are there so many allies behind me?” He was greatly astonished. Riding a tiger It was not the flames that Masakado had first raised.

The conflagration that erupted was born from the failed ambush at Nozume—where the Saga Genji brats, skillfully manipulated by Masakado’s uncles Kunika, Yoshimasa, and Yoshikane, had lain in wait. On May 4th, in the pure skies of early summer, when the people of the Bandō Plain—those of primal disposition—saw billowing horse smoke and flames rising,

“There! It’s a battle!” That they all rose up as one and rushed toward the smoke from all corners of the plains was indeed an extraordinary upheaval rarely witnessed in these vast lands. Moreover, that most of those rushing out joined Masakado’s side—ostensibly for the sake of Toyoda’s lord—rather than heading to the stronghold of the dominant Hitachi Genji sons remained something he could neither deem fortunate nor ill-fated. For through this, Masakado abruptly gained supremacy, and the battle unfolded nearly exactly as he had willed.

The way they won was also truly brutal. Suke’s camp at Nodera Temple soon faced the assault of retainers and peasant soldiers who had followed Masakado—reduced to a single blazing inferno—while dozens of Suke’s fleeing subordinates were slaughtered. Amidst this, the strong-willed Minamoto no Takashi was struck by an arrow and fell in battle, and the third son Shigeru too failed to escape and perished. Once unleashed, these beast-like soldiers knew no restraint—and above all, Masakado himself had become wrath incarnate. Surging across Hitachi Province’s borders, they burned not only the Nozume area but villages like Ōkushi and Toriki. From mansions of Hitachi Genji allies they seized weapons; smashing through village storehouses, they plundered provisions. For days unending they ravaged enemy lands until their rampage spanned three districts: Tsukuba, Makabe, and Niihari.

Moreover, in this assault, they burned down Minamoto no Mamoru’s Ōkushi Mansion as well, and in the process, finally killed Mamoru’s eldest son Suke in the fiery battle.

No— The atrocities did not end there.

Taira no Kunika, unable to stand idly by, was cut down in a counterattack by Masakado while rushing to reinforce Ōkushi. He had not perished on the battlefield but fled back wounded to Ishida’s residence. That night, unable to endure the torment, he took his own life. Beyond this lay countless burned ruins—the modest dwellings of village officials who had obstructed Masakado, shrine priest families’ homes, commoners’ houses, and storehouses. According to the *Koki*, five hundred households were reduced to scorched earth while people and livestock lay dead beyond reckoning, the skies above the wilderness smoldering for seven days and nights.

From this, one could hardly fail to imagine how dreadful the rampage of the wrathful Ashura had been. After seven days passed and a heavy rain swept through, washing away both the smoldering flames and blood that had scorched the wilderness, even Masakado’s triumphant pride must have cooled— "...Did I go a bit too far?"

At this, he may have been stunned by what he himself had done.

But from this point onward, Toyoda Mansion became filled to bursting with family members and retainers. They had already decided of their own accord that they were now Masakado’s right-hand men and sworn followers, never returning to their homes in the fields. Serving Masakado with the same deference they had shown his late father Yoshimochi, they reverently addressed him as “our lord.” To be sure, when returning triumphant from Hitachi, they had led back hundreds of horses from enemy lands—their backs laden with all the valuables and provisions they could carry. As they themselves would say,

“For many years, these were the possessions of those who had usurped the manor lands of our late Lord Yoshimochi.” “This much, we’re just taking back what’s owed as tribute—only natural.” so they claimed. When news of the Battle of Nozume’s outcome spread to neighboring regions, even long-silent relatives from both his paternal and maternal sides began proclaiming themselves part of the Toyoda clan, arriving in several groups to visit Masakado. And, with impassioned fervor, “This is only natural.” “This is the design of the late Lord Yoshimochi, who protects you, Lord Wako.”

and celebrated their military victory. Eventually, those related families too began lining their gates side by side and settling near Toyoda Mansion. Toyoda Village was no longer the desolate rows of houses from years past; merchant homes and markets began thriving, taking on the bustling air of a minor regional capital. The residents’ reverence too converged solely upon Masakado, making it seem as though Yoshimochi’s days had now fully returned to Toyoda Mansion.

The outcome of the war immediately manifested as a large-scale shift in vast territories. The majority of Hitachi manors broke away from the control of Kunika and Mamoru and came under Masakado’s command. The movement of land and people always begins with such events, transforming as it flows. Moreover, given that many of these lands had originally been part of Toyoda territory and that numerous people still had ties to Yoshimochi, one might say their return was a natural process. However, from the perspective of the Hitachi Genji, Yoshimasa of Tsukuba, Yoshikane, and others, the situation was one they could not overlook. The psychological blow Yoshimasa suffered was no ordinary matter. As the instigator behind this major incident, he first went to Minamoto no Mamoru’s temporary residence to offer his apologies.

“I will surely defeat my nephew Masakado and avenge your sons’ deaths. I’ll tear that bastard into eight pieces and devour his flesh—only then will this rage in my chest subside!” Ten times, a hundred times, Yoshimasa pressed his forehead to the floorboards as he apologized to Mamoru. He made this both an act of contrition and a binding oath. Mamoru had lost his mansion to flames, seen all three sons perish in battle at once, and now sat vacant-eyed in his fire-displaced makeshift shelter—an old man hollowed out by loss.

“Put yourself in my shoes,” Mamoru rasped. “This torment—this unbearable torment! I could muster the Saga Genji’s entire army under your command, but you? Defeat that Masakado? That Masakado?” “The outcome’s clear enough,” Yoshimasa countered, forehead pressed to the floorboards. “But that failure—it happened because your sons judged him too lightly.”

“But even so—why did my sons have to clash with Masakado in such a way? I had believed this quarrel was solely between you uncles and nephews. That alone—no matter how much I think—I still cannot fathom.” “W-well, regarding th-that matter,” Yoshimasa said, his face twisting as he pressed a hand to his forehead, “I shall… provide a full explanation at a more suitable time. There are profound circumstances involved, and while I can only imagine the depth of your calamity—”

Mumbling incoherent excuses, he hastily took his leave from Mamoru’s presence. Meanwhile—he had dispatched a fast horse to Kyoto with a letter detailing the recent incident and Ōryō Kunika’s sudden death to Kunika’s heir Sadamori. Sadamori’s shock went without saying.

The death of his old father, from whom he had only just parted days before. Moreover, his old father who had been so overjoyed—positively beside himself—over his promotion to Umanojo. But upon reflection, Sadamori could not help but realize this calamity had stemmed from their own hubris—from piling up one auspicious event after another while complacently viewing the world of men as something they could bend entirely to their will. For at the farewell banquet days before returning to the capital, what his aged father Kunika and Masakado’s uncles Yoshikane and Yoshimasa had discussed were desires far too self-serving and schemes far too malicious. However much his own father and those men loathed Masakado as a clansman, it had been a conspiracy-laden gathering so steeped in malice that even Masakado might have drawn pity.

"I should have firmly stopped those schemes back then. But I was also at fault. I too had been riding high on my appointment as Umanojo." Be that as it may, though he had only just returned to the capital, he hurriedly submitted a request for leave to the court—for he would have to return home once more—and prepared his travel gear anew. Yoshimasa of Mizumori, upon hearing that Sadamori had rushed day and night from the capital to arrive, promptly went to visit him at Ishida Mansion. And, in a truly pitiful manner,

“...Regarding this matter...” He trailed off, unable to muster any comforting words. Though road-weary from his journey, Sadamori’s face twisted with visceral displeasure upon seeing Yoshimasa. “Uncle.” “You’ve committed an unforgivable blunder.” “What absolute idiocy—” “Tell me—were you not at my father’s side?” “What were you and Lord Yoshikane thinking, putting that old man on the front lines?”

Tears welling in his eyes, he accused with a slightly confrontational edge. “You mustn’t misunderstand,” Yoshimasa explained the circumstances of that time in detail. “That temperamental old man—upon hearing Lord Mamoru’s Ōkushi Mansion was in peril… He charged off on horseback despite our attempts to stop him and was shot by that Masakado.”

“Was it Masakado who shot him?” “Indeed.” “That’s right. Masakado’s an uncle-killer, I tell you—fate. That this would happen...” “Why call it fate?” “Think about it. While Masakado was still in the capital, secret letters must have reached you multiple times... But if that man had returned safely to his homeland, he’d have brought calamity upon us later. That’s why we tried—by any means—to have him killed while he remained in Kyoto...”

“My old father had mentioned that as well, and I believe it was also in one or two of your letters, but within the capital, such opportunities to kill him do not come so easily.” “Moreover, Masakado had served the Left Minister’s household, and later was stationed at Kintō no Takiguchi—by force of arms, he is not one whom this Sadamori could easily subdue.” “No—it’s not that I’m now grumbling or finding fault with your failure to achieve that.” “It’s just that all those things we did, having considered the future to such an extent, ended up leading to this outcome today—that’s all I meant by calling it fate…”

“In this misfortune, I too have no desire to quarrel with you now, Uncle.” “There’s no use dwelling on it now.” “Rather than that—what lies ahead…” “Well.” “The days to come will not be easy.” “Already, manors and private fields everywhere are being seized by Masakado of Toyoda.” “For instance, even the peasants around Nozume have now completely turned their backs on the Hitachi Genji and in all matters head toward Toyoda.”

“That is a troubling matter indeed.” “If we were to fold our arms and do nothing…” “Of course, within two or three years at most, Ishida’s domain will be reduced to nothing.” “If Ishida—the pillar supporting us—falls under attack, then naturally our Mizumori and Hatori territories too will face threats from that Masakado.” “Lord Sadamori—steady yourself!”

A few days later. In Sadamori’s name, the funeral of Dajō Kunika was conducted at Daihō-ji Temple. Of course, Masakado did not come, and none of those who supported him showed their faces. The lineup of attendees at this funeral made the distinction between allies and enemies abundantly clear. This was an accidental yet significant effect brought about by the funeral. Sadamori fell into deep thought. For he had realized that, contrary to expectations, there were many who sided with Masakado—the man whom those in the capital had considered so foolish. Under these circumstances, he thought, rashly confronting him with force would surely lead to trouble. While he was in his hometown, he thought it necessary to thoroughly investigate once more his capabilities and character—and also the circumstances of May Fourth.

Wildfire

What was wrong? Sadamori remained utterly passive. Taira no Yoshimasa of Mizumori (the Sixth Son) smirked in frustration, “No good—that one’s steeped in the capital’s ways.” “There’s no need to rely on a single nephew.” “Very well—even if I have to go it alone, I’ll see it through.”

And now, planning to attack Toyoda single-handedly, he secretly had his men sharpen their arrowheads.

Summer had passed, and it was the twenty-first day of the tenth month of Jōhei 5 (935 CE). A light infantry and cavalry force of about a thousand men departed Mizumori and headed toward Toyoda.

Masakado’s forces, who had scouts constantly deployed, immediately became aware of this. “Do not burn the villages!” With that command, Masakado rushed out to Niihari and established his camp.

Taira no Yoshimasa, seeing this, “Strike down Masakado, the uncle-killer!” He sounded the war drum and issued commands to his forces. Taira no Masakado, showing no sign of fear, rode a single horse into the storm of arrows, “Don’t talk nonsense! It was you who killed Kunika. It was not I who struck him down with my own hands.” he retorted.

Even in such circumstances, Masakado could not abandon his desire to somehow justify his righteousness to the masses. Sneering at such foolishness, Yoshimasa called out, “Hey! How long do you plan to stand there like that?” He drew his bowstring and loosed an arrow at him.

“Damn it! I won’t be hit by such feeble arrows!” Taira no Masakado held his long-handled sword horizontally and charged forward on horseback. The arrow deflected off his body, and the distance to Yoshimasa closed in all at once.

Yoshimasa hurriedly fled into the midst of his allies. The day’s battle ended in the total collapse of the Mizumori forces, merely granting Toyoda’s Masakado faction renewed pride. Having suffered a terrible ordeal, Yoshimasa returned to his Mizumori mansion and immediately went to his elder brother Yoshikane in Tsukuba to voice his grievances. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” “Why? What are you saying?” “Originally, the plan to eliminate Masakado was our mutual secret pact, was it not? You’ve made me struggle alone to this extent—even after I sent you letters—yet you refuse to dispatch even a single soldier as reinforcements?”

“That matter? No—in truth, it’s not that I fear Masakado at all. But there’s something that doesn’t sit right with me, so I can scarcely leave this Hatori Fortress unattended.” “And what might you be referring to?” “This business with Sadamori’s actions…” “Ah—suspicious! No—I too am dissatisfied.” “His father Kunika was slain.” “Sadamori—the one who should burn with rage against Masakado more than any other, who ought to be first in proclaiming justice and rising up—…”

“Why don’t we accompany each other to sound out his true intentions?” “Truth be told, I too have been deeply dissatisfied in my heart.” Several days later, the two went together to visit Umanojō Sadamori and pressed him about his composure. Sadamori answered thus: “...Not a single rumor from our homeland speaks favorably of us.” “No matter whom you question, they sympathize with Masakado.” “Under these circumstances, even after witnessing my father’s death, I find myself unable to summon any courage.” “There are even those who openly claim that resenting Masakado over failed schemes amounts to misplaced spite.” “...Given this situation, I can only accept that even my father Kunika’s death was a calamity of his own making. I had begun preparing to return to the capital.”

Yoshimasa and Yoshikane were astonished to hear this. This was like having their own ranks undermined from within. If they fought, it would just be another fratricidal conflict. Thereupon, the two men argued vehemently, pointing out his wrongdoing. “After all, Your Lordship has been in the capital and does not know the actual state of our homeland.” “All those matters are nothing but rumors spread by Masakado’s Toyoda faction.” “In other words, Your Lordship himself is falling for the enemy’s strategy of spreading rumors.” “Until recently, matters had not reached this point—but once Masakado triumphed arrogantly and the Toyoda faction appeared strong, even the peasants suddenly began uttering such things! And yet—despite being the legitimate heir who bears the title of Umanojō—you calmly overlooked your father’s slaying! With what face does Your Lordship intend to meet our province’s subjects hereafter?”

The crafty two uncles alternately and emphatically argued, blending truth and lies. They alternated between blaming and cajoling. Sadamori, too, finally reconsidered and formally pledged his participation in the campaign against Masakado. However, not only was the deadline for his granted leave approaching, but it was also politically necessary to take preemptive measures in the capital. Thus, he was once again made to return to Kyoto.

Thus ended that year, and summer arrived in the sixth year of Jōhei. Yoshimasa and Yoshikane’s forces combined with Sadamori of Ishida’s retainers and the Hitachi Genji to form an army of thousands that swept through fields scorched by summer heat, launching their third assault on Masakado. What had begun as a quarrel between uncles and nephew now stood transformed into full-scale warfare—a turn none could have foreseen.

The wildfire raged.

The fire that had raged out of control spread endlessly onward. Rumors from all four directions finally converged on this battle; one wave multiplied into ten thousand, and ominous disturbances began manifesting signs here and there. —And so—

Around that time, in Asono Shō Tanuma not far from the foothills of Mount Akagi—commanding the post station road of the Tōsandō highway—there was an old local magnate who had built a mansion and fortress, coldly observing the distant dust of battle rising over Bandō's plains.

This was Tawara Tōta Hidesato, the Oryōshi (Provincial Constable) of this region. Lawsuit Document At that time, the two roads of the Tōkaidō and Tōsandō served as the main arteries connecting the Bandō region to Kyoto.

The Tōsandō crosses Usui, passes through the Shinano Highlands, and emerges at Kisodō. Of course this route would take more days, but Umanojō Sadamori—having people to visit along the way—chose the Tōsandō for his return to the capital this time. “I do hope he’ll be there when we arrive.” From atop his horse, Sadamori repeated multiple times to his accompanying retainers. “Oh, he’ll surely be there. Even if we ask at the post stations along our route, they say he’s been holed up in Tanuma’s mansion lately and rarely ventures out on travels.”

One of the attendants, Sadamori’s retainer Ushihama Chūta, answered thus. The party consisted of twelve retainers; only Sadamori and Chūta were on horseback, while the rest were on foot. Or rather, there was one more—a minor retainer leading by the reins a single horse laden with gifts. Close by, the long foothills of Mount Akagi could be seen distinctly cutting through the summer sky. Tanuma’s mansion was located a few ri off the Tōsandō highway, extending northward. The Provincial Constable Fujiwara no Tōta Hidesato had his official residence there, and a bit away in Tawara was his private mansion. Thus people also referred to him as Tawara Tōta Hidesato.

“Hoh. Umanojō Sadamori.” “So that Sadamori has come to visit.” “Well, show him in… I had thought he might arrive within a few days.” At the grand gate of Tawara Mansion, the travelers’ horses were tethered. Lord Hidesato was already approaching sixty. Among local people, those who bore the Fujiwara surname were exceedingly rare. To that extent, the surname of the Fujiwara clan carried an aura of centralized authority and aristocratic class, along with privilege. However, Hidesato was neither a capital dweller nor of noble lineage. A man of Bandō-born bone—a frontiersman of untamed wildness.

To be sure, his mother was a woman descended from the Fujiwara clan; by tracing his maternal lineage to establish connections with high-ranking officials and close relatives in the capital, he must have been able to adopt his mother’s surname of Fujiwara. From this alone, one could see that from his youth, he had been both a considerable strategist and a man of strong ambition, having striven early on to become the sort of local power broker unique to provincials. And he could indeed be called a successful man who had skillfully achieved his ambitions. His official post in this region was Provincial Constable (Oryōshi) concurrently serving as Junior Assistant Governor of Shimotsuke Province (Shimotsuke-no-jō).

The duties of the Provincial Constable included authority over public safety, policing, and justice, while the Junior Assistant Governor oversaw tax collection. In other words, he commanded local power brokers akin to later-era constables governing the eight Kantō provinces while supervising tax officials—a position of unmatched authority. Moreover, he maintained numerous retainers while his clan members amassed land and military strength—positioned with the Tōsandō at their back and the Azuma Mountain Range behind them, they faced southward across Bandō's great plains. “It has been an age since I last had the honor of seeing you, yet you appear more vigorous than ever.”

Having been shown to the guest hall, Sadamori paid his respects as a junior and greeted the host. "Well, you’ve certainly grown into an impressive man yourself." Hidesato also cordially welcomed him. And then,

“Ah, I’ve been remiss in mentioning your father Lord Kunika’s passing.” “I had heard distant rumors of it.” “You must be filled with profound regret.” “I offer my condolences.” “When I received word in the capital, I was utterly astonished.” “I returned home for the funeral rites. At that time, you graciously sent a condolence envoy and bestowed various offerings before the spirit’s altar. Our entire clan remains deeply grateful for your thoughtful consideration.” “It was but a trifling gesture.—Yet this situation grows dire.” “Even now, the disturbances persist—they say Masakado has struck down even Minamoto no Mamoru’s three sons. Such grave rumors have reached this region.”

“You must have heard everything already, but now grudges have piled upon grudges, making this conflict impossible to resolve.” “If matters worsen, this may well become the precursor to full-scale rebellion.” “How can you—with the Sagano Genji’s might, your own forces, and even Lords Yoshikane and Yoshimasa combined—fail to suppress one Masakado?” “Regrettably, these past several years have seen continuous famine.” “Those starving masses and vagrants now swell his ranks—along with local warriors from Lord Yoshimochi’s former domains—all gathered in Toyoda Village to incite Masakado and profit through rebellion.” “Thus his savagery defies all reckoning.”

“In that case, what course of action do you propose?” “As I hold the office of Umanojō and am stationed in the capital, now that my father Kunika’s funeral rites have concluded, I must return to Kyoto without fail.” “Hmm. Quite reasonable.” “Masakado’s violence has become intolerable, and we can no longer idly watch this rebellion spread. Therefore, upon returning to the capital, I have resolved to present Lord Minamoto no Mamoru’s petition along with appeals from my uncles Yoshikane and Yoshimasa before the central authorities, obtain an official decree from the Grand Council of State, and thereby quell him through legitimate means.”

“I see.” “Therefore, though I am hastening to return to the capital, having received your condolence envoy earlier, I have been so consumed by the ongoing disturbances that I neglected to send word until today. To call this visit merely a matter of convenience along the way would be discourteous, but I have come specifically to express my gratitude.” “Even after my father’s passing, I humbly seek your continued favor in all matters as before.” With that, Sadamori had his men bring by horse various reciprocal condolence gifts and hand offerings, had them piled in the adjacent room, and presented them to Hidesato.

Masakado's Return to the Capital

Sadamori was warmly received. From the diplomatic intent underlying his strategy, this visit proved thoroughly effective. Hidesato too did not neglect to exploit this guest for expanding his own influence. That night particularly saw him hold a banquet to console Sadamori—while treating him with the deference owed a seasoned man, he discerned Sadamori’s true motives, “Whatever you require, do come consult me again,” he encouraged. And still,

“Don’t let your struggles wear down your health.” “Now that Lord Kunika is gone, you’re all the more important.”

He showed such solicitousness that Sadamori grew teary-eyed—then abruptly raised a cup with boisterous energy, shifting the mood to heartily encourage his hard-fought efforts. However, regarding Masakado personally, Hidesato neither spoke ill nor well of him. He was far older than Sadamori and the others. He knew the circumstances of the Jōsō region from the time when Masakado’s father Yoshimochi was still alive, the intricacies of each family’s power distribution, and older facts about the history of the land and its people far better than Sadamori did. However, this old fox did not let on that he knew.

That must have left him feeling vaguely unsatisfied. Sadamori consciously attempted to draw out his thoughts on Masakado. “Lord Hidesato. Have you ever met the man called Masakado?” “No—I have neither been visited by Masakado nor ever met him.”

“Long ago—it must have been thirteen or fourteen years now.” “You had just one encounter with him, did you not?”

“Where?” “At the Right Minister’s garden pond in the capital.” “Ah…” “I see.” Hidesato’s face showed he had recalled something. Yet rather than Masakado’s figure from that time, a different memory surfaced. That had been in Enchō 1, when Hidesato was still in his thirties. He’d once instigated a massive clash with provincial officials—burning government offices, killing and injuring clerks—resulting in exile. Eighteen clan members had been marched off in chains to the penal colony. After pulling every string and bribing even Tadahira, then Right Minister, he’d been pardoned after three years. To show gratitude, he’d journeyed to the capital. During that visit, Tadahira had ordered the prized stallion Hidesato gifted him led to the garden pond’s edge. There, he’d learned from Tadahira himself that the halterless man emerging by the water was Kojirō Masakado—son of Bando Taira Yoshimochi.

Before that time or after, the only occasion when Hidesato had seen Masakado was during that encounter. That was now a thing of the distant past. Though he frequently heard rumors about Masakado these days, his memory had grown so faint he could no longer recall him clearly. “When you visit the Left Minister’s household,” he said, “convey my respects to Lord Tadahira.” “I’ve never neglected the seasonal harvest tributes or quarterly dispatches.”

Hidesato immediately changed the subject. He did not want to touch upon memories that suggested he had once been a criminal. Sadamori, sensing this, “Upon returning to the capital, I intend to promptly pay a visit. If there are any other letters, I will bring them and have them delivered,” he said.

The next day, when Taira no Sadamori departed Tanuma, Tawara Tōta Hidesato had three robust warriors join his retinue,

“In any case, crossing Usui Pass is perilous.” “Please take them as far as Saku.”

he went outside the mansion and saw him off.

Sadamori eventually arrived in the capital. He immediately went to the Grand Council of State and submitted the petitions from Mamoru and his uncles, "We shall duly present this at the Morning Assembly and humbly seek the judgment of the various lords." Furthermore, he himself drafted a separate detailed document and submitted it. But not content with that alone, he visited every noble and high official he knew and went about denouncing Masakado’s misdeeds. Sadamori also called on the Prince Minister of Ceremonials of Ninna-ji Temple, who had shown him favor since his youth. He also met with Kujō no Morosuke, Tadahira’s son whom his younger brother Shigemori served, and engaged in lengthy discussions.

Of course, he would not neglect to visit the private residence of Fujiwara no Tadahira—the father of that Lord Kujō, and the household of the Left Minister where Kojirō Masakado had once served—who held the highest position in the imperial court. However, at every place he went, no one paid much heed to his appeals or listened with any real interest. “Hoh. Hmm…?” They reacted with the typical indifference of capital nobles, their placid eyes widening slightly as if hearing tales from some foreign land.

"The timing was ill-fated."

Taira no Sadamori realized. The problem was that pirates had risen again in the South Sea since summer. The disturbances spanned Iyo, Sanuki, and parts of the Seto Inland Sea. Even court deliberations deemed this crisis too critical to ignore—they accepted Governor Kino Yoshito of Iyo’s petition, loaded over a dozen government ships with soldiers, and dispatched them to suppress the pirates. Both the Grand Council of State and all ministries remained wholly consumed by this matter. Moreover, even without this crisis, the capital dwellers’ sense of proximity and daily concerns lay far closer to the South Sea regions stretching from Naniwa Port through the Seto waters than to the uncultivated wilds of the Eastern Provinces.

Autumn arrived.

There was still no decision regarding the petition. This autumn, Fujiwara no Tadahira had been appointed as Grand Minister of State while also serving as Regent. For a time, there was a flurry of celebrations for his promotion—the carriages and horses of court nobles came and went solely for musical performances and congratulatory banquets—so that even the pirate disturbances in the South Sea left no mark upon the capital’s countenance. "If they leave matters unattended, this Eastern rebellion too may escalate into grave consequences." "In the Bando regions lie many manors of the regent’s household and government fields—moreover, in Mutsu dwell Emishi tribes who defy central edicts, armed with formidable military might and wealth, watching intently for any lapse in governance." "For the nation’s sake—this grief weighs heavy on Sadamori."

He had attempted to persuade Morosuke countless times. He also filed a second appeal to Tadahira. Moreover, whether his various efforts had finally borne fruit—when that year too reached the tenth month, at last,

——Taira no Masakado, Steward of the Shimōsa Imperial Estate: Having perpetrated violent disturbances, with clear evidence of rebellion apparent. Envoys shall be dispatched to apprehend him, that he may face denunciation and interrogation before the imperial court. This resolution from the nobles' deliberations was publicly proclaimed. Immediately, a summons was issued to Taira no Masakado of Shimōsa. Upon receiving the official decree, Masakado soon hastened from the Eastern Provinces. After submitting his arrival notice to the Grand Council of State, he lodged temporarily at a city inn.

For him, it was his second journey to the capital, and the Heian capital he saw after six years.

**Confrontation**

"They countered my move. I was the one who wanted to come forward as the plaintiff." Masakado realized he had been outmaneuvered and felt resentful.

“……But white is white, and black is black.” He calmed his anger. To appear before the judges in the capital and argue right from wrong might not be a bad thing after all. Was this not the opportunity granted to a just man? Yes, he changed his mind.

"I won't grovel. "I will state my case with dignity and refuse to resort to petty bribes or go around begging nobles behind the scenes."

Even during his stay in the capital, he comported himself with restraint and maintained proper decorum. He spent each day under constant strain.

However, the official summons did not come within that year. The New Year of Jōhei 7 had arrived. He spent his thirty-fifth New Year’s Day in lonely desolation at an inn during the ongoing litigation. A letter arrived from his wife, Kikyō. Her dear handwriting. Each character resonated with Taira no Masakado like poetry. Taira no Masakado finished reading, tears welling in his eyes. Yet there was nothing sad mentioned at all. It stated that everyone back home was safe and sound. And toward the end, she,

(By the time you return, our first Wako may have been born at Toyoda Mansion.) She had written these words. She had quietly informed her husband that she might have been pregnant even before his departure for the capital. ——And there was another matter recorded. During his absence, Yasaka no Fushinin had stopped by on his return from Mutsu and stayed for four or five days. A click of irritation stirred deep within him. That scoundrel—had he been troubling Masayori and Masahira again? At his home, acting like he owned the place—demanding sake, making unreasonable requests—he must have been causing Kikyō endless trouble. If it were just drunken selfishness... but Kikyō had likely never encountered such a silver-tongued, headstrong man before. An odd unease gripped him—what if she became entangled in that brute's forceful mischief?

The end of January. Finally receiving his first summons from the Grand Council of State, he returned to his lodgings after presenting a detailed account of the circumstances surrounding the familial disputes that had persisted since two years prior. After returning alone, he muttered inwardly in his heart: I messed up. “Perhaps because I went to a place I shouldn’t have—even though I’d thought so much about it—I completely forgot. Relying solely on quarrels since two years ago won’t do. From the very start—after Father Yoshimochi’s death, when we helpless orphans were entrusted to our uncles’ hands—and when at sixteen I was driven to the capital—I should have disclosed even Daidayū Kunika’s schemes from that time: how Kunika ordered Sadamori to assassinate me while I remained in Kyoto. Otherwise, they’d never grasp any of this.”

Even as he thought this, before the high-ranking nobles—the Minister of Justice, Imperial Police, Directors, and Senior, Middle, and Junior Judges all arrayed in court robes—he could not articulate even half of what he intended to state. One day at the Ueifu Office court, Umanojō Sadamori and he were made to confront each other. With his wealth of rhetoric, clear mind, and eloquence, Sadamori spoke at length for thousands of words, completely overturning every statement Masakado had made up to that day: “Though it pains me to pass judgment between cousins—in essence—Taira no Masakado has twisted his uncles’ goodwill into malice, incited starving vagrants, himself committed the shocking crime of uncle-slaying, and ultimately embraced outrageous anti-governmental wickedness.” “It stems from a pitiable orphan’s resentment and his innate violent nature being exploited by local malefactors. Therefore—though I feel compassion—if the authorities leave this unchecked, rebellion will spread beyond Bandō to neighboring regions, resonate with southern pirates, and inevitably become a national calamity.”

he argued. Masakado listened intently to Sadamori’s argument and, enemy though he was, found himself impressed. At times, he even nodded as if conceding points. The Great Judge regarded him with pity, “Masakado. State your case fully.” he said. Yet Masakado’s rambling proved incoherent before Sadamori’s poise—his arguments blunted like dulled steel. But when he glimpsed Sadamori’s coldly smirking profile, indignation—wildfire rage across open plains—erupted from his lips as he refuted the lies and fabrications.

However, the more vehemently he spoke, the more his words served as evidence of his own roughness. It was simply in his nature—unless driven by passion, he could not speak with such fervor. Therefore, his words came across as nothing more than roaring and snapping like a beast. His arguments became incoherent, and in the end, tears welled in his eyes as he clenched his fists to no avail.

“Withdraw today.” When he left the Ueifu Office, he was always as weary as when he had fought on horseback. He was summoned seven times, and on two of those occasions, he was made to confront Sadamori. And then, for a while, there was no further official notice.

Then, at the end of March. The final verdict was delivered after morning deliberations with high-ranking nobles in attendance. “The crimes of Taira no Masakado deserve severe punishment; however, owing to the grand amnesty for His Majesty the Emperor’s coming-of-age ceremony, you are hereby granted pardon,” “Return to your province and demonstrate contrition through seclusion.” He had been declared innocent. Taira no Masakado stood dumbfounded as if caught in a dream. To Taira no Sadamori came this pronouncement: “We conclude that Taira no Yoshimochi’s disputed inheritance lies foremost at the root of this clan’s internal strife.” “You must therefore return all land deeds for manors and fields due to Masakado, along with every related document, and effect reconciliation.”

it stated. To Sadamori, it was unexpected. The look of disappointment on his face went without saying. It was an immense grievance. However, without a word in return, he obeyed the command and withdrew from the court that day. Taira no Masakado dispatched a fast horse to his home province, He first sent word to his wife and clan: “The lawsuit has been won.” For the first time since then, he spent four or five days roaming around Kyoto with a sense of being truly himself again. He busily spent his days buying souvenirs from the capital for his wife Kikyō—rouge from Kyoto, perfumed oils, rare textiles, and the like.

Today as well, he was about to return to his lodgings beneath the scattering late-blooming cherry blossoms of Yasaka and Gion's grove. Then someone called out "Masakado, Masakado" from behind. When he turned around, it was a traveler wearing a pale hunting robe dyed with fugitive-dye plant, a long sword at his side, a hood on his head, and over it all, a large bamboo hat.

They approached each other and finally understood. It was Yasaka no Fushinin.

“Oh… When—how—did you get to the capital?” “When I heard you’d come to the capital, I followed after you.” “But I couldn’t find your lodgings.” “I asked at the Ueifu Office and finally found out—so I thought I’d come to surprise you out of the blue.” “I see… So you can walk around the capital freely now?” “What do you mean by ‘freely’?” “Aren’t you supposed to be lying low after that arrest warrant?” “In broad daylight—and you went to the Ueifu Office yourself?”

“Hahaha.” “People’s gossip doesn’t last more than a few days anyway.” “What with the pirate uprisings in the South Seas—hell, both the Kebiishi and Hyōbushō are swamped.” “They forgot ages ago.” “Those old matters—they’re past the statute of limitations now.”

Fushinin was always Fushinin. He hadn’t changed a bit—still speaking in that tone of his that regarded neither authorities as authorities nor people as people.

“Shall we go to your lodgings? Or drink somewhere else?” “I mean to depart for my province tomorrow. There are matters requiring attention.” “Ha ha ha! You—Masakado of all people—being so dreadfully earnest! Isn’t that a bit much? Must be that lovely wife waiting back home. But at least share a parting cup with me. Come now—there’s a nice little hideaway for some fun.”

Shadow Capital

From the first time he had met Fushinin, the man had already been fully grown, yet showed no further maturation thereafter. No matter how many years passed, whenever they met, he would immediately turn his thoughts to revelry. He appeared to be a man devoid of any other talents. Yet in his own way, Masakado had matured. There was substance to his growth now. Somehow, he felt he could no longer endure keeping company with this man.

Despite this, he still found himself unable to refuse and followed Fushinin into a pleasure quarter within the capital. When it came to drinking parties, Fushinin became even more like himself, sharpening his wit as he— “First, let’s toast to your legal victory.” —said, raising the cup to eye level. “Huh? You know about it? The lawsuit against Sadamori? No—you must’ve heard that from the caretakers at Toyoda—but who exactly told you I won?”

“Hey now, Masakado. “Do you think you won through your own strength?” “This lawsuit—” “The righteous will prevail in the end.” “Ahahaha.” “AHAHAHA—” Fushinin laughed harder still—“Well, fine. “Well—fine,” he said, nodding to himself. “What do you mean by ‘Well—fine’?” “Because it’s too absurd.” “No matter how much time passes, you never grow up.” “You’re a natural-born child.” “What nonsense are you spouting!” “Then I’ll lay bare the truth.” “When I heard Sadamori had filed suit, I thought: ‘This is bad—you’re sure to lose.’” “At worst, it might mean execution.” “That intuition—that’s why I visited your Toyoda and raced after you to the capital.”

“And?”

“You probably don’t know this, but I spent most of the gold dust I brought from Mutsu for that purpose.” “I pulled strings and discreetly gifted it to key nobles in the Ministry of Justice and Guards Bureau, along with Senior Counselors in the Chamber through back channels.” “Your victory—that’s the result of it.” “If you think I’m lying, you’ll find out soon enough.” “Well, go ahead and drink.” “If you keep drinking, you’ll find out soon enough.”

While he was saying this,

“Hey, Fushinin. Have you already started?” Suddenly, a noble entered. Masakado tilted his head slightly, thinking this noble looked familiar somehow. And then, once they began exchanging cups, he was aghast.

That was one of the judges from the Uemon-no-tsukasa. Indeed, this must be one of the nobles who had presided over his trial. “I’m just now explaining the details to Masakado, but this man refuses to believe a word I say is true.” “Why don’t you tell him too?” Fushinin spoke brusquely and laughed. Then, with honeyed camaraderie, he exchanged cups of wine with the noble and appeared to be expressing gratitude for the noble’s behind-the-scenes efforts.

Before long, three, then four court nobles gathered around. Before Fushinin, they did nothing but prostrate themselves in servility. All silently admitted—without uttering a word—that they were those who had received a share of the gold dust. “He’s this sort of foolhardily honest man, this Masakado.” Fushinin declared to their faces. It was a scene as though everyone were drinking, with Masakado’s guileless simplicity serving as their sake accompaniment.

As night deepened, they each took courtesans and slipped away to separate bedchambers. Refusing their repeated urgings to stay over, Masakado returned to the inn and slept alone.

“I see now—I was a fool.” Taira no Masakado now admitted his own foolishness. He could not help but realize his own naivety—how, despite having learned well during his long years of study about the rot within government offices, the sordid underbellies of court nobles, and the true nature of capital society, he had completely forgotten it all and foolishly come to believe that righteousness would inevitably triumph. “—Are you leaving this morning?” Fushinin came at dawn to see him off on his journey home. At the moment of parting, he lowered his voice and spoke earnestly just this once.

“Fujiwara no Sumitomo of Nankai has finally begun his rampage. “The government coffers are stretched thin by expenses. “The punitive government troops won’t quell it, no matter how many reinforcements they send. “Now then, Masakado—it’s about time for you too.” “The opportune moment?” “You’re still going on about that…?” he said with exasperation. “It’s fulfilling the promise with Sumitomo. “Coordinate and raise troops in the Tōhoku region and Nankai.”

“I don’t have that kind of power.” “If it’s about that promise on Mount Hiei, consider it null and void.” “It won’t go that way.” “You made a vow to undertake a great undertaking for the realm—” “I’m at my limit even with family quarrels.” “What grand ambitions could I harbor for the realm?” “I’m spent.” “I just want to return home and see my wife’s face by peaceful lamplight.” Masakado mounted his horse and never looked back. Taking three retainers with him, he headed toward Keage and quickened his steed. Fushinin followed him all the way to Ōsaka-guchi,

“After I meet Sumitomo, I’ll head down to the Eastern Provinces around autumn.” “We’ll talk it over properly then,” he said as they parted. Half a year had passed since he left his homeland. Unlike previous homecomings, this time there was a wife clearly waiting for him at Toyoda Mansion. Back when he’d been full of militant spirit and solitude—when he’d unexpectedly met Fujiwara no Sumitomo and spoken of their blood-soaked schemes—his state of mind had been utterly different from what it was now.

Moreover, he had won the lawsuit. That he later realized this victory hadn’t been achieved through his own justice left him desolate—an unbearable weight on his heart—but won it remained. There was no mistake. At Toyoda Mansion, verdant with new foliage, they had already learned of his return through his message. On the day he arrived, the entire clan and their retainers stood assembled at the gate, awaiting their lord’s triumphant homecoming.

Kikyō had just left the birthing chamber. But on that day, having renewed her makeup and cradling her jewel-like son in her newly maternal arms, she waited by the middle gate to greet her husband returning from his journey.

Enveloped in a cocoon,

There had never been a time when his wife Kikyō appeared more beautiful in her husband’s eyes than in this late spring.

After witnessing her healthy first childbirth, her complexion was purified, and now both her age and physique fully displayed the blossoming of her womanhood. She was a new wife who so thoroughly embodied the ripeness of postpartum beauty that it seemed to radiate from the tips of her nails to the depths of her eyes. "I am happy. You love me, and…" "But I’m so happy… I keep wondering how long these blissful days can last."

She was utterly enveloped in a cocoon of happiness. However, even into the deepest recesses of Toyoda Mansion, whispers from the outside world somehow seeped through. For those past years had been days that endlessly assailed her heart, and though sheltered within this silken refuge, she would quiver like a blossom dreading the wind's faintest breath.

“You shouldn’t go borrowing trouble like that.” “You’re just a bit too much of a worrier.”

Taira no Masakado forced a laugh, “Putting such anxieties another way—you’re saying I’m too unreliable a husband. Why are you so anxious about clinging to my arm to survive?” “I don’t deserve this. I am completely satisfied—please look. Just like this nursing child, so completely at peace being cradled in my arms as a mother…”

“Oh. He’s sleeping soundly.” “He will be your heir one day, you know.”

“How strange,” he said. “I’ve become a father at some point.” “So… please steel your heart. No matter how the world may rage or what schemes they may devise, endure it patiently, even if it pains you.” “I see. So you’re worried again that Uncle Yoshikane and Sadamori might try something—that’s what’s on your mind, isn’t it?” “From time to time, I hear unpleasant rumors as well.” “Hearing about it just makes me angrier—sometimes I get furious too—but no matter what schemes they plot, I’ve rightfully won the lawsuit in the Grand Council’s court through my recent visit to the capital. The central government has already recognized my legitimacy and, in accordance with the law—‘All land deeds for the manors my uncles conspired to embezzle shall be returned to Masakado’—has handed down its verdict. As for them—there’s nothing more they can do about it now.”

“But people’s hearts cannot be measured.” “Even if your uncles still refuse to return the inheritance, you mustn’t lose your temper.” “I want nothing.” “—nothing beyond this.”

“That’s right—nothing more than this.”

Taira no Masakado shared the same thought. His wife’s words were wise—the voice of one who cherishes life—he reflected.

In truth, there had never been a time when he was more filled with happiness than now. Having won the lawsuit, ever since he returned to his homeland, his popularity had been heightened all the more by his fellow villagers. (Having succeeded Lord Yoshimochi, you are the leader of the Bandō Taira clan who surpasses even Lord Yoshimochi himself. In the days to come, there is no one but you to govern the eastern provinces.) Small landowners and local warriors from all around came unbidden to tie their horses at Toyoda’s gate, and now sweet flatteries and fawning praises of him were beginning to gather in Masakado’s ears.

However, he was not one to grow complacent so easily. Determined not to be swayed by their flattery— (No—I could never measure up to Father Yoshimochi. I'm an unworthy son through and through. I know my own foolishness well enough. But I can't let this stand—honest folk being trampled while cunning bastards strut about amassing fortunes and wallowing in luxury. I'll fight those forces. Fight to the bitter end until Bandō's lands know true peace—that's my principle.)

And he would say this uniformly to anyone and everyone. However, perhaps because that very simplicity and unreserved nature of his held its own charm, the stream of visitors from neighboring areas showed no sign of abating. Moreover, these neighboring visitors invariably returned home having witnessed the prosperity fostered throughout the domain by the general diligence and harmonious contentment that radiated from within Toyoda Mansion. Sericulture, agriculture, fisheries, forestry—the progress in this region was truly remarkable. Markets had sprung up across the land, transportation had improved, and even peering into each and every farmhouse revealed no faces gaunt with hunger. When it came to festivals, they were livelier than in any other region; listening to the drunken songs of the commoners revealed lyrics that even extolled Masakado’s virtues.

Masakado himself had gained a good wife, sired a fine child, and now lacked for nothing. Thus he no longer demanded unreasonable exploitation from the peasants in his domain. Moreover, he was often reminded of Emishi Hagi—the slave girl who had loved him passionately in his youth—and so remained a consistently kind master to the many servants kept in the slave quarters. “Ah, I understand.” “No matter what happens, I’ll endure it.” “So stop worrying about such things already.”

While coming to peek at their child’s sleeping face, he also used his lips to caress his wife’s lips. Countless times a day, he would visit the northern hall of the mansion in this manner, immersing himself in the cocoon of peace and love—this was his sole pleasure these past several months.

However, the peace of this mansion lasted only about half a year, from spring to early autumn.

Kikyō's premonition had unfortunately come true.

Land and People

August.

It was the early dawn of a day when the brisk autumn had begun to arrive. Taira no Masakado's younger brother—Ōashihara Shirō Masahira, who had branched off from the main family last year and set up a residence in Ashihara—

“Brother!” “This is no ordinary matter!”

and spurred his horse to come report to Toyoda. “What’s all this commotion?” That morning too, Masakado was in his wife’s room, which carried the scent of their infant. The sound of small birds outside and Kikyō’s bright voice enveloped her husband’s smiling face as they always did on such mornings, while the retainers—poised to accompany him on an inspection of nearby territories—waited outside the gate, all sense of time forgotten.

“Last night after dark, someone from Tsukuba came knocking at our gate with news.” “Uncle Yoshikane of Hatori is gathering troops in the mountains and exchanging fast horses with Uncle Yoshimasa of Mizumori—they appear to be plotting something.” “More of my uncles’ empty commotion?” “It’s a nuisance—these people reporting every trifle unasked.” “There’s no cause for concern. They act this way precisely because they value the mansion dearly and bear goodwill toward you, Brother...”

"But hey, Shirō," he said. "I don’t want to keep waging this wretched blood feud between uncle and nephew forever." "That may be true for us too," Shirō replied, "but our uncles still regard us Toyoda brothers as sworn enemies—they keep sharpening their arrowheads without rest. There’s nothing to be done about it." "Don’t engage them," Masakado countered. "No matter what slander they spew or schemes they hatch—" "We’ve avoided them thoroughly enough," Shirō interjected. "But these past six months, the Hatori and Mizumori factions have redoubled their efforts—gathering weapons and horse gear without pause in their war preparations. What’s worse, they’ve been proclaiming far and wide that *they* were the rightful victors in the Grand Council lawsuit."

“No matter what they say, I have in my hands the document proving my victory in the lawsuit.” “And an official notice from the authorities must have already reached our uncles in Hatori and Mizumori, demanding that they immediately return the land deeds—the legitimate inheritance of our house—to Masakado.” “Such a thing holds no authority for them.” “Rather—precisely because they’ve been cornered to that extent—they’re now doubling down, focusing all their malice on schemes and military force. Their resolve is to crush Toyoda in one fell swoop and bury the central government’s legal defeat in obscurity.” “That’s precisely their aim!”

“...W-Wait.” “Shirō.” Since his brother’s indignation showed no signs of abating, Masakado abruptly changed his tone, as if to hold back his own words. Beside him, his wife’s face—listening with bated breath—struck him with the urge to shield her from hearing more. “I’m about to leave. My retainers are waiting with their horses ready. Let’s hear the rest over there. We can discuss it while riding side by side along the way.” Kikyō’s face had already turned deathly pale. The mother’s fear instantly affected her milk, and even the child in her arms sensed it through the taste. Suddenly, [the child] began to squirm in her embrace.—Shirō Masahira’s heart had been pounding like a rapid temple bell since that morning, but sensing his brother’s feelings and his sister-in-law’s state of mind,

“Ah.” “I see.” “Then let us at least head out together for now.” With that, they casually left Kikyō’s chamber first. When Masakado and Masahira reached the corridor near the servants’ quarters at the mansion’s front, the footsteps of housemaids and menservants already held an unusual urgency. “What’s this racket?”

Taira no Masakado scolded one of his retainers, and—

“No, it’s the villagers causing a stir. And then the female slaves and male servants who heard that started spouting nonsense.” “What nonsense?” “This morning, a traveler passing through Toyoda reportedly laughed in disbelief—‘How carefree Toyoda remains! Acting as if they haven’t a clue that the Hitachi and Tsukuba forces are about to descend upon them any moment now!’—as he passed through the area.” When Shirō Masahira heard this,

“There—look! Even travelers and peasants must’ve heard the rumors by now.” Shirō Masahira’s voice sharpened. “By my reckoning, Uncle Yoshikane left Tsukuba last night—joined forces with Yoshimasa’s troops from Mizumori—and right now they’re racing toward Toyoda!” A retainer groaned. “Gods—another provocation?” “Brother!” Shirō gripped his sword hilt. “Prepare yourself!” “Shirō—” Another voice cut through.

“Understood!” “Is there no way to avoid it? Without fighting—” “D-Don’t spout nonsense! If that’s our path, then we’d have no choice but to abandon Toyoda and flee!” “I’d like to flee too, but...” “This is no jest! How can you even consider abandoning them? All these people—the families who gathered here trusting you as both lord of Toyoda and pillar of this land, the countless villagers—how could you cast them aside like refuse and run?”

At that moment, Moriya Saburō Masayori, who resided in Moriya, also whipped his horse and came rushing to the scene. Masayori was gentler in disposition than his younger brother Shirō Masahira and far less prone to agitation than his elder brother Taira no Masakado. But even Masayori was already armed, carrying arrows and clutching a bow.

“With Yoshikane commanding a large army of over two thousand, they’re advancing toward Kogai Crossing in waves.” “We’d long heard rumors that Yoshikane and Yoshimasa—having learned from last year’s defeat—were plotting military preparations determined to succeed this time. It seems those reports were true.” Saburō Masayori panted out these words before continuing: “If they seize Kogai Crossing, we’ll be cornered in Toyoyoshi District—fighting there would leave us at a grave disadvantage.” “Elder Brother, ride out immediately!” “We must race against time!”

“…Tch.” “No choice but this.” Taira no Masakado hardened his resolve. Yet even before he could issue orders, retainers nearby had already begun shouting updates to allies within mansion walls and palisades. Horses were dragged out, weapons snatched up—a torrent of armored men jostling through every gate until they overflowed into the streets. He hurriedly fastened his armor plates. Even as he did so, somewhere within him— (Ugh… Can’t stand seeing bloodshed…)

A persistent weakness gnawed at him. His wife's pale face and their suckling child floated before his eyes, making the armor weigh upon his body with unprecedented heaviness. Meanwhile, Gorō Masafumi and Rokurō Masatake came galloping from Ōmusubi no Maki pasture and nearby estates, swiftly gathering seven to eight hundred horsemen. "To Kogai Crossing!" "Hold Kogai!"

And they dashed out in a black surge. From the rear, more and more soldiers kept rushing forward. The soldiers of the wilderness at that time were still all either “part-farmer, part-warrior” or “part-farmer, part-hunter.” In any case, from mansion retainers to scattered local samurai, those who could be called pure warriors were generally exceedingly few in number. "Works such as Konjaku Monogatari describe them as 'a race that makes battle their profession,' but unlike bandits, that was not their sole purpose." Even warrior houses relied on the agrarian economy of manor estates, land reclamation, and soil. Precisely because of this, they spared no bloodshed in disputes over land and did not hesitate to clash with their own kin.

These kinds of military units. Such primitive military forces—thus there was still no military discipline or orderly battle formations; there existed only the most rudimentary strategic knowledge and crude class distinctions. Yet their fighting spirit—akin to the raw courage of barbarians—and the very wildness in their blood had already surged so fiercely that they were renowned throughout the realm as "Bandō's Fierce Warriors." There can be no doubt that this characteristic inherent in their nature—this primal savagery—must have rendered what history calls the "Tenkei Rebellion," said to have been incited by Masakado, an exceptionally brutal affair.

Wooden Statue Formation “Ah!” “Too late?”

“Damn it. Too late.” When they rushed to Kogai Crossing, they found the enemy had already seized full control of the crossing. This surprise attack led by Yoshikane of Hatori marked their fourth offensive against them. Through hard-won experience, they appeared to have thoroughly analyzed both the terrain’s logic and Masakado’s combat methods. First, they had deployed disguised skirmishers the previous day to complete covert preparations in the area; then, in one coordinated push, they crossed using rafts, boats, and shallow fords they’d scouted out.

Taira no Masakado observed the enemy formation from afar. "Bastards!" Instantly, a surge of intensity—so characteristic of him—coursed through his entire body. (Have I been too naive all along?) (Will those uncles never stop until they see my head?) He wept bitter tears and writhed in regret.

A tremendous sound of arrows cut through the wind, whizzing past left and right. His brothers had already charged into the heart of the enemy ranks alongside their subordinates. The enemy’s bows, which had lain in wait with ample preparation, made the Toyoda forces pay many casualties in the opening phase of the battle. “Wait! The enemy isn’t just here!”

Taira no Masakado was slightly flustered. For smoke had begun to rise from the nearby villages of Kayō, Tashita, Sōdō, and others. Those small hamlets, though their number of households was not large, were all within Toyoda District. Morning and evening, these were roofs that Masakado himself had seen; to him, these were always endearing subjects who relied utterly on him as "our strong lord," wielding hoes and engaging in fishing. “You’ve done it now, you bastard uncles!” As if the profile of his enduring humiliation had been suddenly struck away, Masakado raised his eyes in anger, his temples flaring.

“Do those bastards still not realize what happens once I get angry?!” He merged with his wild steed and surged toward the enemy front, “Yoshikane! Come out!” “Today—settle this with me!” —and issued a challenge for single combat. Of course, Yoshikane and Yoshimasa had no intention of accepting his demand. Instead, like fishermen roused by the sight of a great fish breaching the waves, “There! That’s Masakado!” “Target Masakado!” “Shoot Masakado!”

“Secure their escape routes! Don’t let them slip away!”

Shouting such things in unison, they concentrated all their arrows on him alone in an instant. It was crucial to break free from the storm of arrows. Taira no Masakado became a demonic warrior consumed by fury. And then, directly engaging the enemy soldiers—kicking and scattering them beneath his wild horse’s hooves—he slashed unrestrainedly until the blade of his long-handled weapon grew dull with blood. And then, he finally closed in on the enemy commander’s position. The reason this was unmistakably the core of Yoshikane’s encampment lay in how they had fortified even this lowland blanketed entirely by blue miscanthus: encircling shields and partially draped curtains surrounded warriors who—unlike common foot soldiers—were all outfitted with armor and weapons so imposing they commanded awe at first glance.

“Where’s Yoshikane?!” “Is Yoshimasa not here either?!” “Kojirō Masakado has come this far today! Why won’t you come out to take my head?!”

“Oh! Masakado, you’ve come.” It was impossible to tell whose voice it had been in that instant, but as part of the shield wall clattered open, two eerie wooden statues swayed unsteadily atop the miscanthus waves—borne aloft like a portable shrine—with dozens of armored warriors flanking them on either side. “Oh! Masakado, you’ve come,” they chanted in unison like a demonic hymn.

“Wh-what? … What’s this?” Taira no Masakado involuntarily tightened the reins of his wild horse. Both wooden human statues were seated figures. They were clad in ceremonial court robes and headdresses, and on the crossbeam of the pedestal was clearly inscribed the following. Family Founder Takamochi-ō, Venerable Spirit The Late Taira no Yoshimochi-kō, Venerable Spirit In other words, they had brought out wooden statues of the Taira clan’s ancestor and Masakado’s deceased father from somewhere and advanced them to the front lines.

When they saw Taira no Masakado falter slightly, the group that had brought forth the wooden statue formation once again raised their voices in unison, “Revere! Revere! Have you no reverence?!” “Before the venerable statue of Takamochi-ō,” “Before the late Lord Yoshimochi,” “Fire the arrows!” “Charge audaciously!” “Tremble, Masakado!” as if plotting to deafen their opponent’s ears, they roared. And seeing them press forward through the waves of grass with a swish-swish, Masakado suddenly pulled back his horse, showing cowardice as he began to hesitate.

Seeing this, the front rank before the wooden statues— “Die already, Masakado!” —abruptly loosed their bowstrings. Four or five arrows zipped through the air, aimed at Masakado’s pallid face.

With a thud, Taira no Masakado threw himself down into his horse’s mane. It was swift. The horse reared up its hindquarters and spun around sharply. Instantly, Masakado lashed the whip—a sight that could only be described as headlong flight. A sound—neither triumphant war cry nor mocking laughter—rose from behind. “Now! Press the pursuit!” “Set the fires! Begin the flame assault!” Yoshikane’s men, riding their momentum, plunged deeper into Toyoda Village. Unleashing a demonic frenzy of arson, plunder, and defilement, they withdrew to Tsukuba by midnight.

Suffering from beriberi,

Overnight, throughout Toyoda County, countless patches of scorched earth had been left scattered here and there. As if narrating the fragile peace of human existence, the smoke from the embers continued to thickly shroud the entire waterlands in darkness the following day as well. "Even to peasant girls who knew nothing and the elderly…" Ah, how pitiful. "This is my fault."

Masakado rode his horse around, surveying the damage everywhere. He saw the devastation with his own eyes and heard it with his own ears. Last year—the same devastation Masakado had inflicted upon enemy lands when he charged into their territory was now being visited upon his own domain.

Fortunately, Toyoda’s main base was unharmed. Neither at the mansion nor the palisade gates, nor to his wife and children, had any harm come.

But Taira no Masakado was pained. Truly, it was as if he had received a heavy blow to both his spirit and body. After making the rounds to inspect the relief porridge distribution and returning to the mansion, he appeared more fatigued than usual. Despite having slept a little this morning, for some reason, his energy refused to rally. “What’s wrong, Brother?” Not only Masayori but also Masahira and Masafumi gathered around him. “No—it’s nothing.” “Just a bit tired, I am.” “You don’t look like yourself.”

“I see…” Masakado stroked his cheek. His senses felt dulled, as if his face had somehow grown twice as wide. “It’s just lack of sleep. Nothing to fret over.” “Yesterday’s battle went poorly… But mark me—so long as we stay vigilant, we’ll never suffer such a fool’s defeat again.”

“Rather, we think it was for the best—Brother, you judge others too much by your own standards. From now on, you will surely listen to our words as well.” “……My bad.” He was honest. To his brothers, even Masakado’s compliance now left them uneasy, wondering what had come over him. “No—we are by no means all gathered here to reproach you, Brother. You must simply take to heart once more how dangerous these foes truly are.”

“I understand. I won’t be caught off guard again—I need to make them realize my true power once more. Saburō, Shirō.”

“Yes.” “You’ll see soon enough.” “Right. Make sure the retainers and horses are fully rested.”

And then, about ten days later.

When Taira no Masakado obtained critical intelligence, he immediately summoned his chief retainers and brothers to devise an exhaustive secret strategy. Late that night, he led over a thousand Toyoda soldiers across the Kogai river. This location—even accounting for all surrounding great rivers and Kogai’s confluence—remained the shortest water crossing point anywhere.

While the dawn sky was still dark, he lay in ambush near Daihō Village’s Horikoshi Crossing, close to enemy territory. It was the season when reeds, silver grasses, and autumn plants had grown to their fullest. The ambush was perfectly timed. And they endured the silence of being bitten by leeches and swarmed by mosquitoes, waiting for the opportune moment to attack. “No sign yet.”

“Hmm... They’re not coming.” On this day, a secret report had been uncovered the previous day that Taira no Yoshikane of Hatori, having savored success in the recent surprise attack, was once again planning to assault Toyoda. Sure enough— When the sun rose high, a massive combined force from Tsukuba, Hitachi, and Mizumori appeared, stretching endlessly like a serpent’s shadow.

They reached the crossing.

They boarded rafts and led horses into the shallows—and just as their ranks and formations became disordered, Masakado suddenly commanded: “Fire!” The enemy was thrown into disarray. The river’s waters turned crimson. Yet Yoshikane’s subordinates—an even greater force than before—had apparently anticipated ambushes along their route. They swiftly regained momentum: “Charge! Today we take Masakado alive!” With this counterattack, they pressed forward. What had happened? That day, Masakado kept retreating again and again.

“Hmm... Something’s off...” “Brother’s condition is strange.” His brothers too found themselves unable to fight at full strength, this unease having become a lingering concern. The reason—though this would only become clear later—was that Masakado had already contracted beriberi since early summer, an endemic disease common in these marshland regions. Even during the previous battle at Kogai Crossing, he had felt an inexplicable lethargy throughout his body, his mind lacking its usual sharpness.

Particularly on that day—having been submerged for half a day in a marshland of reeds and wetlands riddled with puddles since before dawn—his condition had rapidly deteriorated. No matter how much he tried to become an Ashura, his spirit wouldn’t grow fierce, and above all, he couldn’t even control his horse properly.

As a result, despite having actively marched out this far to meet the enemy in battle, his army was once again forced into a miserable retreat. “Masakado’s valor had reached its limits. His spirit is broken!”

Yoshikane judged it so. “Today—press the attack on Toyoda to its bitter end.” “By nightfall, Taira no Masakado’s head will lie before me.” With that declaration, he grandly ordered drummers to beat their war drums and advanced on Toyoda like an occupying army marching through conquered gates. Just as before, they set ablaze every farmhouse and granary along their path, closing in on Masakado’s stronghold at last. This was the district’s heart—the town before Masakado’s mansion, its dwellings packed tight. Beneath billowing smoke, the shrieks of women and children fleeing blindly erupted into a hellish cacophony.

Fire had been set to the first barrier. Both the Second Barrier Gate and the mansion’s main gate were already engulfed in flames, and now the fire—not content with consuming just the lower territories—raged unchecked all the way to the North Hall where Masakado’s wife and children resided. Ailing body. “Wherever I look—fire. It’s all fire. Brother, it appears Toyoda Mansion’s fate will end today as well.” When the enemy’s offensive slackened, Masakado conversely seemed to let his spirit slacken as well. He moved to the shade of a roadside tree to avoid stray arrows and let out a sigh on horseback, looking utterly exhausted.

“Brother.” “Stay strong!” “This isn’t like you, Brother.”

Gorō Masafumi, his younger brother, grew irritated at his older brother’s listlessness. He untied the leather canteen fastened to his armor’s waist and passed it from his own horse to his brother’s, “There’s water here. Would you care for a sip?” he said, handing it over. “Th-thank you.”

Taira no Masakado gulped loudly, stretching his throat as he drank it down. He let out a deep sigh of relief. Then he wiped away the droplets and sweat covering his face with the sleeve of his armor undergarment. “Masafumi—what’s happened to Saburō and Shirō? They’ve disappeared from sight—” “The other older brothers are fighting bravely and have driven the enemy beyond Kamaniwa. You must rest assured now.” “No—the enemy has fresh troops. If they’ve pushed us this far—” “Why must you voice such weakness today of all days? If even you lose heart, Brother—what will become of the troops’ morale?”

“But look—Father’s mansion, the gatefront town, the Mikuriya buildings—all swallowed by flames and smoke. If we retreat, they strike; retreat again, they strike again. To grow weary fending off such enemies...” “Is... something amiss with your body?” “What? My body?” “Your face—it’s swollen to twice its normal size. I’ve only just noticed.”

“I see… No—I’m fine.” “My body’s as it always is.” Masakado needed no reminder—he knew. Even when he touched his own face, there was no sensation. His whole body felt leaden, and this absence of courage frustrated even him. Yet he still kept his illness concealed from his brothers, maintaining an unaffected demeanor.

Meanwhile,

Mikuriya Saburō Masayori, Ōashihara Shirō Masahira, and other brothers such as Rokurō Masatake had fought fiercely and driven the enemy back some distance away. “Don’t pursue them too far—” They exchanged warnings, “It’s your well-being that concerns us.”

Then they lowered their battle line and came searching everywhere for Masakado’s figure. And there, having confirmed their eldest brother’s safety and rejoiced together—though their joy was short-lived—the enemy once again surged forth like the turning tide, rallying fresh troops to attack. “We will hold them off here,” they said. “Brother, please encourage our allies at the mansion. Take refuge there and protect the women and children.” Following his brothers’ urging, Taira no Masakado withdrew to Toyoda Mansion—the final stronghold he relied upon—accompanied by twenty to thirty mounted retainers.

However, flames had already spread widely from the eastern and western barrier gates all the way to the main house and outbuildings. Even family members and the men and women of the servants’ quarters were all working together to extinguish the flames, but their efforts seemed to be doing nothing to hold back the fire. The only fortunate thing was that the blaze seemed to have been caused by flying embers, and the enemy forces themselves had not yet reached this area. “Kikyō! …What’s happened to Kikyō?” “Kikyō…!” Taira no Masakado ran around and around the wide barricaded grounds, shouting toward the flames. The northern hall where she had been staying had also been engulfed in fire.

“Master!”—swimming through the smoke, his retainer Nashimaru spotted him and came running over. “Starting with the northern lady, all the women attendants, elderly, and children have withdrawn to Ōmusubi no Maki.” “This is how things stand.” “We can no longer hold back the flames or arrows.” “My lord—you too must retreat to Ōmusubi no Maki.” "Is this truly the end?"

The gale fanned the flames, turning everything in sight into a sea of fire. Though no enemy figures were visible, arrows rained from unseen directions, all concentrated on the blazing light as their target. When Masakado thought how everything his father Yoshimochi had built over a lifetime—battling both the stubborn earth and warring neighbors—might now vanish into ashes in an instant, he felt that turning to ash himself alongside this mansion would be the only proper death.

But when he thought of Kikyō and pictured his infant's face, he couldn't bring himself to die like this.

Drifting Nest

The fire across Toyoda spread its reach with the coming of night, now raging like a prairie fire. Kikyō, holding her nursing child, hid herself within the stable in the pasture, “My husband. “Lord Masakado—” she kept asking the old retainer Taji Tsuneaki, who attended by her side. Tsuneaki would occasionally climb the hill, gaze at the crimson night sky, and reflect on his own life and the half-century of the land’s history since he began serving the late Yoshimochi.

Ah, those were long years. It was also a brief, fleeting dream. The stars alone in the sky twinkle eternally, as if knowing nothing—after hundreds, thousands of years of repeating hellfires like tonight, will this land ever truly become soil free from calamity where people can live in peace? …… After all, with a finite life, one cannot discern such things—it seems I have lived too long.

The old retainer, over eighty years old, was not driven by particularly intense emotions and from time to time returned to Kikyō’s side, “My Lord still appears to be fighting desperately in the battle. After driving back the enemy, My Lord will surely come to you. If you worry too much, it may hinder Lady Wako’s milk flow. You must entrust all matters to fate…”

With an utterly composed tone, he calmed her storm-like anxiety. Before long, wounded allies and those whose defenses had been breached began retreating to Ōmusubi no Maki as if by prearrangement. At last came Masakado too. Then Masayori and Masahira arrived surging in with the others, crying out in unison, "What humiliation!" and "This is intolerable!" "In this situation, we must scatter and hide temporarily while plotting our resurgence." "Brother—given your poor physical condition—I implore you to withdraw from here and focus on recovery."

His brothers, the old retainer Tsuneaki, and even the chief retainers—all treated this as an imminent crisis,

“Lady Kikyō, you must come with us as well.” And whether she was willing or not, they selected horses that weren’t exhausted and hoisted her onto their backs.

And under Tsuneaki’s direction, they loaded the treasures they had carried out from the flames up to that point onto over a dozen horses, “As quickly as possible!” and hurried them from the hill of Ōmusubi no Maki into the southern wilderness.

Afterward, Tsuneaki calmly committed ritual suicide.

Around forty to fifty stalwart retainers accompanied Taira no Masakado. With two horses carrying him and Kikyō at their center, they escaped that night’s peril without any destination in mind. With his few retainers and wife and children in tow, Taira no Masakado spent days fleeing from place to place. For the first four or five days, he had hidden his family at a fisherman’s house in Ashigaya (Anshō Village), remaining concealed while keeping watch over the vicinity—but Nashimaru, whom he had sent on reconnaissance, and Koharumaru, a foot soldier, returned.

“It’s dangerous here too. Yoshikane’s soldiers are prowling everywhere—checking each farmhouse while barking threats about Toyoda remnants or anyone hiding Lord Masakado.”

they reported.

The next day.

Rokurō Masatake also joined them there with about ten horsemen, “Brother Saburō and Brother Shirō have retreated far away, planning for another day. Brother, it’s too dangerous for you to remain this close—the enemy has occupied Toyoda and now boasts they’ll comb through every blade of grass to bring back Masakado’s head this time,” he warned, admonishing Masakado’s carelessness. Taira no Masakado was not unaware of this. But Kikyō, clutching their nursing child, hindered movement. Moreover, his illness sapped his strength, and his reluctance to part with wife and child weighed upon him.

But dangers, beyond those, were now being felt in various ways close at hand. “It can’t be helped. Endure the lonely days for a while. I will gather more allies than ever before the first winter frost falls—strike back at Hatooro and Mizumori’s forces—and come to bring you home…”

Kikyō nodded through tears at her husband’s words. Or rather—her cheek pressed against the infant sleeping in her embrace, rich with the scent of milk, her tear-streaked face never lifting—her true will was, “No… Even if I die… I won’t be parted from you…” Perhaps she had been shaking her head vehemently, but both Masakado—whose eyes were averted—and the retainers around them, who were also avoiding her gaze with grave expressions, ended up seeing her as having nodded bravely, like a chieftain’s wife resolved to her fate.

Three fishing boats were prepared.

The decks of the fishing boats were fully covered with reed mats, and inside they loaded and concealed everything—food, bedding, and a portion of the valuables transported from Toyoda. One boat carried Kikyō along with young girls and female attendants, while the other two boats were loaded with over ten retainers. He ordered them to first flee from Ashigaya Inlet out onto the lake that resembled the sea. The three reed-covered boats carrying his wife and children fled northward for a full day and night, poling through reeds and rushes as much as possible like timid waterfowl, until they finally concealed their silhouettes deeply near the Hirokawa River, making it their temporary hiding place.

Taira no Masakado took the land route and confirmed his wife and children had settled safely. “It’s only a temporary boat dwelling,” he told himself. “I won’t make them wait long.” “Stay safe… Stay healthy…” He prayed from afar. He seared his parting gaze into the desolate mist trailing over the autumn reeds. Then he led his forces into hiding in the mountains near Rikukan Coast (Shimoyūki Village).

Autumn waters bleak and desolate. A dreary, soaking autumn rain continued.

In the mountain’s shadow stood his temporary hideout—a hut dug into a horizontal hole, its entrance framed with logs and roof thatched with tree bark. They built similar structures throughout the area like ground wasps’ nests, forming a sort of mountain stronghold with sixty to seventy horsemen—lord and retainers—who busily dispatched spies, sought contact with scattered allies, hunted provisions through diligent efforts, clinging stubbornly to their will for resurgence. But from the very day Masakado settled there, his illness worsened severely; he took to bed completely immobilized.

His legs were as thick as barrels; when pressed with a finger，they sank deeply. The swelling in his face showed no sign of abating，and while his body’s weariness had been bearable when tension kept him alert，since hiding in these mountains，he could barely manage even his own flesh. “Is Kikyō safe?... And Wako—has anything happened?” “...And Wako—is she unchanged?”

Even while groaning, he never failed to ask about this one thing multiple times a day. “This might be difficult…” Rokurō Masatake, the youngest brother, heard the retainers whispering in hushed voices like that many times. He wanted to somehow get in touch with his other brothers—Masayori, Masahira, and the rest—but if he acted recklessly, he risked being spotted by the enemy forces still swarming around Toyoda, which would expose their mountain stronghold here.

"If the enemy were to attack here—" The thought alone made Rokurō Masatake’s hair stand on end. He did nothing but pray that somehow, his eldest brother’s illness would be cured as soon as possible—yet even the medicine for it was hard to come by.

Then, how on earth had he found out? Sugawara no Michiyuki—a friend of his late father Yoshimochi who had privately held deep sympathy for Masakado—came one day to visit and observed his condition. "This is not an incurable illness. I too once suffered from this same illness. I will deliver that medicine to you." With that, he left. Taira no Masakado prostrated himself in reverence toward the man’s retreating figure. "Ah, I have no excuse. I had often heard his counsel—that one must endure all things through to the end, that forbearance was paramount—and yet... In the end, I showed him this wretched state of myself."

As he did so, he lay on his sickbed shedding tears. A few days later, Michiyuki's messenger delivered the medicine. He would boil the herb bags and drink the medicine countless times daily. Urine passed astonishingly well. In proportion to this, his mood grew markedly refreshed.

Taira no Masakado muttered to himself, "I will heal!" "I will heal!" he declared loudly. Then the hollow kodama boomed "I will heal!" in harmony, echoing once more. As health returned to his body, restoring his characteristic willpower and vigor,

“Hmm. Why am I suffering like this? A man such as Sōma no Kojirō Masakado... I am not a man who loses fights and gets discouraged... That’s right—it wasn’t the battle I lost; it was my own illness that defeated me.” A surge of such thoughts rose in his mind. Whenever he vividly surveyed his own wretched state, and whenever he thought of his beloved wife and child’s pitiful boat dwelling, he would draw back the bow of resentment in his heart and furrow his brow as if ready to loose the arrow.

“How about it—my face? …The swelling’s completely gone down now, hasn’t it?” “Damn if this gruel hasn’t started tasting good.” “Everything I eat hits like I’m some starving demon!”

That morning, Masakado felt particularly refreshed. He could no longer endure the pit dwelling and walked back amid birdsong in the early dawn. And it was at that moment when he was eating noisily with a large number of retainers—a strange gruel mixed with millet and nuts, along with roasted small birds’ meat—that... Someone was running up from the foot of the mountain. Instinctively, everyone stood. But when they realized they were scouts from their allies, they settled back down at once—only for those very allied scouts now approaching to suddenly cry out in unison, “It’s terrible—!” In both their voices and expressions, there was undoubtedly something—something extraordinary—that left everyone aghast.

“The Lady’s ship has been attacked!” “The enemy found out—even Lady Kikyō and Lady Wako—” Their tongues stiffened; they could not properly articulate most of it. The clamoring voices were less reports than screams spat out here suddenly alongside gasps for breath. “What?!”

Masakado's voice trailed off trembling in response to that, and then— "Kikyō... Wako..." was all he said. His face drained of all color save for his lips, he endured,

“Explain in more detail! What happened once they were discovered by the enemy?”

Finally, he spat out his next words. And then, he glared at the three scouts. “Brutal! Their figures were nowhere to be seen… Ships stained with blood, sleeves of noble robes, and the corpses of our comrades were scattered about here and there, but...”

Before he had even finished hearing everything, Masakado was already running down the mountain. Needless to say, all his subordinates formed a momentum like a mountain avalanche and continued running after him.

In the flatland near the base of the mountain, about a dozen horses belonging to their allies were hidden. He leapt onto one of them. Whether soldiers followed behind or not seemed not to matter. He was merely running toward the direction his soul wanted to soar. From Rikukan Coast to the lakeside where his wife and children's boat was moored lay a distance of two or three ri. During that time, Masakado could not even see the road. Reeds and water drew near. The late autumn atmosphere merged water and sky into a single entity, utterly still and crystal clear, making one doubt what had transpired there. Nature was far too peaceful, and autumn was deepening into a beauty that felt almost excessive.

"...Kikyō!" Masakado's voice rang out over the water as he dismounted from his horse. He repeated the same cry toward the water, over and over, like an imbecilic child. "K... Kikyō..."

Eventually, it became nothing but sobs, nothing but tears; then, wandering helplessly about as if lost, he suddenly― “It’s me! “It’s Masakado. “…Kikyō!”

And he tried to wade into the water with loud splashes. By now, those who had come running after him were also searching the ground around them, and upon finding a blood-soaked, half-sunken wreck of a boat among the reeds, they stomped their feet in frustration, cursing their own carelessness. “Ah! Where are you going?! My Lord—where are you going?!” Seeing Masakado’s bizarre behavior, one of his retainers grabbed and held him. Masatake also ran up and grabbed his hand.

“Let go! Hey! ...Won’t you let go?” With terrifying strength, Masakado flung the two men aside. Masatake clung to his leg, “D-dangerous! Brother—” “Brother! There’s no one on that boat! Not Lady Kikyō... Not anyone...” “They’re here... They’re... I see them... Kikyō... Wako...”

“Hey!” “Ev-everyone… get over here!”

Masatake screamed. "Brother's gone mad! Ah—take Brother somewhere else! Carry him away from here!"

Demonic wailing. Perhaps there had been someone who informed on them.

Taira no Yoshikane of Hatori had finally discovered through some clue that Masakado's wife and children were hiding on a reed-thatched boat upon the lake. He had already occupied the stronghold in Toyota District—rampaging, plundering, destroying, doing exactly as he pleased. Yet his true purpose lay not in this, but rather in obtaining Masakado's head. That he had let slip his primary target still left Yoshikane with a lingering unease. It remained unclear when Masakado might rally troops and seek revenge, but above all else, Yoshikane grew anxious about his prolonged absence from Tsukuba Hatori.

“Enough,” Yoshikane declared. “My fury has been fully quenched. We withdraw to Hatori—for now.” During this triumphal march, he had discovered where Masakado’s wife and children hid. This revelation made him abruptly alter their course. As his forces followed waterways through Kōno, Ozaki, Ōmagi and Ashikaya, they glimpsed three reed-camouflaged vessels moored among lakeside reeds near the eastern shore. Most damning—an infant’s swaddling cloth fluttered from one boat’s thatched canopy. “Loose arrows upon them!”

Yoshikane had the soldiers prepare their bows. Hundreds of arrows were loosed all at once toward the thatch-covered boats. It was unbearable. Beneath the thatch, indescribable human screams arose.

The over a dozen retainers guarding Kikyō burst forth from the boats all at once. "They shouted 'This is the end!' as they drew their vessels closer, charging in like wrathful Asura deities, but most were struck by arrows and plunged into the water. Those who managed to reach shore were cut down in a frenzy and slain." Yoshikane's subordinates boarded one boat and swiftly towed the other two to land. One vessel contained nothing but ladies-in-waiting and young girls. Yoshikane,

“Capture Kikyō! Drag her up and bind her with ropes!”

he yelled. However, before the boats could be towed near the shore, Kikyō—closing her eyes—had her mother stab the beloved child born just that spring, whom she and Masakado had cherished like a jewel, and then took that same blade to end her own life. Yoshikane felt an intense irritation at her actions. He still clung to this belief even now. That was the same emotion he had felt when he believed Masakado had stolen his beloved concubine Tamamushi after she disappeared. It must have been the bitter frustration of having lost the very target upon which he should have exacted his revenge. He kicked Kikyō’s corpse down to the water’s depths, then entrusted even the innocent young girls and attendant women to his subordinates’ cruel treatment and withdrew to Hatori.

—That had been yesterday’s dusk.

The state of the area remained one of utmost horror, so viscerally raw that even crows kept their distance. Taira no Masakado had indeed succumbed to a fit verging on madness. He raged wildly, roaring in a manner neither fully weeping nor screaming. His lamentations reached such depths of disgrace that they became disgrace itself. Yet in this era's wilderness—nay, even among refined city dwellers—openly displaying one's joys, angers, sorrows, and pleasures did nothing to diminish a person's worth. Rather than judging him, Masakado's subordinates found themselves profoundly moved by their lord's undignified abandon of tears and fury. They too began wailing openly, sniffling back mucus as they gazed toward Mount Tsukuba's distant silhouette,

“Look, look, you demon beast! Don’t forget this, Yoshikane!” Some shook their fists while others glared with eyes wide in rage and hurled curses. Even among semi-primitive people like them, there still existed tenderness toward women and children. No—the emotion of hating acts that oppressed those deemed weak and beautiful was not a moral concept but carried the raw strength of instinct.

Therefore, this outcome is recorded even in the *Shōmonki*—the sole primary source said to transmit the historical facts of that year—as follows: Here, Masakado’s homeland was trampled under the enemy’s hooves; he knew not where to direct his rage—his body lived on, yet his soul was as though dead.

To the extent recorded, this fatal darkness had doomed Masakado for life; yet the extraordinary reality remained that his subordinates wept with him and united their hearts around his person through shared resolve. One could scarcely doubt how every manner of sacrifice and sympathy must have gathered to tend and comfort his wounded spirit.

Mount Fuji erupted.

Once they had hidden themselves, when their uncle Yoshikane’s forces withdrew to Tsukuba, Saburō Masayori, Shirō Masahira, and their men immediately returned once more to the scorched earth of Toyoda. In the previous defeat, their allies had been reduced to less than half their number, but when word of this spread to various regions, twice as many people as before came gathering to Toyoda District—its mountains, rivers, plants, and trees still smoldering from the flames. “For now, let us expand the Ishii Stockade and entrench ourselves in Ishii.”

Ishii was located in Sashima District, adjacent to Toyoda County. Masakado eventually returned there.

From this Ishii period onward, his personality and his view of humanity underwent a complete transformation. The cause of this undoubtedly lay in the autumn tragedy on the lake. At times he would sit vacantly with a foolish, dazed expression; then at the slightest provocation he would fly into a rage or burst into raucous laughter. "Elder Brother has still been acting strange since that day." Masatake whispered this to his elder brothers Masayori and Masahira.

To his younger brothers he had been a compassionate eldest brother, but lately there were times when he would even snap at those very brothers without explanation. And then he would often, “Let’s drink,” he would suddenly declare. His capacity for alcohol was not what it had been before. While craving deep drunkenness no matter how much he drank he couldn’t seem to get drunk. Even when I raged even when I raged I had never truly raged with abandon. That was because there had been someone dear who made me cling to life. ...But now there was nothing. The sack of patience was tattered to shreds. Until today I had fought on the defensive but from now on I would declare war myself. “An eye for an eye—a tooth for a tooth—”

He said this many times. Whether it was their imagination or not, everyone felt that even Masakado’s countenance had begun to differ from before. His eyes now held a fierce light while retaining none of their former warmth. Not only his eyes—his eyebrows had grown severe, his lips pressed tight as though sealing something within. The smile he had once shown Kikyō and those gentle paternal dimples that appeared when soothing his child would never again manifest upon his visage.

The beginning of winter. Ah, the beginning of winter.

When he saw the first frost, he remembered. When he had parted from Kikyō and fled, (Even if it was lonely—you'd have to endure awhile— I'd surely return by when first frost fell.)

Those were the final words he had spoken to comfort her. Masakado took stock of the Ishii garrison soldiers. His forces now exceeded two thousand men. These were elite warriors forged through relentless training since that day. "Good—our preparations are complete," he declared. "This battle shall lay my wife and children to rest!" With eighteen hundred soldiers, Masakado marched toward Tsukuba. Leaving six or seven hundred troops to guard Ishii's stronghold, he charged his brothers with its defense.

When Yoshikane of Hatori learned of this,

“When faced with such a spearhead, evasion is the only way.”

With his clan in tow, he swiftly crossed Tsukuba and took refuge in Yutsubo Mountain. "Yes, I meant to fight to my heart's content and purge all my pent-up rage since summer..." Masakado arrived at Hatori and burned with frustration. He exhausted every method to draw out Yoshikane, but his uncle was too wily. In such circumstances, he would never deign to engage. With no alternative, Masakado - though this hadn't been his original purpose - returned after unleashing upon Yoshikane's territories the same pillaging, arson, and violence that had been visited upon Toyoda County's manors and his own people. He had indeed repaid tooth for tooth.

Thus, that year drew to a close. Jōhei 7 entered its eleventh month. The Bandō Plain became mornings and evenings when winter galloped through with Akagi downslope winds and Nasu’s snow-laden blasts.

Then suddenly, through an official decree from the imperial court, the "Order for the Pursuit and Capture of Masakado" was issued to the Kantō provinces. Its contents stated: (Taira no Kojirō Masakado has formed gangs, wantonly unleashed violence, unlawfully trespassed into public and private estates, burned and harmed innocent citizens, plundered state granaries, and committed innumerable murders. Therefore, [you] shall cooperate with clansmen Yoshikane, Minamoto no Mamoru, Umanojō Sadamori, as well as Kimi Masa, Kimitomo, Hata no Kiyofumi and others to suppress these rioters, apprehend their leader Masakado, and present him before the court.)

Thus it stated. However, the provincial governors and military commissioners of various regions showed no sign whatsoever of obeying the imperial command despite receiving this official decree. The very orders from the central authority themselves served as evidence of how little they were implemented locally—but there was another aspect: "How could they issue a pursuit order against Masakado while Yoshikane and the others faced no charges?" "Especially when Masakado had won that spring's lawsuit and returned home—why was this happening?"

There was considerable doubt of this kind, and they assumed a stance of first observing how neighboring provinces would act.

The scope of the official decree's communication encompassed the provinces of Musashi, Awa, Kazusa, Hitachi, and Shimotsuke.

However, by coincidence, at the end of November of that same year, a great eruption of Mount Fuji occurred. Therefore, the earth’s crust in precisely those regions that had received the official decree rumbled repeatedly like earthquakes. The whole world was enveloped in a gloom tinged with strange faint phosphorescence, and ash that could be mistaken for snow continued to fall for days on end.

The very next year was Tengyō 1 (when the era name was changed). Later, everyone would come to recognize this as having been an omen of what became known as the Tengyō Rebellion.

Winter Sea

Umanojō Sadamori sat aboard a ferry boat in the offing of Chinu Bay (Edo River mouth). Apart from the other numerous travelers, he enclosed a section of the stern and shared a light drink over an open bento box with his two attendants, Nagata Maki and Ushihama Chūta. The rustic locals fixed their gaze upon this master and servants, but—

“Are those capital court nobles traveling east on some poetic journey…?” was all they could manage by way of observation.

The ferry had departed from Kazusa’s beach that morning and was heading toward Shibasaki Village in Musashi (near present-day Asakusa). As the ship now passed Chinu Bay, all the passengers grew agitated and pointed at a section of the sky. Far to the west, the hills of Toshima-ga-oka and Iikura (the elevated areas near what would become Shiba Park) stretched like a peninsula’s shadow, and in that direction, Fuji’s eruptive plume stood clearly visible. “Oh—the western sky! That’s an immense black smoke,” Sadamori said. “There have been rumors these past days about Fuji erupting—could that be its smoke? It looks almost like ash mimicking snow clouds.”

Sadamori, cup in one hand, looked up at the strange visage of the celestial phenomenon and spoke． His two attendants too, “Look． Even this far out at sea． Something like mist seems to be settling over these waters．”

“Oh! …Ash is even falling onto the sake in my cup. In this state, Sagami and Musashi may well end up buried in ash.”

“Surely not…” he laughed. “Fuji’s eruptions are nothing new. Once it spews all it can spew and burns all it can burn, it will die down on its own.” Taira no Sadamori peered into his cup and drank it down in one gulp. And now, he felt his own casually spoken words had unconsciously prophesied the fierce might of Masakado, who was unleashing great chaos across the Jōsō Plain.

"...That's right. There's no need to panic." Chewing his rice, he told himself. To be honest, he had been panicking because Masakado was proving more unyielding than anticipated, and supporters for him kept emerging in seemingly endless numbers. When he went up to the capital, he busied himself with political maneuvers, and when he returned to Hitachi, he went around persuading the district governors of various provinces and the officials of the provincial government offices, (The central government has already recognized Masakado’s crimes and issued an order for his pursuit and capture.—“The neighboring provinces shall cooperate to subjugate him”—and the official decrees should have reached each region by now.) (Why do they not send troops, establish a base at Tsukuba, and assist Lord Yoshikane?)

and he was visiting Hitachi, Shimotsuke, Kazusa, Awa, Musashi, and others to press them into compliance. Since summer—the battles between Masakado and Yoshikane had been truly fierce, yet on the battlefield, even Sadamori’s name had never been heard. He himself had undoubtedly been consciously avoiding taking a prominent position. He was a rationalist, the polar opposite of Masakado, and despite his youth, more cunning than seasoned schemers like Yoshimasa and Yoshikane. It seemed he had Yoshikane handle the barbaric brawls and killings while skillfully obscuring his own involvement.

But lately, even he—who should have been wise—had become somewhat flustered. Even the hard-won "Official Decree" showed no sign of its authority being enforced. The provincial governors and district governors of various provinces were all adopting a bystander’s stance. For Sadamori, this could not be taken calmly.

——Before long.

The ship entered Shibasaki Inlet. When he disembarked from the ship, before him— “Ah, the weather is fine, and you’ve arrived quite early.” And promptly leading horses with a group of retainers, there was a person who had come to welcome Sadamori. It was Musashi no Suke Tsunemoto.

Bewildered Officials and a Sick Nation

Tsunemoto was the newly appointed Assistant Governor who had come from the capital to this Musashi Province around autumn.

The former Musashi no Suke, Fujiwara no Koremoto, had been transferred to Hitachi, so he had been appointed as his successor—through Sadamori’s arrangements—and had come to take up the post. “You must be tired. In any case, please stay at my Shibuya residence tonight.”

“I’ll accept your kindness. Has the document I sent ahead reached your hands yet?” “I’ve reviewed it. As for dispatching troops… we have been consulting repeatedly with Lord Governor.”

And Tsunemoto evaded the question, "I will explain the particulars to you later. Local affairs, you know—once you actually settle in the provinces, they turn out to be quite beyond what you imagined. In the six months since taking up my post, I’ve only just come to fully grasp how difficult it truly is." he lined up the horses and let out a sigh. The retainers lit torches along the way. And it was already late at night when they arrived at Tsunemoto’s residence in Shibuya Mountain. Taira no Sadamori overslept. The next day, when he got up, guests had already arrived at the main hall of the mansion.

“Are you awake? Lord Governor has been here since early morning and is waiting in the guest hall.” Having been introduced by his host Tsunemoto, Taira no Sadamori soon faced that person in the guest hall. “—This is Musashi Acting Governor Kiyoyari Ō.” With that, he introduced himself. Sadamori, too, with the demeanor of a capital man, “I am Assistant Master of the Right Stables Sadamori. I have long been aware of your esteemed name, even within the halls of the Grand Council of State.” he offered a greeting that, even in its brevity, immediately pleased the other party.

A banquet commenced. When welcoming officials from the capital, holding a banquet was an unavoidable custom of provincial officials from this era. However, the man called Kiyoyari Ō bore a haughty countenance riddled with peculiarities. He was the crude authoritarian type who habitually looked down on powerless provincials as if they were vermin—a truth that became evident after merely sharing a few drinks. (An unpleasant man.) Perhaps because Sadamori thought this way, Kiyoyari Ō, on his part,

(What an unpleasant bastard. Putting on airs from the capital,) Kiyoyari Ō seemed to be watching him with such thoughts. However, the newly appointed Tsunemoto was someone Sadamori had recommended and served as Kiyoyari Ō's deputy. Thus, Sadamori—for Tsunemoto's sake—offered, "I humbly request your continued guidance," ingratiating himself insincerely. Afterward, he pressed them: "Regarding this province's continued lack of troop mobilization—should any action contradict the official decree's command, there may be severe repercussions after the rebellion. What are your lordships' intentions?"

As this was done in the name of the Grand Council of State, Taira no Sadamori pressed them quite forcefully to ascertain their true intentions. “No—it is not that we disregard the imperial command at all, but…” “Well, you may hear the particulars from Tsunemoto.” With that, Kiyoyari Ō jerked his chin toward his deputy and feigned indifference. Tsunemoto proceeded to explain the circumstances. —The reason was thus: Though newly appointed himself, Kiyoyari Ō had also been commissioned as “Acting Governor” about a year prior and come to this Musashi Province as its local administrator.

However.

In this Musashi Province—descendants of Mushashi no Kuninomiyatsuko—there existed an indigenous people who were a local clan deeply rooted in the land. Adachi District Provisional Deputy Administrator—a man named Musashi no Takeshiba. This man, toward the newly appointed “Acting Governors” and “Deputy Governors,” (I do not accept.)

He rejected them outright and did not permit even the slightest involvement in tax affairs or any other administrative matters.

Takeshiba's argument went like this. "My administrative achievements and merits in governing the people were not accomplished overnight. For generations, we have contributed to this region. Yet despite having no shortcomings and never neglecting tribute payments or tax collection—when those ignorant outsiders came swaggering in with their central government appointments of 'Acting Governors' and 'Deputy Governors'—how could we ever entrust Musashi Province to such bastards? There are limits to how much this Takeshiba can be trampled upon!"

Takeshiba was the district administrator. Kiyoyari Ō, as Acting Governor, served as deputy provincial governor and held a higher position than the district administrator. That too seemed to rankle him. In any case, Musashi no Takeshiba persisted in absolutely rejecting the newly appointed "Acting Governor" and "Deputy Governor" by raising various complaints. Given these actual circumstances, Tsunemoto’s explanation was that implementing a troop dispatch by order of the official decree remained utterly unthinkable at present. “Ah… So that’s the reason.”

Taira no Sadamori gave a tentative nod. That said, he did not even feel exasperated at what should have been an unthinkable matter.

From the perspective of later state formations, such acts would have been seen as astonishing rebellion against the state and sheer disorder—yet this was not limited to Musashi Province alone, for the more remote a region was, the less the central government’s decrees were enforced. If a government decree suited their interests, they accepted it; if it disadvantaged them, they ignored or resisted it. All the more so, a mere Grand Council of State decree held no authority whatsoever for those long rooted in provincial lands. They might tolerate appointees who didn’t threaten their positions, but they would never easily submit to these heaven-sent superiors descending upon them with bureaucratic mandates.

The Crater Era “Truly, Takeshiba is utterly outrageous. He ignores imperial commands and pays absolutely no heed to central government decrees.” Tsunemoto, indignant, explained the circumstances as though he had been waiting for Sadamori to arrive in this region.

Taira no Sadamori was troubled by the judgment.

"My objective was to urge the dispatch of troops to subdue Masakado," he thought. He had no intention of diving into such disputes and hearing their appeals. "How about reporting the details to the central government and having them take measures against Takeshiba?" he proposed. "Either have them sternly relay orders to Takeshiba again under the Sekkan-ke's esteemed name, or bring the matter before the imperial council." "No—that won't work," Tsunemoto countered. "We've repeated such procedures countless times. Yet neither the Imperial Court nor Grand Council of State would issue any judgment—in fact, they seemed to fear Takeshiba instead. The reason is—with Fujiwara no Sumitomo's pirates causing frequent disturbances in Iyo's southern seas, and Masakado's associates stirring up trouble across the Bandō Plain—the court nobles likely hesitate to provoke further conflict in Musashi."

“Indeed, the pirates in the southern seas grow more ferocious each year.” “Yet must we two, bearing official appointments, return empty-handed to the capital?” “Is there no way to reach compromise with Adachi Takeshiba?” “We humbled ourselves and tried repeatedly—even when we approached Fuchū’s provincial office, his soldiers barred our entry completely. There remains no path for negotiation.” “Our final recourse—honoring our Grand Council appointment—is to crush Takeshiba by force once and for all.”

“What about our military strength? If we have sufficient power to overwhelm him…” “That has a sufficient chance of victory.” Kiyoyari Ō spoke up there for the first time—explaining that since there was no other way, he had secretly been preparing military force for some time now. “However, if word spreads that we’ve used military force recklessly, there’s a risk we’ll instead be branded as rioters. If you, Lord Sadamori, would stand as a witness to our just cause before the central government, then let us resolve to dispose of Takeshiba once and for all.—And we will certainly cooperate in the military campaign to subjugate Masakado.”

“I see... So that’s your proposal.” “No—that’s only reasonable.” “Very well.” “Proceed.” “Regarding the government authorities and Sekkan-ke, I shall stand as witness and submit a full report when visiting the capital.” He gave his pledge.

At the same time, once that dispute was settled, he also secured a firm pledge that Musashi's troops would without fail cooperate in subduing Masakado.

Even for Taira no Sadamori, while invoking the official decree, if the provinces—as if colluding—failed to dispatch a single soldier in response to that government order, it would not only disgrace him before the central authorities but also endanger his own position. To that end, he would have Tsunemoto—to whom he was somewhat indebted—assist and allow Kiyoyari Ō to undertake such a level of risk. To ensure the troop dispatch would materialize, he even concluded that purging the dissenting elements within their ranks was something to be hastened.

Kiyoyari Ō and Tsunemoto “No—with this, we too have resolved to act against Takeshiba.” “Given that we have heard Lord Sadamori will stand as witness before the authorities—” With that, they suddenly brightened and began drinking. For several days, Sadamori stayed at the Shibuya residence and participated in their secret discussions. During that time, they had advanced a plan—to raid Takeshiba’s mansion, occupy the provincial office, and imprison him. However, Sadamori still intended to tour Shimotsuke and Kōzuke provinces and meet Tawara no Tōta Hidesato of Tanuma afterward. Taking his two retainers Ushihama Chūta and Nagata Masaki, he departed from Shibuya Mountain onto the Tōsandō several days later.

Since then, his whereabouts had once again become unknown, and nothing had been heard of him. Taira no Sadamori’s personality and actions were, without exception, of a yin nature—like that of a planet.

However, even during this time, turmoil had arisen in Shimōsa's fields centered around Masakado, and furthermore, immediately after Sadamori's departure, the planned disturbances at Musashi Provincial Office had surfaced.

The eruption of Mount Fuji may have been propagating some frenzied effect—rumbling and reverberating—throughout the earth’s surface and even into the very physiology of those living upon it.

Clash in Musashino

The estate of Adachi District Vice-Governor Takeshiba was located on an elevated area of Shiba that would later be called Mita Hijirizaka in the Edo period.

In old documents, Takeshiba was also written as Takeshiba Village, and the highlands in that area were washed by the waves of the Tokai Sea crashing right below the steep cliffs. They called the shore Takeshiba Bay; Musashi no Daijō Takeshiba—a powerful local clan since the time of Muzashi no Kunitsukuri—had built a grand mansion atop a hill commanding a fine view.

At that time.

From this vantage point, if one were to take a bird's-eye view of the entire province of Musashi under his governance— First, it could be considered that the low-lying areas of present-day Tokyo were almost entirely sea. The primeval forests of Asakusa, Nezu, and Hongō; a robust great river discharging from between the dense woods of the highlands into the sea; and along that riverside, here and there, sandbars formed naturally by accumulated sediment would have been overgrown with reeds and rushes in all directions. (Those sandbars, marshes, and natural mudflats are what would later become Chiyoda Ward, Chūō Ward, and other areas.)

Musashi was said to have twenty-two districts in the Edo period, but in the medieval period, it was divided into ten districts. And within this, Naka-Musashi had its northern part called Toshima District and its southern part known as Ebara District, with the Akabane River in Shiba serving as their boundary.

When viewed from a historical perspective, Takeshiba's mansion was undoubtedly situated in a strategically vital position convenient for managing the manors under his jurisdiction at that time.

And from time to time, he would travel from here to the provincial office in Fuchū, Tama. "Lately, it seems Taira no Sadamori of the Right Horse Keepers has come from the capital and lodges at Tsunemoto's residence. Perhaps you should pay him a visit." Takeshiba's retainer had heard rumors at the market and, conveying them to his master, made that recommendation. "Don't talk nonsense! Since when do I go calling on others?" Takeshiba, having appointed himself lord of Musashi Province,

“Even if some Right Horse Keeper comes here, there’s no reason for me to go bow and scrape to pay my respects. If he has business, let him come here himself.”

With that, he paid almost no attention. However, since it still weighed on his mind, he secretly summoned the spies he had embedded and made them investigate. It appeared that during Sadamori’s stay, Kiyoyari Ō had joined in as well—secret councils were frequently convened, and military preparations were being stealthily advanced.

"...What in the world?" By the time Takeshiba grew wary, it was already too late. One day at dawn, approximately two thousand soldiers launched a surprise attack here.

Takeshiba had made no preparations to counterattack. He left ancestral heirlooms and wealth entirely in his mansion, sent his wife and children away by boat from the shore, took a handful of retainers with him, followed the Tama Riverbed along the hills to escape to Chōfu, and upon confirming no disturbance at Fuchū Provincial Office, fled there. However, by the very next day, word came that Kiyoyari Ō and Tsunemoto’s troops were attacking even Fuchū—

“Very well.” “Barricade ourselves in the provincial office and fight to the end!” He abruptly began military preparations, but the provincial office’s local officials had long detested his arrogance, and the people of the territory had also harbored resentment toward Takeshiba for years—thus, there was no one willing to stand with him against the crisis. “Ah, they’re a useless lot.” “Just you wait and see!”

With those parting words and no other choice, Takeshiba once again escaped from that place. And he concealed himself in the far northwestern part of Tama—around Sayama. In Sayama there seems to have been his villa.

Prince Kiyoyari and Tsunemoto's show of force succeeded. The two confiscated Takeshiba's mansion assets, reigned over the provincial office, issued decrees, and took up new administrative duties in Takeshiba's stead. "Hmph! As if they'd ever hand it over!" Takeshiba, with no outlet for his frustration, thought of revenge day and night. Within the provincial office, there were still many minor officials who played both sides yet maintained some inclination toward him.

He manipulated them to neglect internal administration while plotting to cause disruption from outside through rumors, arson, and various means of spreading unrest. Takeshiba’s unconventional strategy also succeeded. In the end, the provincial office fell into a beehive-like state, and Sadamori’s planned expedition to Tsukuba—which was now not even hoped for—descended into utter chaos. They clashed and wounded one another.

At the stockade at the foot of Mount Tsukuba, Taira no Yoshikane of Hatori had gathered his clan members and confronted Masakado at the Ishii Stockade throughout that winter. “There’s been no word at all—what in the world has happened to Sadamori?” What he awaited was reinforcements from the provinces—the effect of the official decree issued through Sadamori’s scheming. Earlier, having encountered Masakado’s vengeance, he had fled into Mount Yutabukuro and narrowly escaped his assault, but when he returned, Hatori’s mansion—along with all the private homes in the vicinity and even the granaries—had turned into a scorched plain overnight.

Moreover, around this time, Yoshimasa of Mimori—his trusted ally—had died of illness. This, too, was a tremendous psychological blow. "The official decree was issued, but none of the provinces are sending troops, and Sadamori isn’t taking command at the front either." "Thus, I alone have become the target of Masakado’s enmity." "When I think about it... Governor Kunika, who was the original instigator, had died; Minamoto no Mamoru had passed away; his sons Suke, Takashi, and Shigeru had all successively succumbed in battle; and now Yoshimasa had also died of illness." "Though it is the misfortune of those who survive... what in the world will become of inheriting such a great conflict all by myself?"

Yoshikane was already well into old age. Moreover, though his faith was neither deep nor steadfast, as a man who had originally held some devotion to Buddhism—enough to have even built a temple in this region—he could not help but perceive the impermanence of all things and think this way. “Sadamori is truly outrageous.—By all rights, shouldn’t Sadamori himself be the one to take the front lines?” Having come to realize this irrationality, he had at last also noticed Right Horse Keeper Sadamori’s cunningly clever maneuvering.

However, even if he realized this now, it was already too late. His subordinates had invaded Masakado’s Toyoda Village, burning down everything from granaries and imperial kitchens to temple towns and private homes. In the end, they even tracked down Masakado’s beloved wife and children—whom he cherished as his own life—and slaughtered them all. All of this stood as Yoshikane’s doing, incurring Masakado’s lifelong hatred. Even if one were now to grow weary of kin drenched in blood and territories ravaged in strife, Masakado had no reason to sheathe his spear and stand down.

Moreover, after Masakado withdrew to Ishii, his kinsmen and companions who had come down from Yutabukuro Mountain to the village ground their teeth together, “Just you watch! This time, we’ll make them foam from our side!”

And so, they prepared for renewed action with unwavering diligence. Indeed, if one were to repeatedly take revenge—repaying tooth with tooth—humanity’s descent into bestiality and cruel methods would know no bounds. In response to revenge, they returned revenge, and against that revenge, they again contemplated revenge. At this juncture. Among the foot soldiers of Masakado’s faction was a retainer named Koharumaru, who had risen from being a page. He was originally the young son of a farmer near Mimori. Yoshikane’s retainer Kagehisa enticed Koharumaru, offered him benefits, and had him spy inside Ishii Stockade.

“The stockade is weakly defended. There’s no significant military strength. On the thirtieth day of the year’s end, they’ll deliver a thousand bales of charcoal to the storehouse. If you mix Tsukuba forces among the horse handlers and farmers entering then, coordinating attacks from both inside and out, you’ll break through without difficulty.” Koharumaru, blinded by greed, colluded with the Hatori faction and ultimately became the agent executing this scheme. His ingenious plan was employed.

Because of this, on the evening when the deed was carried out, the Ishii Stockade caught fire from the charcoal storehouse and found itself simultaneously surrounded by collaborators from within and Tsukuba forces launching a surprise attack from without—truly teetering on the brink of crisis for a time. However, Masakado was no longer the beriberi patient he had been from summer through autumn that year. His health had now recovered, and ever since losing both his wife and children and his stronghold in Toyoda, he burned with single-minded vengeance like a demon.

“Curse you, Yoshikane!” Such was his resolve. Though momentarily thrown into disarray, the retainers in the camp—alongside his brothers—swiftly united and confronted them. They fought fiercely, annihilated the attacking enemies, and instead inflicted heavy losses on Yoshikane’s Tsukuba forces, magnificently driving them back. “The traitor is Koharumaru.” Nashimaru, a comrade who knew him well, immediately reported this to Masakado afterward. “Even though I had looked after you since you were a child, you hateful brat!”

Masakado ordered his brother Shirō Masahira to immediately capture him, behead him, and deliberately have the head delivered to Taira no Yoshikane of Hatori. Koharumaru had an elderly mother. She came to Hatori Stockade to retrieve her son’s head and, in front of Yoshikane, embraced it and wailed bitterly.

“Who did this to my son?!” “Who did this to my child… my child!” …,” she wailed, but as her weeping deepened, she suddenly seemed to go mad. Clutching the hair at the base of her son’s severed head, she staggered to her feet with a terrifying visage and lurched toward Yoshikane— “It was you. “It must be you. “Give me back my child as he was!”

Suddenly, she hurled the severed head of her own child—which she had been clutching—at him. The head struck Yoshikane’s chest. And then, with a heavy thud, it fell onto his knees and settled there. Yoshikane developed a fever from that night onward. In the end, he was unable to rise from his sickbed even throughout New Year’s. ……If I recover… I want to take monastic vows.

The fact that he uttered such words was likely evidence of his failing spirit. When February arrived, his illness worsened further, and it seemed he might even follow Yoshimasa to the grave. “We must now bring Lord Right Horse Keeper Sadamori to the fore without fail. The root issue lies in that man’s strange insistence on lurking in shadows—it’s why the surrounding provinces refuse to ally with us.”

Yoshikane also had capable sons. Kimimasa, Governor of Shimotsuke; Kimitō, Manor Steward of Awa; and others. And though not his sons, there were also powerful allies among Awa’s key officials, such as Hata no Kiyofumi. Adding senior retainers such as Kagehisa, Tsuneyuki, and Masatada to their discussions, after deliberations, they abruptly dispatched messengers in all directions to search for Sadamori’s whereabouts.

In Pursuit of the Serpent It was not only Yoshikane’s Hatori faction that had been searching for Sadamori’s whereabouts.

Masakado, too, divided his forces in all directions. “Ever since my granduncle Daijō Kunika—the one who’s been trying to eliminate me since I was a child in the capital—that white-faced scoundrel Sadamori has been after my life! That bastard’s my lifelong enemy! Find Sadamori!” he strictly ordered his subordinates.

he had strictly ordered his subordinates. His brothers too scoured every blade of grass across the Bandō Plain, desperately searching for his whereabouts with bloodshot eyes. They had gradually come to understand that he had crossed from Awa and Kazusa to Musashi, wandered through Ryōmō, and visited Tawara no Tōta Hidesato in Tanuma.

However, at Hidesato’s place, he had been refused assistance quite thoroughly, and rumors spread that he had left for parts unknown. That appeared to be the truth. Yet what followed remained unclear. There was absolutely no trace to be found. “If he has indeed returned to the capital again,” Masakado thought, “that could prove troublesome. Sooner or later, he’ll make his rounds to the regent and chancellor families—but he won’t be spreading anything favorable about us. If that’s how it stands, then I too must find some way to take action in the capital—”

And so, Masakado was tormented by that alone. He knew the capital. Having spent over a decade living among the capital's people, he was someone who—as a provincial man—had come to know thoroughly what the regent and chancellor families truly were and how the imperial court operated. Precisely because of this, he found himself being overly cautious toward the central government—uncharacteristic for a provincial warlord. Tengyō 1 [938 CE], end of February—the mountains and fields were coming into the height of spring.

“Brother! We’ve discovered it! Sadamori’s whereabouts—” The two brothers, Masahira and Masafumi, came rushing into Ishii Stockade to deliver their report. “He had been hiding at the residence of Fujiwara no Koremoto—his sister’s husband in Hitachi. Last night, he suddenly departed under guard of some forty retainers, crossed the mountains via Tōsandō road over Usui Pass, and headed back to the capital—if we give chase now, we’ll surely overtake them!”

“What? He crossed Usui Pass and headed for the capital?” “Undoubtedly, this comes from someone who saw it with their own eyes. If we let this moment slip, there’ll be no other chance to take him alive.”

“Got him!” Masakado shouted, clapping his hands. “Heaven’s gift.” “Sadamori’s luck has run out.” “Let’s pursue them right away!”

Donning armor, shouldering arrows, and leading a horse, Masakado stood in the square and exulted.

The retainers present numbered less than a hundred. “Let the stockade be left undefended. Follow me—every last one of you!” Kicking up a cloud of dust, they departed from the stockade gate on that day. Though it was now a temporary mansion without his beloved child or wife, his resolve was to not let even a single Sadamori escape—even were he to abandon this place to the Hatori enemy. From this fervor alone, one could perceive how he had suppressed his inner rage against Sadamori—that cunning and insidious enemy—not merely in recent days but indeed since his youth when serving in the capital; and how he had harbored his fury through recent years, secretly awaiting this very opportunity.

Chikuma River

The plateau in February was still a land of lingering snow. Spring was visible only in the young grass at their feet, but in the distant mountain ranges—whether Yatsugatake or the Azuma Mountains—there was not a single peak free of snow.

“What? Masakado is pursuing us?”

Even upon hearing this, Uma no Jo Sadamori did not truly believe it at first. However, along the way, he had heard rumors multiple times that Masakado, Masayori, Masafumi, and their forces had camped within the precincts of Usui Gongen last night; moreover, at Saku no Maki as well, now— (It appeared that over a hundred horsemen were frantically hunting and searching around the Saku Highlands and Kōzuke area that day.)

Having now heard this from the herdsmen there, there was no longer any room for doubt. “Maki. What are we to do?”

Sadamori turned around from atop his horse. Nagata Maki, Ushihama Chūta, and their retainers numbered barely forty horsemen. "If they catch up to us, we're finished. That said—on this Shinano road, we either cross the mountains to Suwa or ford the Chikuma River and race through Sarasina and Mizunouchi toward Echigo... What's your counsel, Chūta?" "Well." "If only the mountains weren't snowed in..." Maki and Chūta wore expressions as dark as travelers who had journeyed past nightfall. The mere mention of Masakado's name drained the courage from their hearts. Their meager forces still wore travel clothes from their quiet flight from Hitachi toward the capital. There was nothing left but to flee as far as their legs could carry them.

Even Sadamori did not possess extraordinary courage. Maki and Chūta’s way of thinking was precisely Sadamori’s prudent judgment. “Then let us make straight for Zenkōji Plain at full speed.” “We’ll decide the rest once we find somewhere to hide tonight.”

The party of approximately forty horsemen and foot soldiers had been hurrying along the road from Komoro to the vicinity of Kōzuke Province’s provincial capital (near Ueda) on this day. And just as they reached the banks of the Chikuma River, a cluster of men and horses centered around what appeared to be a ferry hut spotted them. Suddenly nocking arrows to bows, leveling spears and naginata, they began raising battle cries.

“Ah! Those look like Masakado’s Toyota soldiers!” “Still, they’re a small force.” “It must be a small squad that had gotten ahead and lain in wait. Before the rest of their forces arrive.” “That’s right. If only Masakado weren’t here, a small force like that…” Suddenly, Sadamori and his men also prepared for battle. Without any preparation of battle formations or reconnaissance, a fierce exchange of arrows suddenly erupted between both sides. Amidst fifteen or sixteen Toyota soldiers, the young mounted warrior commanding them was undoubtedly either Masayori or Masahira—Masakado’s younger brothers.

"The enemy falters—" shouted Sadamori, emboldened by their initial momentum. "Now we ford Chikuma! Masayori's troops are few—nothing to fear!" With this cry he charged foremost into shallows spraying water.

But. From about two chō upstream, a group of horsemen could be seen crossing to the opposite bank ahead, while from downstream as well, a dense troop of soldiers came surging menacingly toward them. “Ah! Damn it!—Masakado!” As Sadamori shouted this, he was so startled that he nearly fell from his horse into the river.

Mountain Wandering

The mountainous region apparently still had not yet melted the snow, and the waters of the Chikuma River were low. In the vast, expansive riverbed, only the undulations of water currents resembling arteries and veins could be seen.

Masakado's forces were divided into three locations. For Masakado, there had likely never been a day that brought him such gratification as this one. Sadamori was already a fish caught in the net. All that remained was to tighten the net and seize them by hand.

However, even Sadamori was not such a coward as to idly await falling into enemy hands now that things had come to this.

“Damn it!”

He had once let out a cry of despair, but even if they numbered less than half the enemy's forces, he still had forty retainers with him. He reconsidered—if this many men resolved to die... In battle, he relied more on wisdom than bravery.

“Fight from that ferry hut,” Sadamori commanded. “Use the hut’s shade and willows as shields—don’t come out recklessly. Just shoot arrows from cover!” On a battlefield with no cover, this strategy was undoubtedly advantageous. However, Masakado’s forces were soldiers who had come prepared for battle, while Sadamori and his men still wore travel attire. Moreover, above all else, their supply of arrows was limited.

Naturally, their arrows began to run out. Judging the moment ripe, Masakado’s soldiers closed in around them, centering on the ferry hut. Masakado, Masayori, Masafumi, and Masahira—the brothers—gathered their steeds, “Sadamori! Come out!” “Come out!” he called out. “Ho—!” With that cry, someone came spurring a fierce horse out from behind the hut. Believing it to be Sadamori, Masakado— “Take them alive, take them alive—” he cautioned his brothers. That rider was quite valiant. Many were wounded on his account.

Indeed, not only here—the clashing and brawling echoed like the roars of wild beast packs. Someone set fire to the hut. The flames and black smoke fanned both sides' bloodlust. In the end, victory went to the stronger side. Sadamori's retainers who had slipped through their fingers scattered toward the mountains like spiderlings. Masakado, eyes bloodshot from battle rage, surveyed the enemy corpses strewn about, "Masayori! Masahira!...What of Sadamori?" "...What became of Sadamori?" he demanded, turning toward his brothers. "What a waste," Masayori answered as he urged his horse nearer. "I meant to take him alive—to drag him back to our lands in chains—but..."

"What?" "Did you let him escape?" "No—he took his own life."

“He committed suicide…” Masakado trailed off with a desolate sigh, “A detestable bastard, but he knew shame at least. If he took his own life, there’s naught to be done. Masayori.” “Yes, my lord!” “Retrieve the head.” “Understood.” Masayori leapt from his saddle. At that moment, Masakado and all Toyoda’s commanders and soldiers stood solemnly readying victory chants in their hearts.

However, in the very next moment, an entirely unforeseen event occurred. “Ah! Th-this… this isn’t Sadamori!” When Masayori lifted the head and spoke, those around him also began to clamor. “He’s wearing Sadamori’s tachi and armor, but this is Nagata Maki—one of Sadamori’s retainers. Nagata Maki had stood as a substitute and acted like Sadamori.” “Then… what of the real Sadamori?”

Tears began to well up in Masakado’s eyes.

Had he slipped away and gotten lost among his accompanying retainers? Or…?

When he tried to recall the aftermath of the chaotic battle—when the hut belched black smoke—an old ferryman and several peasants who had been inside stumbled and scrambled their way out. Perhaps he had changed his appearance among them.

No, no—he couldn't believe there had been such an opening. Or perhaps he had become a corpse and was lying dead somewhere else entirely.

Masayori, Masahira, and the others, unable to bear the sight of their elder brother’s dazed face, began inspecting each enemy corpse scattered around them one by one. But they soon realized the futility of their efforts. “What a disappointment. But this is no time for despair… Now we must split up and search—no matter where Sadamori may be hiding, how can we leave him be without finding him out?” Masakado turned pale and issued orders to his brothers. Over a hundred men divided into eight groups and set out to search—each taking their own path through villages, field edges, mountain regions, and beyond.

But that day ended without any leads. The next day and the day after that, they combed through mountain villages and every possible road. In such circumstances, their large numbers ironically became a disadvantage. Every move they made must have been instantly marked by the fugitives. Moreover, when the local magistrate heard it was "likely forces under Shimōsa no Masakado," he showed no active interference but maintained frosty indifference. Rather, covert protection flowed toward Sadamori - bearer of the Right Horse Keeper title with ties to both central authorities and court nobles. Naturally, Sadamori must have slipped through danger by hiding within that faction's networks.

Even so, Sadamori seemed to have gone through tremendous hardship. He had probably managed to escape alone along the Kiso Road and eventually reached the capital. Promptly submitting his notice of return to the capital together with the documents, he lodged a formal complaint regarding Masakado's violent acts to the Grand Council of State. In a section of that appeal document, he himself wrote of the Chikuma River incident as follows. Resolved to appeal in the capital, I departed via the Tōsandō in early February. Masakado, having plotted a scheme and learned of my journey to the capital, pursued me with over a hundred light horsemen like a swift wind. On the 29th day, when I passed through Shinano Kōri Kokubunji Temple, Masakado had already positioned himself along the Chikuma River and surrounded us from front and rear. Though we were outnumbered and suffered a great defeat, I—by divine aid—made the mountains my home, used firewood as my pillow, and after many hardships, finally managed to return to the capital…

Public Unrest

During this year (Tengyō 1), a monk named Kūya appeared in Kyoto, standing at crossroads, chanting invocations, encouraging others to chant them, and began preaching sermons that chanting invocations led directly to the Pure Land. Kūya traveled through various provinces, visiting the poor, aiding the sick, building bridges, repairing roads, and excelling in geomancy. It was said that no matter how water-scarce a place might be, whenever Kūya went there and dug a well, water would spring forth from it. In the capital as well, there were several wells that Kūya dug, and the townspeople named these wells “Amida’s Well.”

In any case, he was a friend and teacher to the commonest of common people. Therefore, when the townspeople called him, “the Market’s Holy Man” they affectionately called him by this name. No—as if this man embodied their very strength, when Kūya stood at the night crossroads, they all gathered around him. And they listened to the sermon, chanted the nenbutsu in unison, then—following the rhythm of the quietly struck bell that someone began—the ring of the crowd circled around the Market’s Holy Man as if dancing.

Kūya’s nenbutsu—Kūya’s dance—

Spring stars stained the capital’s sky with an eerie light. When such phenomena arose among the populace, it was a sign that some unease lurked within them—the circles of Kūya’s dance, the rhythm of nenbutsu chants and gongs spoke of this truth. “Today as well, a western courier entered the Grand Council’s gate.” “No—yesterday too.” “Sumitomo’s faction from Iyo—they say they’re plundering not just the Nankai region, but lately they’ve even reached Awaji and Tsu no Umi.”

“What on earth are the government’s punitive forces even doing?” Such anxious whispers were constantly heard. These past few years, the central government had been completely at a loss in dealing with the pirate suppression of Sumitomo’s faction. Ono no Koretomo and Ki no Yoshihito may have received imperial edicts countless times and headed south through the Seto Inland Sea to subjugate Sumitomo’s band of pirates, but the people of the capital never once witnessed a triumphant army return. “The further they pursue, the more they scatter like sea foam!”

Without anyone needing to say it, the defeats became known. In the end, even when conscripting soldiers, there were no able-bodied men who would respond—such was the situation. The most egregious example of this could be seen in an entry from the Grand Council’s journal dated Jōhei 6, Third Month—just two years prior if counting from Tengyō 1— The pirates of Nankai, using over a thousand ships, plundered the government’s tribute goods, rendering all sea routes throughout Saikai completely impassable.

This could be seen in an entry from the Grand Council's journal. It was by no means rare for government ships laden with tribute goods to be targeted by pirates. In extreme cases, entire vessels would be carried off to remote islands, and officials—stripped naked—would flee back to the capital months later in tales so outlandish they seemed lies. The realm's turmoil extended beyond Sumitomo's pirate faction. In San'yō and Hokuriku regions, endless conflicts between provincial governors and locals were reported. Most alarming to court nobles came a shocking dispatch: subjugated Emishi ("recently assimilated northerners") in Dewa Province had stormed and burned the governor's Akita Castle stronghold. Moreover, the capital's notorious arson cases and marauding bandit gangs became nightly occurrences—long since stripped of any novelty.

Such was the capital. Amidst this pervasive anxiety gripping both high and low, Right Horse Keeper Sadamori—who had made mountains his home, used firewood as a pillow, and after many hardships finally managed to return to the capital—fled back from Kantō in such a state,

“What’s happening here?” Thus it was not unreasonable for the ministers and councilors—ignorant of remote affairs—to place great weight on his appeal document. The document framed all disturbances in Kantō as arising from Masakado’s ambition and contempt for central authority—employing hyperbolic language that “manors lie desolate, farmers wail and wander scorched earth, these atrocities surpassing even demonic deeds”—thus amplifying Masakado’s anti-government conduct through exaggeration of minor incidents and outright fabrications.

“We cannot simply disregard this.” The Grand Council took up the appeal. However, in previous years when Masakado had journeyed to the capital and confronted Sadamori in their legal dispute, not only had the court ruled Masakado’s claims valid with a verdict of “no guilt lies with him,” but it had also issued a formal ruling to Sadamori declaring that “the rice fields and territories inherited by Masakado from his father must be immediately restored to his possession.” In essence, the official judgment at that time had recognized Masakado’s legitimacy while dismissing Sadamori’s appeal as unjust.

Now, once again taking up Sadamori's appeal—despite his prior defeat—and recklessly branding Masakado as an imperial criminal—how could this be justified? Wasn't this somewhat questionable? Such reasonable arguments were being voiced by some among the court nobles. "At the very least," came the suggestion, "we should summon Sadamori and hear directly from his own mouth the true state of affairs in Kantō." The Grand Council's opinion aligned with this proposal. That very day, Taira no Sadamori appeared in formal court robes, prostrating himself in the Southern Court of the imperial compound.

In the hall, high-ranking officials from the Three Lords downward sat in ordered rows, arrayed to hear from his mouth the true state of affairs in the Eastern Provinces. Among them could be seen the figures of Grand Minister Tadahira's sons—Major Counselor Saneyori and Provisional Middle Counselor Morosuke—the former Left Minister now reduced to parenthetical mention. Taira no Sadamori gazed upward from the courtyard below. (They're here... They're truly present...) He secretly felt confidence swell within. Provisional Middle Counselor Morosuke had often heard from Shigemori that his younger brother had long served a master, and that Saneyori himself held favorable regard toward him.

“Is this appeal document exactly as written here?” “Regarding Masakado—the Right Horse Keeper has judged him a rebel. Does this assessment hold without discrepancy?”

Saneyori asked. "There is no discrepancy."

Taira no Sadamori answered calmly and clearly. In such situations, wielding clever rhetoric at will was something Sadamori considered his greatest strength. Moreover, that Saneyori himself was conducting the questioning—this he regarded as an unexpected blessing.

The Schemer's Schemes Sadamori’s explanation of local circumstances was, from start to finish, a skillful defense crafted entirely for his own benefit. At the same time, for Masakado, it had indelibly branded the impressions of “rebel” and “ruffian” into the minds of the court nobles. His words were refreshing; his principles were well-articulated; and above all, Sadamori’s attitude was deferential. It was also part of the court nobles’ psychology to feel an inexplicable goodwill toward such impressions.

“...I see.”

“So that’s how it was.” The court officials in the hall all affirmed Sadamori’s explanation. Saneyori finally asked. “But Sadamori.” “But Sadamori. Did you not already previously obtain the official decree to subjugate Masakado and carry that imperial edict down to the Eastern Provinces?” “That is correct.” “Why have you not apprehended Masakado by imperial edict?—It is said that for many months in the Eastern Provinces, none knew your whereabouts, thereby allowing Masakado to exercise his tyrannical power unchecked.”

“Regarding this matter, there is no excuse.” Taira no Sadamori obediently prostrated himself in the court garden and apologized for his guilt.

“However, this does not mean there was no reason for it. The cause lies in how my father Kunika, uncles Yoshimasa and Yoshikane, and even the entire family of Minamoto no Mamoru have nearly all been destroyed by Masakado.” “Therefore, now Masakado alone holds sway, and the neighboring provinces—fearing his retaliation—have lost all inclination to obey imperial edicts.” “All of this stems entirely from fear of Masakado.” “But isn’t the official edict precisely for eliminating that threat?” “Why did you not exert yourself?”

“Therefore, as for myself, I toured through Musashi, Shimotsuke, Hitachi, Awa, and Kazusa—visiting each province to urge compliance with the imperial command and persuade them to dispatch troops. However, as danger closed in around me, I had no choice but to take refuge for a time with my brother-in-law, Governor of Hitachi Tamemoto, to whom my sister is married.” “Is Masakado targeting you so relentlessly that you cannot even move about in society?” “He has sent assassins and spies to pursue this Sadamori and block all roads at every opportunity, leaving me in constant fear for my life.” “…Moreover, my defeated uncle Yoshikane of Hatori had his residence and territories completely burned by Masakado, until finally, overcome with grief and indignation, he collapsed upon his sickbed… helplessly…” Here, Sadamori’s voice grew clouded—"Helplessly… he recently succumbed to illness.” “Thus, at last our nine clans have perished, leaving none but myself, Sadamori.” “Now, rather than idly remaining thus in vain while endlessly lurking in foreign lands, I consulted with Tamemoto and secretly took the Eastern Mountain Route through Shinano Road, hurrying up to the capital for this re-appeal—such is the circumstance.”

“Hmm.” “The ordeal at Chikuma River occurred during that journey, did it not?” “Good grief—the ferocity of Masakado’s tenacity.” With a sigh, Saneyori concluded the interrogation.—Thus Taira no Sadamori withdrew shortly that day, but regarding the court’s reaction, he— “For now, success.”

He returned home alone, inwardly satisfied with how things had gone. And then, a few days later, he visited the private residence of Dainagon Saneyori and also called upon the mansion of Gonchūnagon Morosuke of Kujō, “Now in my homeland of the Eastern Provinces, even my ancestral home has been trampled by Masakado, leaving me in a precarious position of utter isolation without support.” He wove such statements into casual conversation, saying things calculated to win the sympathy of the younger Morosuke.

Though called young, Kujō Morosuke was thirty-two years old. The eldest brother, Saneyori, was already forty years old. Long ago, Fujiwara no Tadahira, whom Masakado had served, was already over sixty years old and held the prestigious position of Chancellor, but in practical terms he had withdrawn from political affairs. In the imperial court’s political councils, real power lay with his sons Saneyori and Morosuke. “Nay, do not worry about that. I have communicated my private intentions to your brother Shigemori.” “However, my father Lord Tadahira seems to retain some measure of pity for Masakado… Likely out of compassion for having once served our household as a lowly attendant… He does not readily consent to formally declaring him a rebel against the court.” “However, if there is no falsehood in your petition, time and facts will undoubtedly provide evidence.” “Wait a little longer for the time being.”

Morosuke encouraged Sadamori. What Sadamori sought from the authorities through his formal petitions and behind-the-scenes maneuvering was to definitively establish Masakado as an enemy of the court. However, were an imperial decree declaring him an enemy of the court to be issued, it would naturally require both the formal appointment of a General for Subjugating Rebels and the dispatch of government forces from the capital.

“Even if Sadamori’s appeal holds truth, branding one an enemy of the court remains a grave affair.” “Should Masakado—nursing suspicions—refuse capital summons despite our questioning demand, would it not be judicious to send interrogators to verify his true motives and actual state?” Morosuke had disclosed to Sadamori that the council’s deliberations now languished at this impasse.—For Sadamori, steering these deliberations’ resolution to his advantage through every available means became imperative.

Now, for him, whether the central government’s policy would open or close his lifelong fate was now the decisive turning point.

Nightly Streets

Throughout the summer of Tengyō 2, night after night, the streets of the capital were painted with an eerie nocturnal scene—voices chanting Kūya-style nenbutsu invocations, sounds of gongs struck in fervor, and figures dancing with uncanny intensity. “There will be war.” “There are signs of a great upheaval.” “A rainbow stands northwest of the palace gates.”

Amidst the nighttime crowds, there were those who blended in and whispered such things. Since ancient times, the capital's populace believed that when a rainbow stood in the palace forest, war would follow. By autumn, rumors began to spread more than the voices of Buddhist chants. “Sumitomo of Iyo and his numerous pirate forces have already sailed up the Seto Inland Sea and now lie in wait around Settsu and Naniwa no Tsu, biding their time.”

Moreover, there were also such individuals. “That’s because Masakado of the East lies in wait to march upon the capital.” “Sumitomo and Masakado forged a pact ten years past to set the world aright—they’ve even struck a silent covenant to split the realm between them.”

Who in the world was spreading such things? Was this what they meant when they said, “Heaven has no mouth, so it makes men speak”? “…Hey, brother.” “It’s almost as if someone is speaking on our behalf, isn’t it?” Taira no Sadamori went out one evening with his younger brother Shigemori to observe the crowds chanting Kūya’s nenbutsu in the streets. As they walked, they exchanged these words and smiled at each other.

...and they watched the ring of figures dancing as though possessed by dreams.

Then, a man in hunting attire—his face wrapped in cloth beneath an eboshi hat—suddenly drew near the brothers. “By any chance, might you be Lord Umanojō Sadamori?” he addressed him with presumptuous familiarity.

“?” “…” “That may be so—but who are you?” “Until a few years ago, I served at Lord Minamoto no Mamoru’s residence in the Eastern Provinces.”

“Oh. “So you were one of Lord Mamoru’s retainers?” “With all his clan having met their end, I wandered until coming to the capital—and now, encountering your lordship here unexpectedly, I cannot contain this nostalgia.” “Ah yes—if I might make inquiry of your lordship, I believe we could ascertain the truth of the matter.” “What would you ask me?” “No—it’s not merely myself alone. These figures dancing wildly in the shadows here, all the people of the capital—they must be wanting to know whether these rumors hold truth or falsehood.—Hoy there! All of you, gather round!”

While Sadamori stood stunned, the man raised both hands and roared: “Here stands Lord Umanojō Sadamori! When it comes to Eastern affairs, none knows better than he.… Why not ask him yourselves? Are these recent rumors true or false?” “What drivel is this?” “What concern are town rumors to Sadamori?” “But your lordship—did you not submit a lengthy appeal to the Grand Council this spring upon returning from the East, accusing Masakado of rebellion?”

“Hah! How does someone like *you* know such things?” “No matter how much we lowly commoners are treated as deaf, we pick up such things in time. You dismiss them as ‘rumors, rumors,’ but do you think those rumors are baseless? They come straight from court nobles. No—the instigator is your lordship. …Now answer to the crowd.”

Then, from within the crowd—though its source remained unseen—a voice came flying toward Sadamori with this question. "Is it merely a rumor that Masakado of the East has destroyed Kunika, the Governor of Hitachi, along with his uncles Yoshimasa and Yoshikane, and has suddenly begun to wield fierce power in that region?"

“……” “Is that a lie?” Sadamori found himself answering. “It is absolutely not a lie.” “So it’s true then?” “That’s right.” “Then gathering soldiers, burning down provinces, committing outrages—is that also true?” “Hmm…” “So Masakado is clearly a rebel?”

“Yes. Because he refuses to submit even to official decrees and imperial edicts.” “Before long, will he gather a great army and march on the capital?” “If left unchecked, this prairie fire of ambition—who knows how far it might rage?” “So it’s true after all—there’s collusion between him and the pirate Sumitomo as rumored?” “I don’t know. Such things…”

“Well, speak plainly,” “We commoners are worried.” “If they set fires from both sea and land and come swarming into the capital, we’ll never withstand it.” “Do not spread such baseless rumors.” Sadamori scolded the crowd and began turning with Shigemori toward the crossroads’ shadows to escape. Then figures emerged— “Hey! Stop right there! “—Who started that rumor?” “You bastard!” Stones clattered toward his shadow as footsteps scattered like spiderlings across the night streets.

“Bwahahaha!” “Ahahaha!” …No—tonight I made good use of that bastard. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen such an amusing spectacle!”

The same night.

As they turned through the alley lined with brothels near Rokujōbōmon, talking in brazenly loud voices, there was a group of four or five men who appeared to be delinquents. Among them, one of the older men indeed had a voice like Yasaka no Fushinin’s, as well as his characteristic sharp eyes.

Land Sake

The area around Rokujōbōmon had been a nest of brothels. Nearby stood markets alongside slum districts and entertainment quarters. Yasaka no Fushinin had made this area his base while toying with the authorities. They ran rampant through the capital, tearing at its order. Under his command now gathered more subordinates from his Yasaka-era network than ever before. They would manipulate the Imperial Police, spread groundless rumors, and unsettle the court nobles—only to disappear like soap bubbles back into the marketplaces and brothel slums when needed.

Around the end of summer. Fushinin received a message from his comrades at sea. (We’re holding the usual meeting at Eguchi, so come out to Eguchi.)

This was Sumitomo’s letter. On the day he was to depart, Fushinin gave strict orders to his subordinates Anahiko, Hokone, Hagetaka, and others. “There must be no slip-ups—keep vigilant watch on that Right Horse Keeper Sadamori’s gate.” “And his brother Shigemori’s residence too.” “Lately there’s been suspicious traffic between those curs and the authorities.” Fushinin then had Anahiko escort him downstream from Yodo to Settsu by skiff.

At a certain building in Eguchi, many friends had already gathered—the lineup included Fujiwara no Sumitomo, Ono no Ujihiko, Tsu Tokinari, Ki no Akishige, Ōtomo no Sora, Iyo no Michimasa, and others. They were the remnants of court nobles and disgraced provincial officials—men who had turned pirate in their official posts in Nankai and for years now had been rampaging through the Seto Inland Sea as if they owned it. Initially confined around Hiburishima Island in Iyo Province, their piratical experience grew through training while the authorities' incompetence became increasingly apparent. Lately they roamed freely from northeastern Shikoku to Awaji and Settsu's coastal waters, even venturing up to Eguchi, Kanishima, and Kōzaki at the Yodo River's mouth to drink land sake.

They were top patrons of Eguchi and Kanzaki. Compared to travelers and court nobles, their extravagance was on a completely different level. After holding secret meetings, they would mix with courtesans and indulge in wild revelry. And this wasn’t just for a day or half a night. They would continue non-stop for two or three days, indulging to the full in sake and women. Then, riding a fast boat from the vacant nest in Rokujō, Hagetaka came to deliver the news.

“Sadamori’s suddenly made for the Eastern Provinces.” “And at the Daijōkan—they’ve finally acknowledged Masakado as a rebel! Word is they’ve started deliberating about issuing a subjugation order and picking who’ll lead the campaign as commander-in-chief.”

Yasaka no Fushinin, upon hearing this, “This is serious! “I can’t just sit idle like this.” He suddenly panicked. “So in the capital, they’re already making noise about the subjugation army against Masakado setting out?” “No, it hasn’t come to that yet. “With those slovenly noble councils, it might fizzle out any day—but from what I’ve probed, it seems Fujiwara no Morosuke and Major Counselor Saneyori are pushing things that way.”

“Sadamori has gone down to the Eastern Provinces clutching that promise.” “That much is certain. But here’s the strange thing—there’s talk that nobody wants to take up the post of commander-in-chief for Masakado’s subjugation.” “After all, in the Eastern Provinces these days, just hearing Masakado’s name makes men tremble so badly they can’t stand against him... The court nobles have all heard as much.” “Seems Right Horse Keeper Sadamori tried too hard whipping up those nobles—his medicine ended up working too damn well.”

Yasaka no Fushinin immediately relayed everything exactly as it was to Sumitomo.

When Sumitomo heard this, he drained his full cup, “The time has ripened—a pre-celebration,” poured Fushinin a drink, “Then you too chase after Sadamori and head down to the Eastern Provinces.”

“Then you chase after Sadamori and head down to the Eastern Provinces,” he said. Naturally, Fushinin appeared disposed toward this course. Their group’s strategy was to have Masakado instigate a massive revolt in the Eastern Provinces while Sumitomo’s faction landed from the sea at Settsu, advancing toward full-scale revolutionary action.

Female Tribute “Masakado and I had a pact at Mount Hiei.” “Now the day has truly come to fulfill that oath.” “When you meet him, tell him this… Once we both march on the capital and achieve our ambitions, we should clasp hands atop that Mount Hiei of our memories.” “…Don’t forget to tell him Sumitomo said so.” Sumitomo was drawn to Masakado’s status as an imperial descendant. In other words, it was exploitable value. But he was no prudent strategist—he was, in essence, a kind of mad visionary. When he drank, that madman’s eyes would gleam with prismatic light, and his speech would take on a cadence like recited poetry.

To tell the truth, there was still anxiety in Yasaka no Fushinin’s heart. As for that "Mount Hiei pact," Masakado had never taken it seriously from the start. He had brought it up once before as well, but Masakado had looked as though he had almost forgotten about it, treating it as nothing more than a drunken remark made in passing.

But beyond such hollow words, destiny had seized Masakado precisely as he intended, pulling him toward his desired course. This became Fushinin's sole reliance. He couldn't exactly claim that Masakado was dismissing the Mount Hiei pact with a laugh when dealing with Sumitomo, yet...

“That’s dramatic,” “If it comes to that, it would be truly splendid.” “When I meet Masakado, I’ll relay that.” He replied.

“Hmm. “The Mount Hiei pact is my love. “I want to make it reality and achieve a dramatic reunion. “That’s right.” He was no longer the Takiguchi no Kojirō of old. “When you head east this time, take four or five courtesans from here—say they’re tribute from Sumitomo.”

“Ah… You mean Kusabue?” “Kusabue as well—but you should add about three more young and beautiful ones. If I’m thought to be stingy, it’ll damage my reputation.” Kusabue was a courtesan here. She was close to thirty but hadn’t lost her freshness, remaining so unaffected by the capital’s ways that one could call her naive. While lingering over wine, she happened to hear these companions talking about Masakado’s past and, (I know him well. If he’s in the Eastern Provinces, I want to go meet him. Yes—I’ll go no matter how far.)

And so, in her drunken state, she rambled on about how that Kojirō—back when he still served as a retainer at the Minister of the Right's residence in Koichijō—had been a "cherished new client" who frequented her quarters. Fushinin too had been one of those comrades in mischief from those days. Now that it was mentioned, he did recall—yes, such a thing had indeed happened. Sumitomo, finding that Kojirō had an old flame in this village and deeming it profoundly intriguing, resolved to surprise him by paying Kusabue's price to the brothel keeper and arranging for her to accompany Fushinin to the Eastern Provinces.

But that alone lacked interest. Even if Kusabue had been his lover from long ago, thirty was too old.—Since it had come to this, he would take three more young ones along. In the past it might have been different, but now that he—Sumitomo of Nankai—was offering tribute to Taira no Masakado of the Eastern Provinces, if people were to think (What…), it would damage his reputation—that’s how it had come to be. Customs such as female tributes, gifts of women, or viewing women as commodities were regarded as ordinary in a society where human trafficking was treated as common sense at the time. Sumitomo paid an enormous price to entrust Fushinin with three Eguchi courtesans and Kusabue’s custody, then composed a letter to Masakado and had him take it.

Several days later. Fushinin had the courtesans mounted on horses, climbed onto his own steed, and—posing as a Mutsu merchant returning home—had his underlings Hagetaka, Kumota, and Anahiko hold the horses’ bridles as they departed the capital along the Tōkaidō.

The Original Kanto Man As the courtesans and Fushinin continued their journey through Musashi Field in autumn while Fuji's ash fell like thick snow—it happened that Masakado was away on another journey and not at Ishiinomon enclosure. He had gone to Fuchū in Musashi Province.

Leaving his brothers Masayori and Masafumi behind, he himself encamped on the grounds of Jindaiji Temple with Masahira and a large number of clan members and retainers. This imposing military array was akin to a deployment of troops, but even for Masakado, this level of preparation was necessary due to the peril he would face if he ventured forth without it. After all, the purpose of this journey was to mediate a war, and moreover, Musashi Province was, for him, a land that was, so to speak, akin to enemy territory.

“Whether reconciliation can be achieved through this face of Masakado’s… First, let me meet Takebashi.—We can discuss matters after that.” He said this to Prince Kiyoyuki, the provisional governor of Musashi, and Assistant Governor Tsunemoto, who had come out to meet him at Jindaiji Temple. “I humbly request your assistance.—If Takebashi withdraws his forces, we on our side have no desire for conflict from the outset. At any time, I intend to have the magnanimity to invite him to the provincial office and work together on official duties.”

“Very well,” they said. “If entrusted to you, Masakado, we shall try to persuade Takebashi.” “Since I requested your presence myself,” Masakado replied, “I won’t impose any conditions.” “Then return to Fuchū and await our favorable reply.”

Masakado accepted this and sent the two men back.

The problem was no small matter.

However, the root of the conflict was simple. "—This will be settled." Masakado had anticipated this. Moreover—it was precisely because he had gained this conviction that he had taken on the role of mediator and come to Musashi, a land that could not be clearly identified as enemy territory or ally. In this Musashi region, there were traces that Right Horse Assistant Sadamori—who could be called his mortal enemy—had been active in previous years. Dimly, he too had detected this. However. Afterward, as he kept watch over the Musashi region, despite Sadamori having gone around seeking cooperation and urging military action, centered around the provincial office there—internal strife followed internal strife until recently, both sides had finally grown utterly exhausted from daily skirmishes.

The “both sides” here refers to: It was the confrontation between the aforementioned Musashi no Takebashi—who held the title of Adachi District Deputy Governor—and the newly appointed Provisional Governor Prince Kiyoyuki and Assistant Governor Tsunemoto. The feud among these factions had previously ended in their victory when Sadamori came to this region—Prince Kiyoyuki and his men, encouraged by Sadamori’s schemes and participation, had attacked Takebashi’s residence at Takeshibadai. However, Takebashi too was an old-line clan—the provincial governor of Mushashino. Afterward, he gathered his scattered clan members, constructed a fortress in Tama’s Sayama, and from dawn till dusk threatened Fuchū’s provincial office—carrying out arson, fifth column activities, internal sabotage, incitement of subjects, field destruction, assassinations, rumor-spreading—before launching sudden assaults with a roar of troops. Since then, the provincial office had fallen into complete anarchy: administrative duties lay abandoned, tax revenues ceased, and all governance collapsed.

And so, After reaching a state of utter exhaustion, it was from Prince Kiyoyuki to Masakado that— (I beseech you—please undertake the mediation.) thus forcing him to come weeping in supplication. When Masakado heard that, he could not help finding it absurd. By rights, it should have been Sadamori who settled this. He knew full well that Prince Kiyoyuki and Tsunemoto—who had carried out Takebashi’s expulsion under Sadamori’s instigation and with his guarantee of handling the aftermath—were such men.

But as for that Sadamori—the man Masakado had earlier chased all the way to Shinano's Chikuma River, ultimately letting the great serpent slip—he had likely been driven back to the capital with terror seeping into his very bones. Masakado deluded himself into believing Sadamori would never again dare tread the Eastern Provinces where he resided. In other words, Kiyoyuki and Tsunemoto were monkeys who had fallen from their tree after losing Sadamori.—Seeing them this way, he found it both absurd and pitiable that these two had come seeking his aid,

(Alright. I'll settle this.)

And with chivalrous resolve, he threw himself into the affair. In short, this was Masakado's nature.

It was his naivety and also his good-naturedness. If Masakado had possessed even a little more wickedness in his nature, it would have been nothing for him to take advantage of this opportunity and annex the entire Musashi Province. If, as was later said in the world, he truly harbored genuine rebellious intent and grand ambitions, how could he possibly let slip such a perfect opportunity without seizing it? To brazenly venture into Musashi—practically enemy territory—at great personal risk for a mediator role that offered no gain was, fundamentally, the act of a man who scarcely doubted others and found himself unable to refuse when entreated with bowed heads—truly, he possessed the character of one who would not shame the so-called later generations of Kantō people, the ancestors of the Edokko lineage.

Fool.

A few days later.

Masakado met with Takebashi. Takebashi had a villa on a hill overlooking the Musashi Plain stretching southeastward, backed by mountainous terrain upstream of the Tama River, where he had fortified the surrounding area with defensive structures. (With such formidable natural defenses built into this topography,) Masakado thought privately even he found himself mildly impressed upon seeing it firsthand. "You've kindly come all this long way," Takebashi said as he laid out food and drink to receive his guest hospitably.

“Oh, my efforts are nothing to speak of. If only you would agree to entrust this matter to Masakado with your magnanimity—but—” “I can entrust this to you… However, Lord Sōma”—he addressed Masakado thus—“I trust you are aware that Takebashi had all my ancestors’ residences and possessions utterly destroyed by Kiyoyuki and Tsunemoto.” “I am aware of that.” “If I were to agree, how would you compensate for that? Even if you say we should join hands with them, it’s impossible—and there’s no way our clan would consent to that either.”

“Of course, we shall have them compensate for those properties and residences.” “…If both sides keep fighting these petty skirmishes day and night—burning each other’s homes, trampling fields—the provincial office’s losses will become catastrophic.” “No—the true victims are the people. If you would but agree, such compensation would be a trifling matter.” “I will ensure Prince Kiyoyuki and Tsunemoto consent.” Masakado, having declared this,

“Even at the cost of my own life, I have undertaken this matter,” he declared. Faced with such wholehearted sincerity from him acting as mediator, even Takebashi could no longer hold back his reluctance. “Then I shall entrust it all to Lord Sōma,” he conceded. Thus it was settled.

“I’m grateful.” He was truly delighted. There wasn’t a shadow of doubt in that smiling face. Utterly open-hearted—having heard this confirmation, he began drinking vigorously.

And so, they decided on a date and time at the provincial office in Fuchū to hold a reconciliation ceremony. They agreed on the exact day and time, then soon departed from Sayama Fortress.

A truce agreement had been reached. He would immediately send word to Kiyoyuki. Prince Kiyoyuki and Tsunemoto could have no objections either. Masakado waited for the appointed day; when it arrived, Rokusho Myojin in Fuchū—where the provincial office stood—was prepared as the site for the hand-cutting ceremony. There they awaited both Takebashi and Masakado himself as mediator.

More than anyone, it was the residents who rejoiced. “Ah, finally—now we can go about our business and sleep at night.” And so, that day took on the bustle of a festival. Masakado formed his ranks and entered the town. He had his subordinates station themselves at the town crossroads, then took only his younger brother and key members with him as he proceeded into the forest of Rokusho Myojin’s ceremonial grounds. As the appointed time drew near, Takebashi arrived. Before the gods at a shrine encircled by curtains, with Masakado presiding as witness, the opposing parties were seated; after the negi priests recited norito prayers, music was played, and Shinsen offerings were presented, they exchanged sacred sake cups, thus auspiciously concluding their peace accord.

“That went well.” Masakado addressed the gathering. The assembled group too, “By your doing,” they thanked him for his efforts. And pledged lasting harmony thenceforth.

Now, what followed was... Of course it was a celebration—a grand feast of drunken revelry. For a time, all hearts must have eased. There, shrine maidens' bells rang as flutes and drums swelled to rustic country songs rich with wild charm, while from the town quarters came the thunderous beating of drums like festival music. Drunken revelry was something the Musashino folk mutually delighted in. It was as if their very lives existed for such moments. And peace had arrived. The killing and torching had been extinguished. "Today is the day to drink," they declared, pouring for one another, passing cups around until their drunkenness writhed like loaches in tangled embrace.

—Then.

The day drew near dusk.

Around the time when bonfires had begun to smolder faintly here and there in the shrine precincts and at the town crossroads.

Somewhere, "It's a fight!" A voice pierced through—shouting.

Footsteps like sudden rain were followed by angry roars. “It’s a fight! A brawl!” “No—this isn’t just a brawl. It’s a sword fight!” “No—it’s a full-scale battle!” “Takebashi’s soldiers and our people!” “—Takebashi’s forces have launched a surprise attack!” “Don’t let your guard down!” In fragmented bursts, such shouts flew wildly.

“Spies!”—and throughout Rokusho Shrine too, everyone leaped to their feet. After all, there wasn’t a single sober soul among them. Moreover, the sun had begun to set, casting everything into twilight. “Stop this racket!” Masakado tried to restrain them with a hoarse voice, but it only served to further agitate the chaos.

A panicked figure shoved Masakado from behind and, tucking weapons under their arm, dashed off. "Shirō—go and see."

At his brother’s command, Shirō dashed off—but already throughout the forest, grappling matches, flashes of naked blades, and a melee like hundreds of fighting bulls unleashed had begun. Who had done it—in one corner of the town quarters, flames had already erupted. As was customary for inhabitants of uncultivated lands, they turned fire into a weapon without hesitation. To them, arson meant nothing. “Prince Kiyo! Are you there?” “Are you there?” Masakado called out. “—Lord Tsunemoto! Assistant Governor Tsunemoto—are you present?” “Lord Tsunemoto—are you present?”

To that too came no reply. “Lord Takebashi!” “Lord Takebashi!” He had been calling out toward the vicinity for those three since earlier—Prince Kiyo, Tsunemoto, Takebashi—but whether they had all rushed off out of concern for their subordinates or vanished through some prearranged scheme, not one remained visible.

Shirō had finally returned. "Brother," "It’s completely out of control now." "What in the world happened?"

“I’m not entirely sure, but it seems Prince Kiyo and Tsunemoto’s retainers were drinking celebratory sake at the town crossroads and making a huge commotion.”

“Hmm… So Takebashi’s retainers were involved as well?” “Of course, Takebashi’s clansmen and our own retainers had likely split off into separate huts around that area for their drinking. —But just now, about a hundred of Takebashi’s retainers in full armor came from Sayama—apparently concerned for their master’s return and coming to meet him—when Tsunemoto’s men misinterpreted this, blocking them at the town entrance over whether to let them in or not. That’s how the violence started, until it finally turned into a real battle.”

“Wh-what fools!” “On the very day we worked our bones to the marrow to finally achieve peace!” “They’re fools.” “They’re all utter fools.” “Brother, let’s stop getting involved in these fools’ brawl and watching this farce.” “We can’t afford to lose even a single soldier.” “That’s right.” “I’m not even angry anymore.” “I made sure our retainers were withdrawn outside the town so they wouldn’t get dragged into this idiotic battle.—Brother, please come back.”

Shirō, as though his patience had reached its limit, recklessly pulled his brother along and led him out of Rokusho Forest.

And abandoning Fuchū's flames and clamor behind them, they drove their horses through the night and returned to Shimousa Province.

Moreover.—Back in Fuchū as well, that night, one more remarkable incident had occurred. It was indeed what could be called a remarkable incident.

The newly appointed Musashi Assistant Governor, Tsunemoto—for reasons known only to himself—abandoned his post and fled back to the capital that very night. He became firmly convinced that the dispute that night between his own subordinates was a “surprise attack” orchestrated by Takebashi, and further spun dark suspicions that Takebashi and Masakado had formed a sinister secret pact—that this was all part of a “plot” to kill them. That this was a misunderstanding would have become abundantly clear to him by the very next day had he only calmed down a little—but then again, he must have been either utterly astounded or simply prone to panic.

Because he had fled his post that very night, barely escaping with his life, upon arriving in the capital he immediately appeared before the Daijōkan and— “Masakado’s ambition has at last extended its sinister reach to Musashi Province. Having joined forces with Takebashi, driven us out, and plotted to seize the Provincial Government Office, Fuchū has been plunged into utter chaos. Deeming this a grave matter, I have thus come to the capital to deliver my report.” In an effort to conceal his own disgrace, he made every effort to emphasize Masakado’s ambitions as primary while downplaying the conflict with Takebashi as secondary, and went about proclaiming this narrative to the high-ranking court nobles as well.

Suddenly. The central government’s suspicions toward Masakado were further fueled by this incident. Now that Masakado’s rebellion had been confirmed as fact, the critical issue in court deliberations centered solely on how to suppress the great insurgent of the Eastern Provinces—a matter that remained nothing more than a bureaucratic headache for the high-ranking nobles.

Resembling a Grass Whistle

As for the subsequent events, Masakado knew nothing of them. After all, he had only stepped forward out of a single act of chivalry. "What a fool I was. Hey, Shōhira." "That's only natural. If you deal with fools, you'll surely end up the fool." "There's always someone above you... I thought I was quite the fool myself, but—" "After all, I've never seen such a pack of fools before. It was quite an education for Shōhira."

“Don’t say such hurtful things.” “That’s this brother of yours you’re talking about.” “Come to think of it now, even my over ten years in the capital were just a tour through a world of fools.” “It hasn’t been of any use at all... Ahahaha—saying that, seems I still don’t consider myself a fool after all.”

On their horses' backs, the brothers exchanged such lighthearted remarks as they traveled. "Right—since we're passing by anyway, why don't we inspect Toyoda's reconstruction?" Toyoda was the ruined former manor that Yoshikane of Hatori had burned down. They had undertaken massive reconstruction work since then. A grand hall larger than its predecessor now stood nearly eighty percent complete. The gatefront town too had been restored. After surveying the progress, he returned to Ishii no Saku, met with Masayori for a round of laughter-filled conversation, then proceeded to the temporary residence at Kamawa where he removed his travel gear.

Then, family retainers and his brother Masafumi reported, “During your absence, guests from the capital arrived and have been staying boisterously in a separate building while awaiting your return each day.” “What? Boisterously.—Who exactly? Who’s there?” “……Who exactly? Who’s there?” “Lord Yasaka no Fushinin, who visited us several years ago, has now returned with several menials and four women—altogether about ten in their party, I should say.”

“Hmm? …That Immortal?” Hearing “the Immortal,” he felt both an inexplicable nostalgia and an oppressive weight pressing upon him—that friend forged in darkness from his very first night in Kyoto as a youth studying abroad, now still perceived as his fatal weakness despite all these years. “Which jar?” With Masafumi guiding him, he went to inspect the building. Even before they finished crossing the corridor, raucous voices reached them—the Immortal’s gruff tones mingling with women’s coquettish laughter and other clamor, like some private room in a pleasure house.

“Oh, Immortal. You were here.” When he appeared there, the men’s faces and women’s eyes all turned toward him in unison as they slightly adjusted their postures. “Ah—you’ve returned.” “My lord.” With that, the Immortal promptly washed a cup— “First—here.” —then offered a seat with perfunctory courtesy before recounting their shared history since last parting... only to smirk mid-sentence. “Now then—” (he had abandoned his former casual address for this worldlier title) “—Lord Sōma—you’ve not forgotten this woman here?” “...What’s this silence? Playing coy?” “After all my trouble bringing her leagues through wild country—”

he said, pointing at Kusabue. Masakado had been staring fixedly at her profile for some time now. Their eyes met. The woman’s face flushed crimson. “Oh, you’re… Eguchi no…” “Did you remember me? I am Eguchi no Kusabue.” “Ah. This is unexpected—”

Masakado, speaking from the heart, unintentionally intoned the days that had passed over ten years. “...Women never change,” he said. “As for myself—I’ve changed so much...”

“Not at all. “Not at all. You haven’t changed in the slightest.” “Truly, you haven’t changed in the slightest.” “Nay— “Not quite.” “Back then in the capital, I was either a junior attendant in the Minister of the Right’s household or Takiguchi no Kojirō.” “Since returning to the wilds of Bandō, Masakado has been battered by bitter rains and cruel winds.” “Neither my face nor my heart remain as they were in the past.” “If you say your heart has changed, then I cannot speak to that…”

Kusabue suddenly made a face that seemed both sulky and on the verge of tears from loneliness. As if abruptly trying to mask it with drink, she reached for a cup—when the Immortal, “Hey now. Cut out the sweet talk already. Aren’t you going to offer Lord Sōma a cup? Masakado—no, Lord Sōma. Ah, how nostalgic… Eguchi Village.”

“I’ve forgotten… Now it feels like nothing but a distant dream.” “That must be so. Actually... Indeed, thinking you must be lonely here, Lord Sumitomo has sent this Kusabue and three other courtesans as tribute to your esteemed self. Please accept them.” “To call this tribute—isn’t that absurd? If it’s a gift, I’ll gladly accept it, but—”

“No—Lord Sumitomo has always revered you as a scion of the imperial line. He likely let such words slip in that context, but it is unquestionably a gift. How about it? In Bandō, the wild flowers may bloom in profusion, but viewing such capital flowers within your halls wouldn’t be entirely unpleasant, would it?” “No—I’m grateful. If that’s the kind of gift—well, at times like these, Masakado’s surroundings are as desolate as a winter storm. Let’s have them pass around those cups at once... Kusabue, pour for me.”

And Masakado reached his hand toward her. Kusabue, like an overripe bride, blushed as she grasped the handle of the sake vessel. In her posture, in her profile—Masakado suddenly recalled, from the far-distant days of his youth, the visage of Ezo Hagi: the enslaved girl of the manor whose touch he had first known on his virginal skin amidst the steaming straw of the stables.

Imperial Investigator Historically, the people of Musashino had completely lacked political character. Innately a wild people skilled in hunting and martial prowess, pacifying them was no easy task.

Thereafter—

The entire province of Musashi remained in chaos without settling down.

Despite Masakado going to mediate and achieving reconciliation between the three parties—Takeshiba, Prince Kiyoyo, and Tsunemoto—even reaching a formal peace ceremony with hand-clasping rituals, matters came to this: from the very sake-sharing meant to pledge that day’s truce emerged another massive brawl, sending them tumbling back into their original mud-slinging melee. Even Masakado finally gave up on them,

“No—this is beyond absurd. I absolutely refuse to get involved in those fools’ idiotic brawls again and play mediator. Let them push things to the limit—they’ll come to their senses soon enough.”

From that point onward, no matter which side came seeking mediation, he would laugh them off without so much as a response.

However, this civil war in Musashi was not merely a fire on the opposite shore that Masakado could laugh at from afar—it would prove inseparable from his own fate.

Minamoto no Tsunemoto, who had abandoned his official post in his assigned province and fled back to Kyoto, "It is entirely due to Masakado’s scheming." he went around proclaiming to central government offices. “Under the pretense of mediating peace, he in fact escalated the conflict further, exploited that vulnerability to ransack the Provincial Government Office, and no doubt sought to bring even Musashi under his control.” And in the official response from the Grand Council of State as well, he vehemently asserted this to the fullest extent.

After all, there had been Sadamori’s prior complaint, and Masakado was extremely unpopular. If they merely spoke ill of Masakado without deeply examining the truth, “...That must be so. Indeed, precisely so.” “Indeed, precisely so.” Such was the preconceived mindset among the court nobles in general that they would readily affirm them.

It was the court’s decision that this could not be left unattended. “For the provincial governor to be dispatched to Musashi, we must send someone of truly unyielding character.”

And so, the newly chosen one was Kudara no Sadatsura. Several months after this Sadatsura had been dispatched to the eastern provinces as Musashi’s newly appointed governor, Fujiwara no Tadahira of the House of the Grand Minister—Masakado’s former lord—found himself compelled to act due to the overwhelming flood of negative reports about Masakado and the court’s existing view of him as a rebel. “I cannot leave this unattended.” Given this, Tadahira specifically granted an imperial edict to Taji no Mahito, Chamberlain of the Empress’s Household, and... “Moreover, as a preliminary measure. “Investigate clearly whether these matters are true or false and report back.”

and dispatched him to the Eastern Provinces. When Tadahira’s sons Morosuke and Saneyori heard that Mahito was heading to the eastern provinces as an imperial investigator, they spoke in unison: “Even if Mahito goes down there, it will likely prove of no benefit whatsoever.” “There remains Sadamori’s prior complaint as well.” “That he has slain his elders to expand his domains—grown drunk on power until today he neither fears the imperial court nor hesitates to defy its authority while indulging his violent appetites—is all too evident. To now bestow an imperial edict ordering investigations would only further embolden Masakado.”

they objected. Yet deep in Tadahira’s heart lingered the image of Masakado from his days as Kojirō. Could that Kojirō truly be… he wondered. “No—this is merely precautionary. In all matters, there’s no harm in excessive thoroughness.”

Tadahira shook his head and did not attempt to alter his initial decision. He was no longer the pleasure-seeking courtier of old who had patronized Kojirō in his youth. Approaching seventy winters now—as clan patriarch and imperial elder statesman—he bore the unbearable burden of contemplating how to steer this fractured realm toward stability, whatever challenges might arise.

If called Ezo bush clover, The imperial investigator Taji no Mahito spent approximately two months inspecting Musashi, Shimousa, and other regions before directly meeting with Masakado to demand his explanation. For Masakado, it was all a warped innocence— nothing but Sadamori’s slander and Tsunemoto’s fabrications. To further substantiate this, he obtained official affidavits from five provincial government offices—Musashi, Kōzuke, Shimotsuke, Hitachi, and Shimousa—and,

"As you can see, while those in the capital remain ignorant, not a soul in Bandō considers me at fault," he wrote. "These are all fabrications by slanderers. Could it be that your noble lords above clouds, deceived by such false accusations, now suffer phantoms of their own making?" He submitted this defense to Taji no Mahito alongside his formal statement and affidavits from five provincial offices.

“This shows proper reverence,” said Mahito, regarding him with approval. Carrying the formal statement and evidentiary documents, he then departed for Kyoto to report the unvarnished truth to Tadahira. Thus far, matters had proceeded without incident.

This brief period of peace—lasting roughly half a year—may well have been among the few truly "peaceful days" in Masakado’s entire life. Toyoda’s new mansion had also been completed.

He relocated there, and a portion of his forces remained at Kamawa no Saku. Moreover, at Ishii no Saku, Ōashihara, and Moriya no Mikuriya as well, his brothers divided the family retainers and settled in each respective location. Initially, Yasaka no Fushinin, who had taken shelter at Masakado’s residence as a guest, came to serve him like any other retainer, addressing him as “Lord Sōma” and honoring him as “the Lord” within the household, no longer displaying his former camaraderie or irreverence.

Masakado’s own bearing had come to differ from what it once was. By now, his public support had grown immense. The lands and people who had once been under the former Governor of Hitachi, Minamoto no Mamoru, and uncles like Yoshikane of Hatori and Yoshimasa of Mizumori now gathered unbidden at his gate—drawn to him like grass bending in the wind. He was king of the wilds, chieftain among country folk. Yet even as these prosperous days unfolded, he could not shake off a certain nihilistic shadow clinging to him. This transformation in his character had become evident from when his beloved Kikyō and the child born between them were slaughtered by his uncle Yoshikane’s soldiers in Ashigaya Inlet.

The despair he had felt then and his fierce rage toward human cruelty still marked his features with deep shadows, as if chiseled into his face. Not just his face—those shadows had seeped into the very walls of his heart like stubborn mold. His drinking grew heavier with each passing year. Now he was a true drunkard. When he guzzled wine, some window in his heart would swing open, letting his spirit clear with sudden brightness. “Hey, Ezo bush clover. “…I ain’t letting you go back to the capital. Or you wanna crawl back to Eguchi?”

Masakado grasped Kusabue’s slender wrist. It was during an evening of drunkenness. “Oh, to call me Ezo Bush Clover...” “I am Kusabue of Eguchi.” “That is not my name.” “Are you sulking?” “But if I’m mistaken for another woman, any woman would get angry, wouldn’t she?” “Be angry if you want... Back when I was in the capital, what made my heart race when I first grew close to you was how you resembled that Ezo Bush Clover—enough to be her twin. For me, she was my unforgettable first woman.” “That is Ezo Bush Clover.” “Let me call you that.”

“How cruel you are!” “So I am not myself, then.” “No—you are Ezo bush clover.” “No, I am Kusabue.”

“Don’t lie. Does this still not make you Ezo bush clover?”

He pulled Kusabue close and devoured her lips so fiercely she could scarcely breathe. Masakado perceived the woman’s figure—slender shoulders trembling, brows furrowed, body arched like a crescent moon—as Ezo bush clover’s living image from distant days when she had long perished.

“Oh... Well, this is... “Was this a bad time?”

In the corridor outside, Fushinin’s shadow stood hesitating. “Oh, Fushinin. It’s not like we’re doing anything worth hiding. Why don’t you come in? Over here.” “Then I shall briefly announce the visitor’s arrival from here.” “Hmm, what is it?” “A man called Prince Koreyo of Musashi has arrived at the main gate with some twenty horsemen in his company.” “Ah—another mediation request after some mud-slinging brawl. Probably begging to join in or something. You go meet them and find out what they want.”

“So this must be the same faction that went to Fuchu in previous years and nearly achieved reconciliation, only to ruin everything with that night’s brawl.” “That’s right—the man called Koreyo, former Acting Governor of Musashi.” “Understood. I’ll meet them to hear their proposal.” Fushinin nodded and withdrew at once.

Though they were called guests, they numbered twenty mounted men. Their horses were stabled, the retainers directed to a waiting area, and only Prince Koreyo was led to the guest hall. "I am Yasaka no Fushinin of Lord Sōma's household." With this declaration, he came forward to receive them in Masakado's place. He immediately inquired their purpose.

The Hero's Gate

Prince Koreyo came seeking asylum.

Finally unable to remain in Musashi any longer, he had fled here with his clan, escaping beyond the provincial borders.

While still continuing his conflict with Takebashi, with whom there had long been discord, he now also failed to align with Kudara Sadatsura, who had newly arrived from the capital. “The world isn’t limited to this place alone.”

And so, under cover of night, he had withdrawn from Musashi and come here. Though he had imagined a vast world, now that he looked around the plains of Bandō’s ten provinces, there were not many patches of trustworthy shade to be found. “No matter where you go these days, there’s nowhere you don’t hear Lord Sōma’s name. “I have long been acquainted with Lord Masakado and have long admired him as a benevolent and magnanimous man. “Though it is terribly presumptuous of me, might you be so kind as to take myself and my entire clan into your household as your own kin? …The request I have come to make is indeed for this very reason.”

After saying this, Prince Koreyo reiterated, “I ask that you too intercede with Lord Sōma on my behalf.” “I humbly entreat you as stated here.”

With that, he clasped both hands together. Fushinin considered.

An intriguing bird had flown in.—I must actively gather such men under our banner. From Fushinin’s scheming perspective, this mansion being far too peaceful ran counter to his true intentions. For if this were to continue, the tacit pact with Sumitomo—who waited in the southern seas for their beacon fire—would likely become an increasingly empty gesture. Fuji was spewing smoke. "May the Bandō plains too be laid waste like that," he thought. He had to seize some opportunity and play the role of igniter. And he was thinking of shattering the peace and complacency enveloping Masakado. They were guests arriving in such a place. It was the exiled Prince Koreyo who had brought his company here.

(This is a desperate bird we should welcome. I should find a way to persuade Masakado and take them in as allies.) Fushinin had settled on this course of action, but when he conveyed it to Masakado, his counsel proved unnecessary. For when he heard Prince Koreyo’s circumstances, Masakado, forgetting past grievances, sympathized candidly with his plight,

“That is pitiable.”

he said.

“To think that one who once served as Acting Governor would flee with his clan to another province and seek refuge at my gates—what a turn of fate.” “Within the Western Fence, there should be a vacant residence.” “Put them in there.” A few days later, Prince Koreyo’s wife, female members, children, and servants also arrived, and nearly fifty people from his family alone came to live within the Toyoda enclosure. Was this what they called being drawn like leaves to the wind? There were several other groups besides Prince Koreyo—people who had heard that if they sought refuge at Lord Sōma’s gate, he would somehow help them.

However, such individuals invariably come with their own troubles. To be sure, it was the so-called chivalrous bosses of later generations who knowingly took in both the people and their troubles—this temperament seems to have been inherent among the Musashino people since Masakado’s time.

It was early in the tenth month, autumn of Tengyō 2.

From Hitachi Province came another group of exiles to this Shimōsa Toyoda—a man named Fujiwara no Genmei who had held the position of Junior Assistant Governor at the Hitachi provincial government office. He too brought with him a large number of wives, children, and servants—

"I humbly beg you to grant us shelter," he pleaded through tears. Genmei was not well-regarded as a junior official in Hitachi. That this low-ranking bureaucrat had constantly defied his superiors, earning a reputation for brutality and heartlessness—Masakado had long been vaguely aware of such rumors. "Genmei lost his position through his own misdeeds," Masakado declared. "I cannot shelter such a man. Drive them out."

But toward him alone, he displayed none of his customary leniency or chivalrous spirit. "You are absolutely right—he does reek of a crafty bureaucrat... But that bastard must know Hitachi's internal affairs well." "When I pressed him with questions, he let slip a matter of grave importance you cannot overlook, My Lord." "Something truly unexpected." Fushinin said this, his eyes glittering with a fervor that could ignite men's spirits. Masakado found himself unwittingly drawn in,

“What? What’s this matter I can’t afford to neglect?”

he demanded rapidly. “It seems Assistant Master of the Right Horse Division Sadamori returned to Hitachi some time ago and has been secretly scheming again…” “What? That bastard Sadamori?” At Sadamori’s name, Masakado’s face twisted into a demonic visage. Eyes burning with hatred seeping from his marrow—vigilant eyes brimming with indelible resentment—rendered utterly incomparable to Fushinin’s mere attempts at incitement. The man carved into his soul.

Genmei’s wife and children, along with his servants, were also sheltered within Toyoda. At the same time, the secret report from this man had shocked Masakado in no ordinary way. Indeed, his clan in Toyoda, Mikuriya, Ōashihara, Ishii, and other places— “We mustn’t let our guard down—before we knew it, that bastard Sadamori had snuck back into Hitachi, they say!” With those words alone, he instilled an extraordinary tension throughout. As if entering a quasi-wartime footing, they posted sentries along the riverbanks and deployed night patrols,

“Perish, Sadamori!” Such were the soldiers’ burning gazes. Now, what exactly had Fujiwara no Genmei’s secret report revealed? Merely that Assistant Master of the Right Horse Division Sadamori was present in Hitachi. Yet the border with Hitachi lay just across a narrow strip of water—a channel so slight it might as well have been a belt of cloth. For Masakado, this proximity alone made restful sleep impossible. There was more than enough cause for vigilance. Through Genmei’s continued efforts, the full contours of Sadamori’s schemes in Hitachi gradually came to light.

The Governor of Hitachi Province, Fujiwara no Koremochi, and Sadamori shared an inseparable bond—Sadamori’s sister was Koremochi’s wife. This brother-in-law had a son named Tamenori. Sadamori and he were uncle and nephew. Tamenori, unlike his civil official father, was a master of archery and horsemanship who mobilized provincial government soldiers like private troops and maintained numerous personally trained warriors in his household. According to Genmei’s testimony, if Tamenori took command, he could freely deploy at least three thousand troops at any time.

Sadamori was, as ever, astute. He would never put himself at the forefront. And he co-opted Tamenori, “If you would deign to cleanse our house’s disgrace—and greater still, if you would cut down the savage Masakado for orderly governance and peace—I shall offer you half of my late father Kunika’s rice fields as recompense. [...] Moreover, for your service to the state, I shall personally petition the Daijōkan to ensure you receive a fitting court rank appointment—this I promise.”

and pressed his case with skillful rhetoric.

To begin with, Tamenori was already confident in his skills of archery and horsemanship. There was no way his heart could remain unmoved. "My words are by no means empty." "As such, whenever it may be, it has been established that there exists an imperial command for Masakado’s subjugation." And Sadamori further showed Tamenori copies of official decrees and documents related to petitions, while also elaborating in detail on the political atmosphere within the central court, "If you wish to achieve great merit now, the foremost way would be to cut down Masakado and receive commendation from the Daijōkan."

Thus, he incited this hot-blooded provincial warrior. "I’ll do it." Thus, Tamenori burned with ambition. "For me as well, Masakado is the sworn enemy of those connected by our ties… Whether I act now or someday—" "However, the further this goes, Masakado’s military forces will only grow stronger." "We can’t afford to wait for ‘someday.’" "Who exactly are our allies?" "The minor clans cannot be relied upon." "If you solemnly swear to this, I will stake even my silver tongue upon it—I shall surely rouse the one figure I hold in my heart to action."

“Hmm… Where could such a great figure be found?” “He resides in Tanuma of Shimotsuke, not far from here. Though he shares the Fujiwara surname with you, he goes by Tawara Tōta Hidesato after his place’s name.” “Ah, Lord Tawara Tōta. But would a man like that ever join our cause?” “Since I myself am going as the persuader, I will not cease until I’ve roused him to action. Moreover, Hidesato himself nurses ample ambition. Because you know exactly what he desires.”

“How do you know that?” “Once I spent a night at Tanuma’s mansion. From his tone during that time, I discerned he was by no means satisfied with merely being Shimotsuke’s Deputy Envoy. Rather, he’s a man brimming with ambition. But being a cunning old fox, he won’t make clumsy moves like Masakado. It’s Tōta Hidesato who intends to first have Masakado burn the fields and cut the reeds, then later plant wheat or hemp in their place—that’s how I see it.”

“He’s a fearsome man… Somewhat unsettling.” “If he weren’t such a man, bringing him to our side would have no effect.” “That’s true… Our opponent is Masakado after all.”

Entry into Hitachi

The situation had indeed progressed this far in secret. And so Sadamori had crossed the mountains from Hitachi and traveled back and forth to Tanuma in Shimotsuke multiple times, but it seemed Masakado’s forces had not yet uncovered these secrets. The same was true of Genmei.

The information he had brought was itself woefully insufficient, and since Genmei himself had something to feel guilty about, in his attempts to cover it up, he tended to forcibly distort the facts. But for Fushinin, things had finally started to get interesting. It could be said that things were falling into place just as he had envisioned. “Striking by surprise to discern the truth from deception amidst their confusion—that’s the strategy.” “Why don’t we make a move into Hitachi?”

It was November of that winter. Fushinin, believing "the time has come," thus proposed this strategy to Masakado.

“Huh? …Invade?” “Are you saying *you’ll* go to Hitachi?” “Not at all—this isn’t some miserly ploy.” “Boldly raise your troops and horses, form a military formation, and have Lord Sōma present himself to Governor Koremochi—declare this publicly and proceed.” “We don’t have a pretext—no pretext at all!” “There are any number of surface reasons—by stating that Fujiwara no Genmei came to Toyoda pleading for help, that we wish to aid him, halt Genmei’s pursuit, and request that he be restored to his former position—it would sound quite plausible to the world.”

“Shall we do it, Fushinin?” “Fushinin.” “We must do it.” “And once we enter Hitachi, we’ll immediately see just how panicked they are.” “Moreover, Sadamori will surely panic and show his tail—depending on how things unfold, we might even end up capturing him alive or returning triumphantly with his head.” Prince Kose also voiced his utmost agreement to this strategy. Masayori, Masahira, Masafumi, and others “Now, will things really go that smoothly?”

They hesitated somewhat, yet were not entirely opposed. Then, on the twenty-first day of the eleventh month of that year.

Masakado finally steeled his resolve. Leading his one thousand officers and soldiers, he departed from Toyoda toward Hitachi. In hindsight, this single step would prove fatal for him—the moment he crossed from personal vendettas into being branded a rebel against the realm. Yet that morning, his demeanor and troops brimmed with triumphant vigor. For in all cases, that final stride before humans plunge into another’s trap is nearly always filled with self-assured pride.

The Day of Returning to the Capital

In Hitachi’s provincial government office, an inspector from the Great Council had arrived some time prior. For several days, they had been conducting administrative coordination with the capital and hearing reports from provincial officials regarding matters such as tribute tax statuses. This was Danjō no Chū Fujiwara no Sadatō and his retinue.

The previous night, Inspector Sadatō had been invited to the residence of Governor Fujiwara no Koremochi and seated as the guest of honor at a grand banquet.

After indulging in the festivities, they returned to their lodgings well into the late hours of the night. Of course, the members of his entourage also each received feasts of food and drink, and all slept in satiety. The official duties had come to an end.

Last night’s banquet was also meant as a farewell. However, due to some remaining tasks and travel preparations, they rested the following day. Then, bearing gifts piled high on packhorses, Koremochi and his retainers came to visit his lodgings early in the morning. “You must be exhausted after last night. I couldn’t even offer you proper hospitality.” “Not at all—far from it. Even in the capital, one seldom encounters such a splendid banquet.” “Soon, my son Tamenori and Sadamori—who joined us last night—mentioned they wish to pay their respects. With all your travel preparations to attend to, your mind must be quite preoccupied, but...”

While they were making small talk, Tamenori and Sadamori arrived there together once more. —These two also laid parting gifts before Sadatō, “I feel our farewell remains incomplete.” “Tonight, please do visit my house at your leisure.”

Tamenori remarked.

"I shall pay a visit once my travel preparations are in order—I’ll have no further obligations then. Of course, Lord Koremochi and Lord Sadamori will be joining us as well?" "I will go," answered Taira no Sadamori. "And if my residence were still as it once was, I would be honored to have you stay for a night." "Ah yes," said Sadatō. "Your father, Great Administrator Kunika, passed away, and then with subsequent misfortunes, I hear your residence was burned down as well." "No doubt only unsavory rumors have reached your ears," replied Sadamori. "It’s truly a shameful circumstance."

“And your residence these days?” “In a certain part of Naka District, I’ve temporarily settled my wife and children along with my retainers. But as for myself—I’ve been traveling between Kyoto and this region… Well, a rootless existence like duckweed, I suppose.” He laughed hollowly. A complex shadow passed over Sadamori’s self-mocking face. Though he had maintained a congenial demeanor since joining them the previous night, his explanations—whether about his dwelling or recent movements—lacked clarity at every turn. He spoke like a man guarding secrets, weighing each word with meticulous care for every listener.

However, Inspector Sadatō was not making any such observations. He too had heard about the bitter conflicts between Sadamori and Masakado, as well as the years-long struggles across Bandō including this region, ever since departing the capital. However, he was well aware that broaching that subject would lead to troublesome complications. He had resolved to indulge in idle chatter and jokes but strictly avoid touching on that subject. Now that he had completed his official duties, attended farewell banquets, and received the customary local gifts, all that remained was the desire to depart his lodgings unobtrusively and return quickly to see his wife and children in the capital.

However, that day. While Tamenori, Sadamori, and the others were still engrossed in conversation with Sadatō at the inn, a courier from the provincial office located Governor Koremochi and arrived, “It’s a revolt—an invasion from a neighboring province! Reports say Masakado’s forces from Shimousa have crossed into Hitachi’s border in full force!” Then two or three horsemen came rushing in succession, urgently reporting to Koremochi. —Just as Sadatō had ordered the inn staff to prepare food and wine with a casual “Well then, a round of drinks,” while trying to keep the three men engaged, that very moment shattered all leisurely camaraderie between host and guests.

“What? Masakado’s forces?” First, Sadamori turned pale and rose halfway from his seat, and Tamenori—having somewhat anticipated this—

"They’re here! Let’s seize the initiative—" He raised the corners of his eyes and stood rigidly.

However, Koremochi—more than anyone else and by duty—was utterly shocked. Koremochi knew that his son Tamenori and Sadamori had been working to strengthen military preparations over the past several months to somehow restrain Masakado, but he did not believe they had gone so far as to provoke him. He had never even dreamed that combat would break out between the two provinces in the first place.

“Wh-what is this? What in heaven’s name—?” He looked at Sadamori, then at his son’s face, making no effort to hide his own panic as he confronted them. “Could this be some mistake? … If you rouse that stubborn Masakado to action, you’ll surely repeat the same blunders as Kunika, Yoshimasa of Mizumori, and Yoshikane of Hatori. I strictly warned you not to provoke him.”

Sadamori averted his eyes. A pallid tension characteristic of him lingered on his brow as he gazed through the eaves at the November sky. A slight emotional strain between Koremochi and his son Tamenori began to surface. The clash between the father’s civil governance and the son’s militarism inadvertently surfaced. “Now, now, let’s not have such arguments between father and son.” “This is hardly the time for that.”

What Sadatō had said was indeed reasonable. It was indeed not such a situation. And Sadatō, too, abruptly rose from his seat and made to leave. "I had intended to depart tomorrow morning, but I shall take my leave of this inn at once. I may yet meet you again in the capital, Lord Sadamori—but as for you two," he said, glancing at Koremochi and Tamenori, "who can say when we might cross paths again." "May you fare well." "Please, do not concern yourselves with me—make haste to the Provincial Government Office at once." "With all haste, I implore you."

Perils on the Road In half a day, the Provincial Government Office had been fortified like a fortress. Reports indicated that from various areas in Hitachi Province—Yukue District, Kawachi District, Naka District—mounted troops kept rushing in one after another upon hearing of the border crisis, all converging to protect the provincial government offices and storehouses. The residents who had been thrown into chaotic uproar finally settled down. Governor Fujiwara no Koremochi and all his subordinates clad themselves in armor, “Come forth! We’ll make you foam at the mouth!” They drew their bows, lined up their shields, and stood ready.

The one who had deployed a unit far beyond the palisade—constantly dispatching scouts, exercising the horses, and displaying full fighting spirit—was none other than Tamenori. “Poor Masakado—if he dares approach here, he’ll be a fish caught in our net. Under this Tamenori, Hitachi maintains three thousand elite troops constantly trained and ready for action—it appears he knows nothing of this.” He spouted bold declarations to the allies around him. However, according to intelligence reports, Masakado’s forces had halted their troops and horses some four or five ri ahead, showing no signs of advancing further and even preparing for night encampment.

“So, how large is their force?”

Tamenori asked the scouts. “Roughly a thousand horsemen, it seems.” “What? A thousand men? What nonsense is this?” Tamenori laughed heartily. When invading another province, it was common sense to advance with at least a military force exceeding that province’s standing forces. Just a bluff—the young Tamenori had already grossly underestimated Masakado’s strength based on this alone. The subsequent scouts reported no changes even as evening approached. He divided his troops and had them lie in ambush at key positions, then returned to the Provincial Government Office’s main camp with a few retainers.

Then, in the square of the Provincial Government Office, a group of wayfarers and their horses were milling about in the evening gloom. When he looked closer, among them stood Investigator Sadatō—whom he had parted from at the inn that morning—with a dazed expression. “Ah, Investigator Sadatō,” he said. “What’s happened?” “Oh,” came the reply. “Lord Tamenori? How goes the battle?”

“Battle? Such a thing isn’t happening anywhere. More importantly—what of your departure?” “As you see, we had the baggage handlers prepare for travel and left the inn. But considering the risk of being caught in battle along the way—and with both Lord Koremochi and Lord Sadamori insisting I stay, saying they couldn’t guarantee safety and that danger was all too likely—I found myself detained.” “Hahaha! The initial shock must have been too great—Father’s grown rather flustered, hasn’t he?”

“Will the highway be safe to travel?” “Not a single arrow has been loosed yet. What tomorrow brings cannot be known, but tonight remains tranquil. If Your Honor wishes to hasten your departure, I shall order my men to escort you to safety along the way.” After hearing Tamenori’s words, Sadatō abruptly resolved himself. Before the opposing armies could exchange their first volleys—above all else—he became seized by the urgency to quit Hitachi Province immediately.

Sadamori had been inside the Provincial Government Office since daytime, mingling with Koremochi and the provincial officials, assisting in what could be called the confidential strategic discussions within the command tent. Strictly speaking, he was not an official here, nor had he been formally appointed to involve himself in provincial governance; thus, his presence within the government office to advise the Governor or issue presumptuous directives was both unlawful and an overreach of authority. Yet given the gravity of the situation, no one questioned it.

“Investigator Sadatō states he wishes to depart now—even as night falls—if it please you.”

One of the provincial officials came to inform Koremochi. Sadamori, too, upon hearing,

“That seems rather dangerous, isn’t it?” Intending to stop him, he hurried out into the government office’s courtyard only to find Sadatō already mounted on his horse, having his retainer remove the bit. “It’s perfectly safe. There’s no need for concern…”

The one who had said this was not the departing man himself but Tamenori, who had been watching from the side. "I'll order my subordinates to escort you partway," he said with a laugh, dismissing his father and Sadamori's groundless fears. Having no choice, the two men—

“Then, take care.” They saw Investigator Sadatō’s party off outside the Provincial Government Office’s gates. Then, before the night had even ended, the soldiers from the Provincial Government Office who had escorted Investigator Sadatō and his entourage fled back and, “It’s a disaster! On the way—surrounded by Masakado’s troops without a word exchanged—Investigator Sadatō was seized as their prisoner! As for his attendants… every last one had ropes tied round them and were dragged off to Masakado’s camp from what we saw!”

It was a gutless report. Moreover, of the twenty soldiers they had sent as escorts, only four or five returned. "This looks to be Masakado's opening move!"

Tamenori stood at the front lines before dawn, and even within the Provincial Government Office, there was an uproar.

And so, that morning. From Masakado’s forces, a group of mounted and armored men advanced, “This is an envoy from Taira no Masakado of Shimousa. We have come to address Governor Koremochi of Hitachi Province regarding a pressing matter. Lead us to Governor Koremochi’s camp!” Facing Tamenori’s front lines, they formed a tight cluster and shouted their demands.

Possessor of a Dangerous Tongue

The meeting between Hitachi’s leadership and Masakado’s envoys took place in the broad courtyard of the Provincial Government Office at noon that day. Beneath a piercingly clear winter sky where sunlight blazed brilliantly, both sides solemnly arranged their camp stools and faced each other. “While we acknowledge your proposal, this Fujiwara no Genmei committed misdeeds unbefitting a provincial official while serving at this office, ultimately fleeing to another province when he could no longer remain.” “From this province’s perspective, he must be considered a wanted criminal still under pursuit. Even through Lord Masakado’s intervention, we cannot absolve such a man’s crimes nor restore him to his former position.” “We decline.” “We explicitly decline.”

This was Koremochi’s response. As could be understood from that response, Masakado’s envoys had demanded of the Hitachi side—invoking Masakado’s authority—that Genmei be declared innocent and the pursuit against him ceased. “Is there no possibility of granting a pardon?”

The one who had said this was Mikuriya Saburō Masayori, who had come as an envoy representing Masakado’s faction. “……Well, this is problematic…”

He muttered, glancing at the profile of Fujiwara no Fushinin, who had accompanied him as deputy envoy.

Masayori had been opposed to this military expedition from the very beginning. Moreover, he had understood Fujiwara no Genmei’s character and knew of his crimes. No matter how he considered it, he couldn’t help but feel that the other party’s argument was correct. However, Yasaka no Fushinin—who had volunteered to serve as deputy envoy and accompanied Masayori—was different. He differed from the mild-mannered Masayori not only in character but also in objectives and resolve. He had been maintaining a sinister countenance with bulging eyes that seemed ready to leap from his face, glaring at Koremochi, Tamenori, and their subordinates since earlier, and—

“Wait a moment. As for your statement—” “Your words—but—” And at that moment, he spoke for the first time. “Indeed, as Your Excellency states, Fujiwara no Genmei may bear some degree of wrongdoing. “For example—when fleeing abroad, he took goods from the government storehouses of Namegata and Kawachi Districts. Or during his tenure, he beheaded tax collectors. Or accepted bribes when adjudicating lawsuits… But does Your Excellency mean to claim that in Hitachi’s Provincial Government Office, there are only virtuous officials who *never* engage in such acts?” “Are you claiming that all other provincial officials are entirely free from even a shadow of wrongdoing?” “What do you say to that?” “For thoroughness’ sake, I wish to confirm this point.”

Tamenori’s eyebrows twitched sharply. Sadamori was not present here—fearing that Tamenori might speak up and complicate matters, Koremochi hurriedly answered. “Isn’t your inquiry somewhat misguided? Such matters are not something I need to justify to you.” “What… No—why do you call this misguided?” “This is Hitachi Province! This is not Shimousa’s jurisdiction. I would have you cease your unnecessary concerns regarding another province’s internal affairs.”

“Ah, indeed,” said Yasaka no Fushinin, his bulging eyes glinting. “I had anticipated this stance of yours. But are you aware that officials formerly serving at Hitachi’s Provincial Government Office now cling to our lord Sōma no Masakado, weeping at Toyoda Mansion’s gates? Does Your Excellency not recognize that your gubernatorial failures have spilled trouble into neighboring provinces?” Fujiwara no Koremochi’s face twisted into displeased wrinkles. “This argument takes an unexpected turn,” he retorted. “The man was already notorious here long before these events. To shelter one who vandalized government offices and fled—such conduct strikes us as utterly inexcusable. Had he sought refuge with your lord, why not simply strike him down? If you valued interprovincial relations, could you not have first sent formal notice to our offices? We ourselves have ample cause for dissatisfaction.”

“When a desperate bird flies into one’s bosom—there is such a saying. Lord Masakado is not the sort of man who can turn away the weak.” “Then let that be so. But to demand Genmei’s pardon and cessation of pursuit based on such petty personal sentiments—to meddle in another province’s internal affairs—this we find utterly unacceptable.” “No—it is precisely your disordered governance that has allowed this nuisance to spill into neighboring provinces! As Governor, you should be offering apologies rather than maintaining this arrogant posture that sneers ‘Keep your nose out of our matters’—what manner of conduct is this?”

“As this province has no cause for apology, we do not apologize—this being the natural course of affairs. Our response contains no arrogance whatsoever.” “What nonsense! We can’t return claiming we were dismissed with mere formalities. Will you absolve Genmei of guilt and show contrition, or will you declare yourself unafraid of battle? Give us your clear answer.” “Your attitude reeks of provocation. Do you imagine I’ll tolerate this? How could we possibly pardon a manifest criminal—let alone have the Governor kneel in apology? Such idiocy would render Fujiwara no Koremochi incapable of conducting official duties from tomorrow onward! However you threaten us, refusal remains our only answer.”

“What? You call that a threat? When have I made any threats? I came here specifically to settle matters peacefully for your subordinates’ sake—and you call this a threat? What nonsense is this! Hey! Say something, Lord Koremochi!” Fushinin gradually raised his voice. He pressed on, striving to provoke his opponent into an outburst. Yet Governor Koremochi, as expected, did not take the bait. Instead of anger, he forced a stiff smile—a seasoned move indeed, Fushinin observed. Knowing full well it constituted harsh words, he finally snapped, “...Hey! Say something,” delivering a sharp rebuke. Then, deliberately showing a gaze befitting his tone, he looked at Tamenori’s face.

Sure enough, Tamenori immediately rose to the bait. Before Koremochi could say anything, Tamenori flung his mouth open like an oil jar inviting flame.

“Shut up! If I’d been saying this from the start—you’re just twisting petty logic to suit yourself! What is the meaning of this? Mobilizing such an extravagant show of military force over a petty official’s affairs—and what’s more, trampling into Hitachi’s territory without so much as a formal notice! Even so, can you claim this isn’t a threat?” “Oh. So you said it. ……And it was Lord Tamenori who said it?” Fushinin curled a sneer across his eerily unperturbed countenance. To him, this hotheaded son must have seemed like tempting prey. The time had come—by all means, they had to stir up trouble here, ignite the flames of war here, engulf the entire Bandō region in a conflagration, and answer Fujiwara no Sumitomo and his faction waiting in force far to the south by the sea, biding their moment.

Then, Fushinin licked his lips and toyed with Tamenori’s fury. “Well now, Lord Tamenori.” “Unlike your father, you’re not senile yet.” “You criticize our military escort, but given how perilous Hitachi Province is, we deemed no precaution excessive.” “Why should protecting one’s lord and oneself be wrong?” “What? You call Hitachi dangerous?” “Don’t feign ignorance. For someone so young—” “For someone so young—” “Stop twisting every word!” “We’ve never sent a single unjust soldier from Hitachi into Shimousa!”

“But aren’t you secretly plotting to carry it out all at once?” “Th-that’s absurd! With what proof?” “Calling this ‘evidence’ is absurd. If you want to hear it, summon Umanojō Sadamori here.” “What? ...Sadamori?” “Now, bring him here. How about it? Sadamori has been appearing at this provincial government office from time to time, and we’ve already detected that he’s been here for several days now.” “You’ve condemned yourself out of your own mouth. You are the ones who, exactly as described, constantly use spies to prowl through others’ territories like dogs!”

“You can’t possibly claim we haven’t been investigating.” “It’s all to safeguard our own territory.” “For this reason, Sadamori is none other than the vile man who, for years, has traveled between the capital and Bandō seeking to destroy Lord Sōma, devising every manner of fiction and cunning to curse our master Lord Masakado. And this very Sadamori now lies hidden in Hitachi.” “...How could anyone possibly turn a blind eye to this?” “…………” “Moreover, incited by Sadamori, haven’t you and your father been amassing troops, conducting rigorous training in archery and horsemanship, and watching the Shimousa border with predatory intent?”

“…………” “Furthermore, that you have stockpiled weapons, accumulated provisions, and prioritized military preparations over governmental duties—this we have confirmed through our intelligence, without needing to rely on Genmei’s tattling.” “...That because of this, tax payments have been delayed and the people are voicing their resentment—this was all discussed by Investigator Sadatō, who stopped by our camp just this dawn.”

“What nonsense are you spouting? Wasn’t Sadatō taken prisoner by your soldiers? What kind of evidence is that—words forced through violence and threats?” “Ahahaha! Now that all our inside dealings lie exposed, even Lord Koremochi must be speechless!”

“I see… All of this was meticulously schemed to pick a fight and create an excuse to march troops into Hitachi.” “That’s right—if you’re selling a fight, I’ll buy it.” “But spare me your high-sounding pretexts.” “You are clearly marauders!”

“You called us marauders, did you?” “I did.” “You’re nothing but country marauders!” “But I too have my preparations.” “Not a single inch of Hitachi’s land will I hand over to your kind.” “All right! “The discussion is over.”

Fushinin stood up after saying that. And then, without allowing Masayori—who had been trying to say something all along—to speak a word, he finally returned home.

Inferno and Embers Umanojō Sadamori held his breath and peered from inside the Provincial Government Office at the negotiations unfolding between Shimousa and Hitachi factions in the courtyard.

"...Hmm. Although he was wearing armor, that rather talkative man beside Masayori did have a face I'd seen somewhere before."

He was wholly absorbed by that alone.

"That’s right.—Yasaka no Fushinin. That must be Fushinin from Sumitomo’s gang." The moment he recalled this, a chill ran through his body. Some time ago in the capital, he had run rampant as the leader of bandit gangs like some demonic entity before vanishing from Kyoto amidst rumors of having died in the Ministry of Justice’s prison; yet after years passed, he reappeared—spreading unsettling rumors nightly among the crowds at Kūya’s nenbutsu gatherings, journeying to the southern seas, wandering through the Bandō region… and now today stood here as one of Masakado’s military envoys.

What an utterly incomprehensible man, yet so masterful at transforming his guise. Could it be that legends of soaring between heaven and earth or appearing and vanishing like a phantom referred to such a man as this? "A fearsome one has aligned himself with Masakado…"

Before long, it became apparent that their mutual arguments had broken down, and the Koremochi father and son returned inside the Provincial Government Office, their faces stiff with unrelieved agitation. “They’ve left, haven’t they? Masakado’s envoys.” “Masakado’s envoys—”

“That’s truly violent talk. This isn’t collusion or anything of the sort.” Koremochi muttered indignantly, while Tamenori, with bloodshot eyes, forced a bitter smile as he looked at Sadamori and declared. “The arrow has already been loosed. There remains only battle now.” “But Lord Tamenori. Are we ready?” “For this very purpose, we’ve spent months drilling our troops and horses. Would we ever yield to their ilk?” “Among today’s envoys—that man who monopolized the speaking. You mustn’t lower your vigilance against him!”

“He called himself Fujiwara no Fushinin or something like that—what does it matter?” “He has ties with Fujiwara no Sumitomo—the southern sea rebel. He was captured by the Kebiishi once and should have died in the Ministry of Justice’s prison, yet here he remains alive in the Eastern Provinces…” “Sumitomo…?” The Koremochi father and son had heard whispers of this name, but concepts like “southern sea rebels” or “Sumitomo” struck them as belonging to another world a thousand ri distant.

“That’s right… I—” Sadamori abruptly etched deliberate resolve across his cold brow, “—shall now cross the mountains to Tanuma in Shimotsuke. We must inform Lord Fujiwara no Hidesato—who has long been our ally—of this emergency and request reinforcements.”

He said this half as if talking to himself and hurriedly exited down the corridor of the government office.

Sadamori had never once stood on a battlefield before, no matter the circumstances. That day too his caution likely guided him, yet he seemed to have slightly missed his chance to slip away unnoticed. For within the Provincial Government Office now surged an indescribable wave of terror through voices shouting "To arms! Masakado attacks!" Though nighttime preparations had fortified their defenses, when crisis struck, this very "Masakado terror" psychology erupted tumultuously among officials and soldiers.

Sadamori ran to where his retainers were stationed, but there was no sign of Ushihama Chūta or any other retainers there. Even as he walked around inspecting the four gates of the government office, the anxiously defending soldiers—their disheveled faces encased in iron—were thrown into disarray. As he watched this scene unfold, he too became ensnared by "Masakado terror." The relentless persistence of Masakado's enmity, the lightning speed of his cavalry maneuvers—these were things Sadamori had experienced firsthand through his own flesh and blood when cornered long ago at Chikuma River in Shinano, to the point of visceral revulsion. Once this fear took hold in his mind, there existed no one in all the world who understood the essence of Masakado's terror more acutely than he did.

Amidst throngs of soldiers and townspeople fleeing in all directions, he absentmindedly made his way back to his temporary home. And after resting awhile, Chūta and the retainers—growing anxious at his absence—returned there to search for him.

“We depart! We depart! We cross the mountains to Tanuma in Shimotsuke! Make haste—prepare for travel!”

It was a hectic affair. He and his retainers all donned armor over their hunting robes and, unlike usual, ostentatiously bore bows, long-handled weapons, and other implements as their party of over twenty men hurried out toward the mountains. By then, Masakado’s troops had already stormed into a corner of the town. Having charged against Hitachi’s massive army with a small force, their offensive carried the ferocious momentum of a muddy torrent from a breached dam. Sadamori wandered amidst the arrows, searching here and there for a safe escape route leading to the western mountain path.

Meanwhile, black smoke rose from part of a civilian house. Under the smoke, Masakado's hardened troops and horses invariably galloped forth. The fierce battle continued for over half a day until dusk began to approach. Though their defenses still held firm among Hitachi's iron-clad soldiers, crimson flames—whether from their own accidental fire or not—began raging from within the seemingly secure Provincial Government Office. In moments, it formed a great wave of flames that swept from eave to eave of the government buildings, plunging the Hitachi forces into immediate chaos. From the structures of the Great Library and Tax Storage too, dark crimson flames began erupting with a roar.

“Betrayal! There’s someone among our ranks who’s switched sides!” There were seven or eight soldiers running across the flame-stained red earth, shouting such things and brandishing their halberds as they raced about. None among the Hitachi forces had suspected them to be enemy spies. However, when they saw those who came running out through the shattered gate alongside the fire whirlwind, they were none other than the elusive bandits—subordinates such as Hagetaka, Kumota, and Anahiko—whom Fushinin had brought from the capital.

The wily old beast It was a cold day just after December began when Taira no Sadamori and his retainers—having abandoned the burning Provincial Government Office, fled from Hitachi to Shimotsuke along the mountains while relying on Hidesato—finally reached Tawara’s mansion at the foot of Mount Akagi. When Military Governor Fujiwara no Hidesato heard this from his retainers, “Ah.” “He’s come.” He nodded as if he had expected it. But he did not immediately agree to meet. The sight of him pressing his right middle finger to the hollow of his cheek in deep contemplation exuded both the composure and smug grin of a wily old beast pinning down its prey with a claw while pondering how best to carve and devour the flesh.

“Did you say I was here?” The retainer acting as intermediary floundered at his master’s unexpected response. “Yes. I inadvertently mentioned that you were in residence.” “I see... In that case,” said Hidesato, once again fixing his cunning gaze as he lowered it intently, “tell them I’m bedridden with a cold. However—” His tone sharpened. “Entertain them courteously. Do not be careless. Is that clear? Show them to the west guest hall, serve food and drink, and explain thoroughly: ‘Hidesato wishes to meet you, but being elderly and afflicted by this chill...’” He let the sentence trail off meaningfully before concluding: “‘...I remain deeply secluded in my sickroom.’”

“Understood.” “As you command, I shall carry this out without mishap.”

The retainer withdrew. The next day, Hidesato called one of the retainers who had handled the hospitality and quietly inquired about the situation.

“What happened? What about our guest Sadamori…” “He is deeply grateful for the generous hospitality.” “Does he show any intention of leaving immediately?” “He has stated that there is some pressing matter for which he must urgently seek your assistance—and that he plans to remain here until your cold has healed.”

“That’s right… Well, we can let them wait another two or three days.” “There’s no way they’d leave without meeting Hidesato.” He had seen through everything. It wasn’t merely Sadamori’s purpose for coming. When it came to events in the Bandō Plain, there was almost nothing he did not know. Above all, regarding the Masakado whirlwind in the Jōsō region, he did not view this as a fire on the opposite shore. He had been vigilant that sparks might fly to Shimotsuke at any moment and had also secretly harbored ambitions of his own—lying in wait for the right opportunity.

From the perspective of such a Hidesato, no matter how cleverly Sadamori might have maneuvered himself about, he remained but a callow youth. Moreover, now that Masakado had driven him out—rendering him unable to return fruitlessly to the capital or remain in Hitachi—he resembled a cornered bird with nowhere to shelter even his five-foot frame. A man of Hidesato's stature would never contemplate an equal exchange with such a creature. After keeping Sadamori waiting several more days, Hidesato at last assumed the manner of one rising from convalescence and granted him audience.

Sadamori’s expression showed relief, if only from being released from his impatience. Naturally, the host-guest dynamic became inverted. Hidesato assumed an imperious bearing while Sadamori could do nothing but fawn upon him. “Are you asking me to lend troops?” “I most earnestly request your military assistance.” “But you’re the one bearing central government mandates, aren’t you? Having issued official proclamations—why haven’t you ordered Sagami, Musashi and Kōzuke provinces into action? Why delay requesting imperial punitive forces from the Court?”

“As you well know, I have repeatedly sent swift messengers to the capital.” “…but in any case, at times like these, it takes several months from the appointment of the Seii Taishogun until the troops descend.” “Ha ha ha ha. “When it comes to those council meetings of the court nobles up in the capital—why, they treat warfare and cherry-blossom viewing as one and the same, you see.” “No—this time even the imperial court recognizes it as a grave crisis for the realm. They are deeply alarmed and hastening to issue various decrees." “However, compounding matters, Fujiwara no Sumitomo of Iyo has once again raised rebellion in the Inland Sea. Because of this, the capital now faces threats from both land and sea—truly, the imperial court appears to be in utter disarray.” Without mentioning his own plight, Sadamori focused solely on the central government’s crisis: “Already, your esteemed house must have received repeated official decrees urging action. For justice’s sake—and for the imperial court—I implore you to take up arms.” “It is for this reason that Sadamori escaped enemy territory and has come here to meet you.” “If you do not heed this request, Masakado’s might will annex the eight provinces of Bandō, and before long—not only this region—he will undoubtedly extend his dominion to the lands of Kai, Shinano, Suruga, and Tōtōmi.”

With that, he mustered the argument of his lifetime to persuade Hidesato.

Hidesato Rises “Hmm... Mmm...” “I see.” Hidesato nodded at every word. In his heart, he thought to himself that Sadamori was quite the talkative man. “But Lord Right Horse—when one grows old, everything becomes tiresome. Had this been my younger days, when the tide was right for raising a banner and my blood still boiled... Hidesato here has not a shred of desire left for fame or profit.” “...However, you must have heard of the atrocities committed by the rebel Masakado.”

“I know… But Masakado isn’t the only villain here.” “To your face I’ll say it—whether it’s Lord Kunika the Governor of Hitachi, Yoshikane of Hatori, or Yoshimasa of Mimori, every one of them’s quite the character.” “That…” Sadamori flushed crimson. He himself had plenty to feel guilty about. Those narrow eyes peering through wrinkled lids seemed to see straight through it all. “Given these tangled grievances spanning years, you must’ve heard unsavory tales—but in recent years Masakado’s grown arrogant, seizing neighboring lands and gathering malcontents at his gates. Not content with using them as excuses to invade their former masters’ domains, I hear he’s even got southern pirates in his inner circle colluding with Sumitomo.” “Clearly he harbors ambitions to seize the realm—no doubt remains!”

“Hmm… Could be.” “In that case, given your duties as Suppression and Control Commissioner—” “Are you implying it’s only natural for *me* to take up arms?”

“Well.” “I don’t mean to be rude by arguing logically, but...” “No—that’s the truth. “But whether it’s the imperial court or the house of the Great Minister—when trouble like this breaks out, they’re quick to demand loyalty. But what about *my* official rank? “For decades, I’ve been left to rot as a mere Suppression and Control Commissioner! “Year after year, even though I offer tribute, I’ve never once received an imperial grant of rank.” “Ah—you’re absolutely correct. “However, once Masakado is pacified, surely—this time—even the central government will not neglect you.”

“That’s just it, you see…” “They dangle promises of meritorious deeds to get you to shed blood, but once the rebellion’s quelled, they’ll nonchalantly forget all about you—that’s how those court nobles have always operated, you see.” “What nonsense.” “Since I, Sadamori, have come forth to request your military expedition, I swear such neglect shall never come to pass.”

“Hmm...” “Are *you* the one swearing?” “Even if I present a written oath.”

“Oh, if it’s a written oath, I’ll take it.” “—and if you name me supreme commander and hand over command of three armies, I might take the field. But if it’s just assisting as a subordinate… well, I’ll have to beg off.”

Whether Sadamori actually submitted the written oath remained unclear. However, there was no doubt he had extended such courtesies in his earnest plea. After tormenting his counterpart with endless fretting, Hidesato finally relented with a reluctant “Hmm...” For years, the influence the Hidesato clan had cultivated in Shimotsuke Province through overseeing public order, policing, tax collection, and related matters finally surfaced when he rose to subjugate Masakado.

Four thousand cavalry were gathered at Tanuma, opened armories, polished arrowheads, and sharpened blades.

However, these movements were still being carried out in utmost secrecy. Ever-cautious Hidesato still did not leave his Tahara residence, merely dispatching spies to probe Masakado’s subsequent movements. Maintaining only thorough situational assessments, he secretly bided his time for the opportunity to strike.

The Mad Child’s Intoxication

Masakado had won. He had won decisively. His subordinates, their voices raw from victory cries, laid waste to Hitachi Province with frenzied abandon. "We were victorious, but this went a bit too far." By the time Masakado realized this, the soldiers' mad revelry had already ended. Before Masakado could learn who had set the blaze, Hitachi's provincial government office had burned to the ground. The other administrative buildings and storehouses left no trace of their former presence. Enemy corpses lay heaped at every crossroads. Flames that had devoured the town now swept through distant fields, making peasants' huts, temples, and forests alike vomit smoke into the sky.

“What brittleness!” “This is the mighty Hitachi army that prided itself on its strong soldiers!” “No—it might be that our soldiers are simply too strong.” “Ahahaha! Goes without saying!” “Now, before our Lord Sōma’s majestic might, is there any enemy that can stand?” Such boisterous words suddenly reached Masakado’s ears. When he turned to look, Prince Kiyo, Fushinin, Genmei, and others—commanders of the Sōma Army’s field headquarters who styled themselves as such—had already pitched curtains amid the burned ruins of the provincial government office, uncorked bottles of celebratory sake, and were exultantly raising their cups one after another.

Masakado too had just drained a cup of victory celebration there, but standing alone, he gazed blankly at the desolate battlefield scorched by war, wrapped in a sense that this was not his own doing. (...Damn. There was no need... I didn't have to go this far.)

His heart whispered. Something like faint regret seeped from its depths. This was unmistakable aggression—the torching of government offices and storehouses meant rebellion against imperial authority. Even branded rebels, there could be no justification... "My lord." "Lord Shirō's troops have brought captured enemies." "Shall we behead them at once and display the heads where the people can see?"

Prince Kiyo declared fervently before him. “Wait—don’t go demanding heads at every turn. Let me see these prisoners myself.” Masakado returned to the tent. Two bound enemies hung their heads dejectedly to the ground. Glancing back at his brothers Masayori and Masahira along with staff officers Fushinin and Genmei, “Who are these enemies? What manner of foes?” he demanded.

“One is Fujiwara no Sadatō, an envoy from the capital,” someone answered. “And the other is Governor of Hitachi, Koremochi.” Masakado’s face twisted in disgust as if he might spit. “What?! Not Tamenori? Not Sadamori? The ones I want torn apart are Right Horse Keeper Sadamori first, then Tamenori! These worms are useless. Cut their bonds and chase them off.” “What? You’re sparing them?”

“Sadamori’s the one I want torn eight ways till it’s not enough—what good would come from killing some capital envoy or a senile fool like Koremochi?” Masakado grew increasingly gloomy. And then,

“Let’s return to Toyoda.”

And with that, he abruptly issued the order to withdraw. At this time, even during the retreat, Fushinin’s underlings and Prince Kiyo’s troops mercilessly plundered Hitachi Province as they departed. The command of the plundering squads was always handled by Genmei. Masakado returned to Toyoda without paying any attention to such peripheral actions. The people of his territory welcomed him as a triumphant general. The Shimousa Four Districts were roaring with cries of “Banzai!”, while at the gates, celebratory carriages and horses formed a veritable market every day.

After returning, Masakado did nothing but drink.

By his side there were always women in attendance—starting with Kusabue, Eguchi courtesans, and women who could not be clearly identified as wives or concubines.

As days of such drunken excess continued, December arrived. Still the daily drinking persisted; sycophants and flatterers crowded the gates without cease, while Prince Kiyo and Genmei praised him,

“Great Lord Sōma” they had taken to reverently calling him. When sober, he sank into drunken gloom; when drunk, his eyes took on a sinister glint as he plunged into bottomless oblivion and collapsed into sleep.—When the women touched him, “Quiet!” he would snap, and at times, “...Kikyō... Where’s... Where’s Kikyō?” he would call out with tears brimming in his eyes.

One such day in December. As usual, having become deeply drunk, it was the moment when Masakado’s eyes began to blaze with sodden intoxication. “Ah, how emotionally fragile our Great Lord Sōma is—and delicate in disposition like a woman!” Prince Kiyo teased Masakado with deliberate intent.

Masakado indeed flared up in anger.

“Hey, Kiyo. Why do you say I’m timid like a woman?” “But you’re always lamenting Lady Kikyō’s grievances.” “Laugh. If you’re going to laugh, then laugh! I can’t forget... beloved Kikyō... Not only that, when I think how I made her suffer such a cruel fate unto death, I can’t help but weep.” “In this world, beauties surpassing even Lady Kikyō are as countless as the stars.” “What are heaven’s stars to me?... I yearn only for one Kikyō. But she was trampled down.”

“This is all so futile,” Prince Kiyo said. “But there’s no way Lady Kikyō will return from death. Shake off this gloom and find yourself a woman surpassing her in the wilds of this realm.” “Could such a woman exist in this world?” “Ha ha ha! Of course they do!” The hall erupted in raucous laughter. Masakado’s expression sharpened as if jolted awake. He clumsily shielded his face behind an oversized sake cup. “Great Lord—” Prince Kiyo edged forward on his knees. Simultaneously, Fushinin and Genmei pressed inward from both flanks, hemming Masakado between them.

“Furthermore, there is another matter we must bring up.” “What?” “Already, our mansion’s soldiers have burned the Provincial Government Office, destroyed the government granaries, and struck down many officials.” “Who ordered such violence?” “This is what’s called the momentum of riding a tiger.” “No one gave orders.” “But having already invaded Hitachi, whether we seize one province and bear rebels’ infamy or conquer eight provinces and face censure from the authorities—it comes to the same thing.”

“So what are you saying?” “If we continue like this, are we not simply waiting obediently for the punitive army that will inevitably descend from the capital?” “If they mean to bind me with ropes, then let them bind me and drag me to the capital. And then it’s simply a matter of laying bare my guiltless heart once more before the high-ranking nobles of the Daijōkan.” “Preposterous!”

The three opposed in unison.

Poisoned Chalice

Fujiwara no Fushinin had long since won over Prince Kiyo first, then brought Genmei and every last one of the other notable commanders into the fold of his doctrines. In short, Fushinin's mission lay in establishing Masakado and plunging the realm into great chaos.

Taking advantage of this chaos, Fujiwara no Sumitomo—with whom he maintained constant communication—planned to make landfall in Settsu from the sea. Of course, they bore resentment toward the generations of Sekkan-ke regent houses and the series of court nobles, but they had no thought of using that to act against the imperial court. Their aim was undoubtedly revolution—a revolution born of personal grudges against the Sekkan regency and aimed at its reform. However, Masakado harbored not the slightest bit of such intent. He simply wished to be a child of ordinary happiness within the peace of his homeland. Yet time and again, even that small wish of his had been obstructed. Even now, having reached this point, he still yearned for Kikyō, drowned his sorrows in sake, and appeared even to be on the verge of drinking himself to death.

In that case—the three exchanged meaningful glances—(whether one seizes a single province or eight, the public censure for rebellion remains the same). Based on this premise, they made the following proposal to Masakado. "At this critical juncture, the only strategy is to expand power." "Even if a punitive army descends from the capital, if we possess a formidable unity that fears not even a hundred thousand troops, they will be powerless to act." "On the contrary, the court nobles themselves will come to compromise." "It is power, military might.—The only way is to take control of the Bandō Eight Provinces as swiftly as possible, implement benevolent governance, and win over the populace."

“I see… No—I too cannot simply wait for death.” Masakado finally drained the poisoned chalice.

Once again becoming a man on horseback, he departed from Toyoda Mansion on December 11th and marched to attack Shimotsuke Provincial Government Office - for him, this was now the first step in openly raising the banner of rebellion.

Each rode upon steeds as mighty as dragons; the soldiers followed like clouds.

This was how the Shōmonki chronicle described it. Needless to say, this contained continental-style exaggerations. Yet one could imagine that Lord Sōma's influence at this time had reached such momentum—like splitting bamboo—that even such descriptions did not seem unreasonable. The occupation of Bandō had been Masakado's last resort—an act meant to compensate for his violent incursion into Hitachi. Yet his attempt to find survival amidst certain death became, objectively speaking:

(Finally, Masakado Plots the Great Rebellion)

Needless to say, this became the prelude to a great whirlwind. When Masakado’s forces reached the Shimotsuke Provincial Government Office, it is said that without a single soul offering battle, Imperial Investigator Fujiwara no Kimimasa, Ōnakatomi no Sadayuki, and others emerged from the gates, prostrated themselves upon the ground, and paid homage to Masakado.

Even seeing that, one could grasp how the might of the Sōma army and Masakado’s movements had terrorized the neighboring regions.

By the fifteenth day of that month, his large army already invaded Kōzuke. There too, there was almost no resistance. Fujiwara no Kimimasa sent the seal of the Provincial Government Office to Masakado’s camp via a messenger and fled to the capital like the wind with his wife and children. Wherever they went, it was as if even the plants and trees bent before their momentum. And the provincial governors presented the seal of the Provincial Government Office and welcomed his army. As for the local people, it went without saying. He gradually began to feel like the Great General of the Eight Provinces. This was not a bad feeling. Moreover, he did not act violently. For a time, even the people who had fled in confusion came to worship him.

Masakado even went so far as to assign soldiers to protect the families of those provincial governors who requested to return to the capital and had them personally escorted all the way to the border of Shinano Road. The provincial governors of Musashi, Sagami, and others, “According to these rumors, the provincial governors leapt like fish and scattered like startled birds, all retreating to the capital before Masakado’s army even arrived.”

As recorded in ancient chronicles, nearly all government offices across the eight provinces appear to have been left vacant. It must have been like journeying through lands utterly devoid of people. Thus, control of the Bandō Eight Provinces was achieved without difficulty within that year. Taira no Masakado's subordinates returned majestically to Toyoda. It was in the first month of Tengyō 3, the New Year when Taira no Masakado turned thirty-eight, that they held the triumphal return and celebration of governing eight provinces before the Taihō Hachiman Shrine in Taihō Village.

On this day, he—unexpectedly, after a bout of heavy drinking—committed the greatest blunder of his life. Speaking of blunders, ever since his youthful return home, Masakado’s life had been nothing but a continuous string of one misstep after another—yet the blunder of this day alone became irreparable. For his entire life—no, even a thousand years hence—he would receive from the people of this land an inexplicable and indelible hatred that he could neither account for nor erase.

For he had been forcibly made Emperor by a scheming faction and his own reckless followers.

Utopia The true nature of the Taihō Hachiman district and Miyamae-chō - their number of households, general conditions, and scale as settlements - can now only be imagined.

Geographically speaking. Makabe, Yūki, and Niihari were situated at the border of three districts. Separated by the present-day Kogai River lay Ishida no Shō at the foothills of Mount Tsukuba (formerly the estate of Taira no Kunika), and a bit southeast along the highway was Ōkushi (where the Minamoto no Mamoru family once resided). From this perspective, one could infer that this area had been the location of the Provincial Government Office serving as the center of several districts. Furthermore, there must have once stood rows of residences belonging to government officials, imperial storehouses, and private homes—beginning with powerful clans like the Minamoto no Mamoru clan and local magnates such as Taira no Kunika. Large settlement after large settlement had stretched across several ri, each adjoining the next. And one could imagine that thick smoke from thriving settlements had risen morning and evening.

In such a homeland, it was hardly unnatural for Taihō Hachiman Shrine—founded during the Kokubunji Period—to stand. The precincts must have been spacious indeed. Through the grove before the shrine, one could glimpse the waters of Taihō Marsh, while beyond the tower gate spread the bustle of the temple town; here too resided sake houses and courtesans as in any village of this land. Mysterious shrine maidens clad in scarlet hakama and white silk—their hair smoothed back, faces powdered pale—must have flitted about shrine compounds and town crossroads. In any case, Bandō's distinctively earthy frontier culture intermingled densely with its festive religious hues and the dignified air of ruling clans inhabiting nearby provincial government offices, fermenting a hubbub of human settlement—all its smells and clamor.

There. Thousands of soldiers and horses, elated with battle triumph, came pouring in. Moreover, it being New Year's and centered around Taihō Hachiman Shrine, the land must have seethed with unprecedented crowds and commotion. However they divided into lodgings or set night camps, containment proved impossible. Through the dark hours, shadows of soldiers hunting liquor and women prowled among dim yet newly multiplied household lights, while through the night—heedless of cold—there seethed suspicious coquettish laughter, prankish shrieks resembling screams, and drunken slurred songs.

The mansions of the powerful families in Ōkushi and Ishida no Shō had through the battles thus far almost entirely turned to rubble. Masakado established the Taihō Hachiman Shrine precincts as his encampment, and for the grand banquet celebrating both the New Year and their military victory— “Let us stage such a magnificent celebration that the lords of Jōsō will gasp in awe!” With that, in his characteristic bold manner, he consulted those around him. And his brothers, along with the likes of Kōsei Ō of the curtained headquarters, Genmei, and Fushinin, “This is also a celebratory rite marking the inaugural governance—where our lord alone shall govern the newly acquired Eastern Eight Provinces.” “Let us stage an unprecedented festival—one that makes all people of the Bandō Eight Provinces cease their labors, distributes alms widely to the poor, compels the wealthy to offer the five grains, and shows before their very eyes the vision of a utopia for all.”

And so, each of them accepted their appointed duties and set about making preparations.

Night Kagura (Sacred Dances), Morning Kagura (Sacred Dances)

The preparations must have required ten-odd days without doubt. After all, they had only just returned in triumph, stationed their army there, and were conducting this very event. So.

It must have been around five days into the first month of Tengyō 3. In any case, the edict was publicly announced via relay horses to the eight newly acquired provinces. The people of the various districts who had heard the news— “With Lord Sōma’s august might, what grand festival will he put on?” —swarmed to Taihō Village, and on that day displayed a sea of people jostling shoulder to shoulder. The Taihō Hachiman festival was conducted over three days. The first day announced their victory in governing the Eastern Eight Provinces and prayed for a peaceful land and secure people; the second day held worship by newly appointed officials at each province’s office and an oath-taking ceremony before the gods; then, on the third day—

“Military achievements shall be rewarded; celebration wine shall be bestowed. All officers and soldiers of the army shall sheathe your bows in their bags and celebrate this splendid New Year together.” Following this proclamation, at dawn came the announcement of rewards. The shrine’s front garden transformed into a grand banquet hall where—amidst sacred music from the Kagura Hall and shrine maidens’ ritual dances—three cries of “Banzai! Banbanzai!” resounded, culminating in the commencement of revelry at the great feast. The Kagura—night Kagura, morning Kagura—had played without cease across three days, but during this grand feast performance, rustic folk songs and local peasant dances joined the program. Soon enough, rowdy soldiers in elaborate costumes ascended the dance platform, drawing cheers from Masakado and his curtained generals.

Now, as for Masakado— In the broad garden before the worship hall stood a temporarily erected grandstand. There, not only members of his clan and various generals but hundreds of newly appointed government officials and clerks sat in attendance, assuming the posture of courtiers. He himself sat grandly upon a raised seat called the "command platform." This structure alone had been built like a field tent, complete with roof and side chambers. Its rear connected via a bridge corridor to the shrine residences. He appeared every bit a monarch reigning from palace towers.

Moreover, by his side were a dozen or so beautiful women who appeared to be his concubines in attendance. Moreover, among the seats of the generals and officials, shrine maidens in scarlet hakama and courtesans from the temple town clad in dance robes mingled together, their coquettish voices flowing amidst the clatter of sake decanters and cups.

A solitary figure. "What a grand ceremony and feast! This must be unprecedented—not just since Taihō Hachiman Shrine's founding, but since this land was first settled! Never before in all Bandō's Eight Provinces have high and low gathered under one roof like this, nor have commoners from every district ever massed in such numbers!" "How auspicious!" "What a truly auspicious spring this is!" Kōsei Ō had turned crimson as a gagaku dancer's mask, tirelessly extolling this era of peace. Then Fujiwara no Genmei, Fujiwara no Fushinin, and others of Masakado's inner circle appointed as his right-hand men—

“Auspicious! “Banzai!”

Repeatedly raising their cups high, “But to tell the truth, even this still feels somewhat lacking as a celebration.” “We could have made it something even more roaring and lively.” he muttered such things. Masayori, Masahira, Masafumi, and others were also by his side,

“For those officials tasked with managing it—no matter how grandly they might have arranged things—there were likely still some shortcomings. But well, given that it’s reached this scale...”

“However, there remains a certain... loneliness,” Genmei added, addressing Masakado’s brothers. “To speak plainly—though the common folk, the shrine rituals, and the day-and-night kagura all bustle splendidly, boiling over with joy as they present their humble offerings of food and drink—does not Lord Sōma no Masakado himself seem to wear a rather desolate expression at times? He appears to be drinking sake incessantly, and I find myself unable to dismiss this concern.”

"That's just elder brother's nature," Saburō said bluntly.

“When sober, he carries a hollow shadow about him—the more he drinks, the deeper those lonely lines carve into his face.” “In his youth he wasn’t like this. But after losing Lady Kikyō and their child at Rikukan Coast’s Inlet years ago… That marked the change.” “That’s simply elder brother’s nature.” “No need for concern.” “So we conferred and invited his favored women from Toyoda Mansion—grass-flute players and others—even handpicking beauties from across the Eight Provinces to attend him.”

“Was that the reason? So many women came,” said Masayori, glancing up at his Elder Brother Masakado’s seat. “It was a thoughtful gesture, but it will be in vain. Even if it’s nothing but an unreturned grumble for Elder Brother, even if others mock it as a foolish lingering attachment—it must be Lady Kikyō. Even if there were a woman more beautiful than Lady Kikyō, it must be Lady Kikyō—no one else will do.” “Is that so? Hmm, does such a man even exist?”

“Whether such a man exists or not, Elder Brother is that kind of person. That’s why when he drinks, the loneliness in his heart only seeps out all the more. To erase that seepage from his face through drunkenness, he would still need to drink a great deal more…”

Then, Fujiwara no Fushinin, who had been silently stacking cup after cup since earlier,

“Ah—this talk’s gotten a bit too logical. “First off, the seating around here is no good. “Even we must loosen up. “You honorable younger brothers as well—don’t sit there so stiffly formal! Relax a bit, relax a bit!” With that, he summoned the courtesans and had them refill the cups.

It wasn’t just there. Cheers and drunken chatter seethed through every corner. Sake’s haze saturated the hall until every face shone with combustible grease. Kakko drums pounded, flutes wailed, cymbals crashed. The drunken battleground reached its peak—and now Masakado’s eyes finally kindled with prismatic fire, “Dance! Won’t someone dance? More life! More life!” he roared. Yet even this frenzy left him unsatisfied—he kept demanding greater revelry, ever wilder mirth. The malice in his flesh writhed like cloth-hungry serpents craving anything to smother his solitude.

Not only the unforgettable image of Kikyō and thoughts of his dead beloved child—another thing lurked in his heart: a lonely fear. It was a timid nature utterly opposed to his outward words and actions—a furtive fretting in secret. Regret, self-reproach, anxieties toward the capital, worries for his brothers' futures—all stemming from a kind of common emotion that could be called grumbling and an inherent honesty so stubborn it bordered on foolishness. If we were to call that his conscience, then in such moments, his conscience writhed like a viper pickled in alcohol, biting into his chest with even greater malice than usual.

Therefore, since late November, he had attacked Hitachi, burned government offices and granaries, pursued Taira no Sadamori and Fujiwara no Tamenori, then turned with unstoppable momentum to occupy provincial offices everywhere—in Kōzuke, Shimotsuke, Sagami, Musashi, Izu, and Kazusa—accepted surrendering soldiers, multiplied his army’s grandeur tenfold, and triumphantly returned here—and even while holding this grand celebration—he found himself incessantly plagued by feelings of regret. He fought and regretted, he won and regretted, and when welcomed with cries of “Banzai!” by the officials and citizens of eight provinces, he was all the more secretly tormented—his entrails torn apart by the viper of regret.

*Written Appeal* Masakado held a shield with two faces. On one face, he rampaged through eight provinces as commander of rebel troops; on the other, that very timidity constantly undermined him. To console this honest self, at year's end while encamped at Daihō Village, he one night entered Daihō Hachiman Shrine alone, lit a candle before a frost-cold desk, and drafted a document. This was an appeal meant to lay bare his true standing and petition the central government.

It was a document in which he—relying in his heart on Fujiwara no Tadahira, whom he had served in the capital since his youth at sixteen years of age as an imperial carriage attendant—poured out his innermost feelings, not a single character or line unwet by tears, petitioning both an appeal to the regent family and a consideration of extenuating circumstances. It was a rather lengthy text, and unless one examined it in its original classical form, Masakado’s innermost voice would not resonate. Therefore, I shall now present the full text here in its original form (as recorded in the *Shōmonki*). However, readers who find this section tedious may omit it and proceed ahead, as doing so will not significantly hinder their understanding of the novel’s narrative.

Masakado humbly states: Without having received Your Excellency's esteemed guidance, many seasons have turned. In constant thirst for your wisdom, never forgetting even in urgent moments, I prostrate myself and beg your august consideration. In years past, Minamoto no Mamoru and others were summoned through petition. Fearing official censure, Masakado urgently journeyed to the capital to seek imperial judgment. When truth became manifest, he was permitted to return to his homeland and resume his former station. Before travel-weariness could fade, Uncle Yoshikane wantonly assailed Masakado. I again found no recourse but to defend myself.

The particulars regarding how people were harmed and goods plundered under Yoshikane's command had already been exhaustively documented in an official report submitted by Shimousa Provincial Office. The Imperial Court itself had issued orders for neighboring provinces to combine forces and apprehend Yoshikane and his cohorts. Yet now they saw fit to dispatch envoys summoning Masakado himself for punishment. My heart finds no peace. This truly represents the nadir of despondency. Furthermore, this sequence of events defies all reason. Could it be that Taira no Sadamori arrived in Hitachi Province bearing official writs to apprehend me?

Regarding the above: Sadamori is one who once escaped arrest, lurked furtively, and made his way to the capital. In the government offices where his conduct should have been investigated—how could they have seen fit to issue an official order granting him legitimacy? This is entirely because they were deceived by his fabrications. Furthermore, Minamoto no Aitsutaka, the Right Minor Controller, has sent a document in accordance with the imperial command. This time, due to the complaint by Musashi no Suke Tsunemoto, it states that Masakado is to be interrogated. Therefore, I humbly await the arrival of the imperial envoy.

However, Tamenori, son of Governor Koremochi of Hitachi, wantonly wielded public authority and brazenly perpetrated injustices. There, due to the petition from Masakado's retainer Fujiwara no Genmei, he went to that provincial office to ascertain the truth. Tamenori openly conspired with Sadamori, mobilized over three thousand soldiers, took weapons from the armory without authorization, and provoked battle. Here, Masakado—having no choice—encouraged his soldiers and defeated Tamenori's army. This resulted from Governor Koremochi's failure to instruct his son Tamenori.

Masakado, though this was not his original intent, has already subdued them. Their crimes being grave, they have now come to confess of their own accord. Yet consider this—Masakado himself is a fifth-generation descendant of Emperor Kashiwabara; even were he to govern the provincial office, how could this be deemed improper? Masakado's martial prowess was bestowed by heaven itself—what man could stand above him? The court nobles withhold all honors while raining down ceaseless reprimands; to dwell on this brings naught but shame. Where now may I show my face? Should you deign to ponder these truths, it would bring me the deepest relief.

Now, from Masakado's youth until this very hour—these dozen years since first submitting his name to the Grand Minister of State—never in this age of the Regent-Chancellor's rule could he have conceived being compelled to commit such rebellious acts. Truly, though devising schemes for advancement amidst unendurable sighs, how could Masakado forget the noble court of his former lord? Tengyō 2, Twelfth Month. Masakado respectfully submits. Grand Minister of State Minor Captain Kakuga: Conferral of Grace

The messenger whom he had entrusted with this appeal had departed before year’s end, so he should have long since arrived in the capital. However, the messenger had not yet returned, and there was still no word from the regent family or any response from the central government—nothing was known at all.

It was that matter that Masakado resentfully brooded over alone. That he believed it to be a missive of blood and tears expressing his innermost feelings could also be said to be his own sentiment rendering him tragically resolute. For even in him, an honest man, there had been falsification within the text. Not all was truth. Even as he pleaded for compassion, that very brushstroke struck a defiant tone. Yet while the central government’s disorder was foreordained, local governance in this era had grown utterly fragmented. The ruthless prevailed without relent, lies crushed the upright, and those cunning among the central nobles could all too readily seize official decrees to wield provincial offices’ authority and manipulate regional politics for private ends. Amid such a turbid flood of documents, one might say Masakado’s words still bore within their very fibers a pitiful timidity and the lingering glow of an honest man.

Forest Priestess

There was a man who appeared to be drinking more than anyone else yet remained less drunk than them all. It was Fujiwara no Fushinin - one who never ceased his covert vigilance toward Masakado's countenance and the mood permeating the gathered assembly.

“Hey, hey, Genmei.” “Hey, Genmei.” “You haven’t forgotten today’s grand task, have you?” “What is it, Fushinin?” “Grabbing my wrist out of nowhere—” “Let go!”

“I got drunk. ...But you’re not yet soused, are you?” “Speak plainly. What’s this about?”

“Don’t you get it? Or have you gone senile, you old fossil?” “Old fossil, am I?” “Now now, don’t take offense. Isn’t this supposed to be a blessed day?” Fushinin said, wrapping his arms around both men as he called out, “Eh there, Lord Kiyoō?”

“This won’t do!”

Kiyoō was a prodigious drinker. His nature was steadfast.

“Lord Genmei,” said Kiyoō. “Is Fushinin not urging us by his endless prattle to perform sooner that divine oracle banquet play we three secretly devised last night? Is that not so, Fushinin?” “Aye, precisely,” Fushinin cut in. “What manner of fool are you, Genmei?” “Ah.” At this, Genmei’s face suddenly lit with recollection. He scratched his head theatrically.

“Truly, I got lost in drink and forgot.” “But… though this *is* the script for the banquet play we so carefully devised, with everyone already this drunk and unruly, it’s a tad late [to begin].” “Perhaps we should abandon it.” “Don’t spout nonsense! What drivel!” “The true feast begins now.” “What we’ve had till now was merely the pre-dinner drinks before the grand banquet.” “But you and Lord Kiyoō are both thoroughly soused.” “Rubbish! I never get drunk.” “Where do you see me drunk?” “Now perform!” “I’ll discharge my role properly too!”

“Even if you tell us to perform, we’re missing Morihime—the key priestess.” “Hmm, where could she be?” “Morihime’s over there amusing herself with someone.” “Up you get! Perform it by the script as planned!” Fushinin shoved Genmei’s backside upward. Genmei swayed unsteadily, weaving through the drunken throng. Then he seized from the side the woman called Mori’s priestess—who’d been holding a cup and chatting with commanders—and lumbered across the bridge walkway toward the shrine priests’ quarters.

Kiyoō and Fushinin, having confirmed this,

“Ha ha ha ha.” “Ha ha ha ha ha.” “He took her away,” “He went off.” “Well then, we can’t just stand around here either.” The two also stood up and stealthily hid inside a building beyond the bridge corridor. The shrine priests’ residence was extremely crowded. Both the main house and kitchen were in such a state that there was no room to set foot, filled with cooks and bustling men and women preparing the feast. Amidst the commotion, Genmei and the priestess of Mori—along with Kiyoō and Fushinin, who had arrived later—entered a small room. They sent for the Kagura Hall musicians, gathered priestesses, and busied themselves elaborately preparing their performance costumes.

“Ready? It’s about time.” “Very well.” “Go out first and perform the sakaki purification.” “At that signal, heavenly music shall play, the dance of celestial maidens will be shown, followed by Priestess Mori’s divine possession—that’s how we arranged it.” “Now then…” Genmei pushed aside the small room’s curtain and solemnly stepped from the bridge corridor. “Shhht….” “Silence! Keep quiet!” With this ceremonial call, he appeared at the banquet’s center. Genmei wore a crown, his ritual scepter tucked into his robe’s collar, both hands holding aloft sakaki branches. His mask bore white powder and blue shading around the eyes, with an attached white beard hanging to his chest. None recognized him as Genmei.

“Oh? What are they going to perform?”

“Is that a Hachiman priest?”

“No—for a real priest, he’s acting a bit strange.” “It’s probably someone’s drinking amusement.” “They likely mean to start some sort of farce.” Every face in the hall turned toward Genmei. He began reciting something with exaggerated solemnity—something like norito prayers. A voice both odd and not odd flowed forth with muffled chuckles. Swish, swish, swish—the sakaki branches rustled in the wind. His norito grew louder still.

Then, with great solemnity, the gagaku music began to play all at once. All manner of high-class instruments—shō, hichiriki, flutes, kokyū, tategoto, tatebue, ōtsuzumi, and the likes—began to play a symphony through the dubious sensibilities of rural musicians. Gagaku was originally meant to carry a solemn air, but since its sole purpose here was to stir up drunken revelry, there was neither proper melody, rhythm, nor score. It might as well have been Kagura music.

Just then, another group of actors came clattering across the bridge corridor. One of them was Kiyoō, dressed as the Left Minister with a quiver on his back and a bow in hand. The other was Fushinin, who also wore a crown with hanging ornaments, the ceremonial robes of the Right Minister, a long sword at his waist, and a trailing skirt that dragged along the ground. And then, the two pulled at each other’s trailing skirts, “Ah, ah! How strange! A divine omen!” and, chanting, “When I gaze upon the eastern sky’s wilderness—purple clouds drift—are those horses in spring fields, or banners hazed in mist? Where warriors abound…”

and, whirling in a dance so dazzling it hurt the eyes, they kept spinning— "Oh! That is—!" they cried with exaggerated gestures of veneration, performing elaborate acts of worship before prostrating themselves. "—It is truly Hachiman Great Bodhisattva!" The clamor of bells shook the hall. As countless as the ringing bells themselves, priestesses costumed as heavenly maidens appeared, their gauzy silk sleeves and trailing skirts fluttering as they rained five-colored paper lotuses upon the crowd below.

And like the wind, the heavenly maidens vanished from sight, leaving behind only the forest priestess standing alone. This appeared to be the climax of the performance. She wore makeup and robes resembling those of a noble divine messenger, holding a ritual scepter against her chest with eyes closed so rigidly that one could scarcely tell if she breathed—her countenance utterly devoid of sensuality. It was the same fearsome visage worn by priestesses who perform divine possession: first collapsing into ecstatic frenzy, then uttering divine words like delirious ravings.

Muddy Entertainment All who beheld the forest priestess's form and face had their drunkenness swept away in an instant; the entire hall fell utterly silent, seized by an eerie aura like water dashed upon stone. Superstition was not an affliction limited to the capital's nobility. In the remote regions existed even more primal beliefs—curses from ancient religions, taboos, and divine retribution from Buddhist powers—that were blindly followed. Everyone present knew full well this was nothing but a staged farce—a charade orchestrated by someone—yet the forest priestess's sorcery reduced even those who saw through it to silence.

She undoubtedly possessed miraculous skill in divine possession through such sorcery. Her body's contours and the tips of her black hair faintly rippled with wave-like tremors, and just as she seemed to draw all people's spirits to her lips, she—endowed with a voice of innate beauty carrying the authority of a golden bell—solemnly proclaimed this divine oracle: "Lo, it is I who serve as messenger of Hachiman Great Bodhisattva." "We bestow Our throne upon Masakado." "We shall manifest this through the soul of Left Minister Sugawara no Ason, Senior Second Rank." "Behold, Hachiman Great Bodhisattva shall aid New Emperor Masakado with eighty thousand troops... You must receive and honor Him with music of thirty-two sacred aspects."

What psychology was at work here remained unclear. Yet this mentality—of dissolving into the performers and joining their act—was common among the drunken crowd. When the Left Minister and Right Minister, who until then had lain flat as if unconscious, let out a sharp hiss, all inebriated heads bowed in unison. Masakado too prostrated himself before her—and in that uncanny moment, as if a gale had swept all thought from human minds, someone unleashed a wild cry that whipped up a tempest of applause. Then came

“Banzai!” No sooner had someone shouted than another, not to be outdone, “Long live the New Emperor!” someone cried, then another person stood up with a cup and shouted, “Long live our lord!”—while yet another declared, “Lord Sōma’s heir is of true imperial blood after all.” “What strangeness would there be in proclaiming the imperial throne?” Individuals began shouting speeches like “Long live Sōma’s New Emperor!”, and once the alcohol that had lurked within their pores burst forth in reaction, the frenzy and drunken whirlwind enveloped them in an ecstasy showing no sign of abating.

And so began their mischief. They modeled Masakado’s seat after the Imperial Throne, imitated the Emperor’s rituals, and performed ceremonial petitions for official appointments. Since Kiyoō and Genmei happened to be dressed in formal court robes and caps, this became the formal petition proceedings— “By imperial decree—” they proclaimed with pompous gravity, “Our younger brother, Taira no Masayori, is hereby appointed Governor of Shimotsuke. Taji no Katsura, son of Mikuriya Bettō Tsuneaki, as Governor of Kōzuke. Bunya no Yoshitatsu as Governor of Awa. Wait—Taira no Masafumi is appointed Governor of Sagami.”

Each of these outrageous pronouncements elicited applause and provoked uproarious laughter, and with even Masakado clapping his hands and appearing thoroughly amused, they grew all the more emboldened. “Right Minister.” “What of the imperial capital?” “Even though the New Emperor has ascended the throne, the location of the imperial capital remains undecided.” “No—the imperial capital shall be established at Teinan in Shimōsa Province.” “Facing south, we shall construct the Imperial Palace.” “Hear me, Left and Right Ministers.” “The appointments of Counselors, Consultants, civil and military officials, and the Six Bureaus and Eight Ministries cannot possibly be completed in a single day, after all.” “However—have the crucial inner and outer imperial seals been cast?”

“A divine oracle from Hachiman Great Bodhisattva has just been received,” “We haven’t reached that stage yet.” “Moreover, to forge the imperial seal, we must rectify the ancient texts—and consider historical precedents for its dimensions.” “Wahaha! How official-sounding!” “The Left Minister and Right Minister both play their parts well.” “But tell me—who’ll become the Calendar Master?” “A Calendar Master won’t be easily found.” “Then why not fetch some old fisherman from Kazusa’s beaches…”

Masakado had collapsed in a drunken stupor. The clamor of wild dances and drunken songs reached him only as distant echoes. He lay among clusters of women, tear-like drops falling from the corners of his eyes. He awoke abruptly at dawn. He remembered nothing—not who had carried him here, nor where this was, nor how he had come to sleep. “Water... Fetch me water.” He sat up with a jolt and rasped.

In the faint glow of candles and the shadows of curtains, several women with disheveled black hair lay scattered among wooden pillows.—What a desolate sight. Masakado, having finished drinking the water, shuddered violently—a full-body tremor so intense it seemed his very bones might crack.

“Let’s go.” No—let’s return to Toyoda Mansion. …Though the inner hall where Kikyō once lived and the room that held the milky scent of Wako are now gone, replaced by the fragrance of new wood, still, when I sleep at Toyoda, memories of days past drift faintly into my dreams.—Now, I’ll leave this place. Women, bring out the undergarments. “Bring out the armor.” It was unclear whether he was muttering to himself or issuing orders to the women around him—his tone carried a harsh, irritable roughness unbefitting someone who had just awoken.

“It seems yesterday’s drunkenness has left him with a lingering hangover—he hasn’t fully sobered up yet.” The women, in awe and fear, whispered among themselves. He summoned his samurai retainers and had them inform Masayori, Masahira, and the others to prepare for departure. The soldiers were shocked—there was no order to take their morning provisions; instead, they were commanded to immediately line up the horses. Taira no Masakado, with a fearsome expression, mounted his horse. Overhead, the morning moon still hung.

But when at last the three armies had assembled and the four divisions of soldiers began their winding procession from before Taihō Hachiman Shrine in orderly ranks, the morning sun of spring had already begun spilling across the earth. Surrounded by his generals' horses, Taira no Masakado sullenly furrowed his brow as he swayed his mount's head toward the highway through the temple town's crossroads. Villagers crouched darkly along road edges and beneath eaves to see him off whispered among themselves, "The New Emperor." More fearfully than usual—heads bowed low as if forbidden to lift them—they remained motionless, staring only at the horse's forehooves with upturned eyes.

…What’s this?

Taira no Masakado found this strange. Yet at every roadside he passed that day, he saw similar commoners and heard voices fearfully whispering "New Emperor" in reference to himself. It felt as though he were trapped in an endless nightmare. On the day when he finally saw his home's gate after all this, for the first time, he let out a breath that felt like his own in relief.

The Emperor bestowed the ceremonial sword.

Bandō was plunged into great chaos.

The official report stating [that Bandō had fallen into great chaos] reached the capital at the end of December, when the year was drawing to a close. From the government offices of the eight eastern provinces, provincial governors and government officials who had been driven out like hornet larvae eventually fled for their lives up to the capital, and— “Oh, it’s beyond what ‘disaster’ can describe—it’s reached such a point that even calling it a disaster feels foolish.” “I thought it couldn’t be true, but Masakado’s rebellious intent was indeed not mere rumor—it was real.” they said, “At this rate, they may burn down the provincial offices of Sagami and Tōtōmi one after another, dragging even the capital into the upheaval.”

they scattered terrifying words like sparks. Starting with Kudara Sadatsura of Musashi, Assistant Governors and Secretaries from various provinces also flocked one after another to the Grand Council of State,

“It’s far too late now to file appeals about Masakado’s rebellion—the matter is already outdated.” “The situation is not just that—it’s already a great turmoil under heaven! East of Suruga, there remains neither the imperial court’s nor the central government’s authority.”

and exaggerated their words to the utmost. And as was typical of bureaucratic instinct, they tried to present their own incompetence as an unavoidable force akin to natural disasters.

With that alone, the capital spent its days in anxiety from dawn till dusk. All people, high and low, lived in a frenzy, with no distinction between ordinary days and festivals. At this critical juncture, ominous news arrived: the government forces dispatched to subjugate Fujiwara no Sumitomo—the pirate leader of the southern seas—had suffered a crushing defeat, and Fujiwara no Takataka, Assistant Governor of Bingo, had been taken prisoner by the pirate army. This left the court nobles utterly astounded. “The pirates of the southern seas and the great chaos of Bandō are not separate matters.” “Sumitomo and Masakado have long been in collusion—they raised their armies simultaneously.”

The court nobles' astonishment and voices of terror had already reached their peak. The imperial envoys went to Nara, proceeded to Mount Hiei, and ordered the mountains and temples within and around the capital to conduct prayers for the "subjugation of rebels."

Prayers.—Truly, it was a government with no measures or policies beyond prayer.

At this time, Grand Minister Fujiwara no Tadahira had already passed sixty years of age and had largely entrusted governmental affairs to his sons: Major Counselor Saneyori and Provisional Middle Counselor Morosuke. However, regarding the Masakado issue, the opinions of this father and his sons were not aligned. “I know the man called Masakado.” “He may be bluntly honest, but he’s no schemer.” “He is constantly accused by others, but this must be some misunderstanding.” “Let alone such an audacious rebellion—I cannot think him a man who would even contemplate it.”

This had been Tadahira's view of Masakado, forming the longstanding foundation of his political analysis. Yet his sons Saneyori and Morosuke held entirely different views. These two aligned completely with Sadamori's reports and accusations. "Father's judgment has grown soft." "He's clearly senile in some regard." "But Masakado served as a young retainer in our household long ago..."

“Hmm. It must be that he still wants to side with him out of personal sentiment.” “That’s part of it, and I suppose I’ve grown somewhat out of touch with the times.” In this manner, they dismissed Tadahira’s judgment as nothing more than biased support for Masakado and their elderly father’s personal sentiment; from the outset, even when selecting counter-Masakado policies on several previous occasions, they had merely brushed them aside with a “Well, well” and never adopted them in court deliberations.

And so.—Throughout this period, behind the central government’s perpetually half-hearted measures for the eastern provinces—whether dispatching investigative envoys or issuing judgments—the tangled relations and clashing opinions between the ruling father and his sons must have formed many of the underlying causes. However, this time, they could not ignore it. Masakado of Bandō had usurped the imperial throne, declared his current location to be a royal palace, appointed Left and Right Ministers, and arbitrarily granted appointments to civil and military officials hastily assembled overnight. Rumors spread throughout the capital that his authority now rivaled that of the true Son of Heaven.

Even Tadahira could only mutter dejectedly, "...What a fool," and showed no inclination to speak another word about Masakado. "For Sumitomo's subjugation, we have urgently dispatched reinforcements and sent a hundred warships from Settsu." "...But for Masakado... For the punitive army too, someone must be appointed as Barbarian-Subduing Generalissimo, I suppose."

When the brothers sought their elderly father’s opinion, Tadahira replied curtly. “What? Army organization? Those procedures should be obvious.” “But there’s no one willing to lead the campaign. No one seems to want the role.” “Not even with an imperial command?” “No—no decree has been issued yet. We’re still deliberating over candidates.” “What are you dithering over? Consult the council— Consult the council!”

At last, the white-feathered arrow was set upon Fujiwara no Tadabumi.

It was already January. An imperial command was issued to Tadabumi: as Barbarian-Subduing Generalissimo, subjugate the rebels. The Emperor himself appeared at the South Hall, bestowed the ceremonial sword setto upon Tadabumi, and conducted the appointment ceremony. The hundred officials standing in attendance chanted “May you return victorious” and sent him off with cries of “Banzai!” As vice-commanders were appointed Fujiwara no Kunimoto, Taira no Kiyomoto, and other governors and vice-governors of the eastern provinces; among the army could also be seen figures like Yoshikane of Hatori in Tsukuba, sons and nephews of Yoshimasa—even those such as Taira no Kimiura and Kimimasa.

Hidesato’s Military Expedition The punitive army departed the capital on January 27th, and by early February, the grand column of troops must have been winding their way eastward along the Tōkaidō highway in great haste.

However, it was highly doubtful how much confidence and resolve General Tadabumi, Vice-Commander Kunimoto, or indeed all the army’s officers and soldiers held toward Masakado. The reason lay in this: even before departing the capital, the exaggerated accounts of the “Masakado menace”—long instigated by Taira no Sadamori and further amplified by provincial governors of Bandō who had fled westward spreading rumors—had proven too effective. The force of the Masakado storm now triggered extreme “Masakado terror,” so that whenever the officers and soldiers uttered his name—Masakado, Masakado—whether leaving their homes or marching along post-station roads, their demon-haunted dread only intensified.

But this was not merely their own cowardice. Ever since word spread that Sumitomo had risen in rebellion in the western seas and Masakado had run rampant in Bandō, rumors of unrest frequently arose even in the Hokuriku and Shinano regions, and indeed, along the very routes taken by Tadabumi’s punitive forces, a state of anarchy was evident.

The Suruga Provincial Capital blazed fiercely, consumed by flames.

“Have Masakado’s troops already pushed this far?” The rebels fell into temporary panic, but when they sent scouts to investigate, they discovered bandits entrenched around Fuji no Hitoana—completely unrelated to Masakado—who had exploited the chaos in government offices and post-station roads to begin their operations. “At this rate, even we could seize a province or two!” It became clear these outlaws had proclaimed a hastily concocted justification and transformed into local insurgents.

The Sodegasaki Checkpoint and Kokubunji Temple in the same province were also attacked.

Travelers had vanished, and the post station chiefs and officials had all fled or disappeared without a trace. Under these circumstances, even for Barbarian-Subduing Generalissimo Tadabumi himself, reaching Ashigara Pass was no easy task.

Later, their army was harshly criticized by public opinion for what exactly they had been doing—this was due to such reasons.

Such conditions were doubtless not limited to the Tōkaidō alone. The hearts and minds of the people themselves brewed and sought the literal "Great Turmoil" of the realm. Night and day, everywhere, riots, looting, and arson were carried out, “What will become of us?”

And so these sorrowful days continued—days that left good citizens with nothing but confusion, bereft of lands to work, homes to live in, or food to eat. “The time has come.” “The one who can save this is none other than you.” “Now is the time to show me our long-standing promise before my eyes.” At Tahara Mansion in Tanuma Village, Shimotsuke Province, Right Horse Keeper Taira no Sadamori had come from the end of the year through the New Year to urge a final decision. Hidesato still did not readily say yes. He was a crafty one. He would not make a move until he had established a complete chance of victory.

Even if he were to dispatch troops, since he had not been appointed by the imperial court, this represented a significant strategic calculation for him. If he wished to avoid pulling chestnuts from the fire, he remained in a position where he could calmly maintain his role as bystander. As for what Fujiwara no Hidesato thought— “Lord Sadamori, return to Hitachi,” he instructed. “Confer with Koremochi and Tamenori of that province—father and son—gather what soldiers remain, and await my mobilization.” With these words, he granted them a detailed strategy.

It is said that Taira no Sadamori, overcome with joy at that moment, wept and prostrated himself before the crafty strategist. After witnessing Envoy Hidesato issue a mobilization order and muster both his clan and troops from across Shimotsuke Province to Tanuma, "Good—now that I've gained this ally," he raced back to Hitachi. Yet Fujiwara no Koremochi and Tamenori—whose provincial office Masakado had burned—had either fled into hiding or been captured, their troops entirely scattered with even their whereabouts unknown. Through this turmoil, Taira no Sadamori rushed east and west—yet somehow accomplished the Hitachi forces' reorganization within days and plotted to confront Masakado with fresh Shimotsuke reinforcements. Such tenacity and labor surpassed anything a shallow genius could achieve. Even this man—who had always relied on shadowy intellect and glib words—now stood revealed as one staking his life and dredging up reserves of strength never before seen.

Taira no Sadamori’s Wife

After returning from Daihō Hachiman to Toyoda New Mansion, Taira no Masakado did nothing but sleep like a fool for two or three days. He was utterly spent, both in body and spirit.

He had drunk far too much during both the three days of military victories and the grand New Year’s banquet, but more than anything, he must have become sickened by the euphoric atmosphere around him. The mischievous pranks—being proclaimed emperor, shouts of "Long live the New Emperor," debates over where to establish the imperial capital, appointment ceremonies for Left and Right Ministers—still seemed to weigh oppressively on the back of his head, their lingering effects manifesting in his pallid complexion. "This isn't working. I can't focus. Let's move to Iwaya."

Iwaya Mansion was in Sashima District. It stood across a stretch of water reachable by ferry from Sōma. Aboard the vessel they shared drinks; though cold, their moods lifted. Upon frost-white reeds and miscanthus that refused to thaw even at midday rose Mount Tsukuba—and when they turned to gaze afar, Mount Fuji stood visible.

“Brother. In the Hiruma area of Hitachi, remnants of the enemy are hiding and plotting something, they say.” When they landed at Sashima, the brothers Masahira and Masafumi greeted him and immediately delivered this report. “What? The remnants are moving?” Taira no Masakado had grown intensely nervous lately. Though dispatching any of his generals would have sufficed for such a matter, “Order the troops to assemble at once. I’ll go myself,” he declared.

he declared. Rather than remaining in Toyoda or enjoying winter days at Iwaya Mansion, his state of mind now found greater peace on horseback in the open wilderness. On that day, he departed for Sashima and toured areas such as Naka and Kuji Districts in southern Hitachi. In truth, since no movements of remnants were observed, from the commoners’ perspective, it likely appeared as nothing more than the New Emperor’s tour. And in each place he went, regardless of whether Masakado liked it or not, the people along the road prostrated themselves on the ground. District officials and provincial officers welcomed him to the boundary, sprinkled sand at the lodgings, prepared a cypress-wood palace—and there too, he was treated as the New Emperor.

Just then, his subordinates discovered a fleet of enemy ships at Hiruma River in Yoshida District. Yet when they engaged in combat, few enemy soldiers worthy of battle emerged. After shooting them all down and inspecting the remaining ships, they found only women, children, and elderly women dragged out from under the thatch coverings.

However, among them was Minamoto no Suke's wife, and Taira no Sadamori's wife had also been hiding there. In this polygamous society, Taira no Sadamori's wife should have been in the capital, but it appeared he maintained a wife in this region as well. "This was an unexpected prize. We still have no clue where Lord Sadamori is... but his wife here is every bit a fragment of our foe." The generals Taji Tsuneaki and Sakanoue Tokitaka boasted triumphantly, humiliated them, and soon dragged them before Masakado.

Taira no Masakado, upon seeing these women of the enemy generals, found his eyes becoming bloodshot at the rims and clamped his nose shut, barely uttering a word. It must have been his habitually fretful nature suddenly recalling something. His most beloved wife and child had once met a similar fate at Rikukan Riverside, drifting into enemy hands to be brutally murdered at their mercy—yet now, those very enemies' wives were being dragged before him.

(Kikyō, my child—this is how karma works. You are not the only ones cursed with misfortune.) Yet he could not bring himself to slaughter the enemy generals' women before his eyes with a blade—not as Kikyō had suffered, nor as his own child had been made to suffer. Instead, they say pity welled within him—uncharacteristically—and he composed a waka poem to show them, in place of vengeance. The poem read:

Even afar, I ask for news borne by the wind— The wife of Taira no Sadamori wept, drenched in tears, Even in distant lands, when the scent of scattered flowers reaches me—does my own wretchedness not come to mind? It is said she composed a waka poem in response to Taira no Masakado’s compassion, and that Minamoto no Suke’s wife too composed a waka poem expressing gratitude for his mercy—an anecdote exists where both were untied and released. Even a hardened eastern warrior like Taira no Masakado had once spent years studying in the capital, even emulating the refined elegance of the Udaijin household. Thus, there would be nothing inherently suspicious about him composing a poem or two in his lifetime. Yet one cannot help but wonder if this tale was fabricated by some later admirer of Masakado. Both his poem and Taira no Sadamori’s wife’s verse feel undeniably contrived. Regardless of their technical skill, one cannot detect any genuine lingering emotion or resonance in such circumstances.

Yet to dismiss even Masakado’s act of sparing and releasing her entirely as fabrication seems unwarranted. That the wives of Taira no Sadamori and Minamoto no Suke wandered aimlessly among reeds and miscanthus, with nowhere to turn, was entirely plausible given the realities of the time; likewise, the local legend that Masakado did not kill them likely contained a considerable kernel of truth. In any case, he had vainly and emptily spent his days until around the end of January in this manner. During this time, there were no traces of him planning the construction of a pseudo-imperial palace, greedily collecting the people’s possessions, or hastily expanding his military forces. Careless he was—indeed, as careless as could be—but no matter how the whirl of his surroundings and society sought to fashion him into a grand schemer, within himself he harbored neither such grandiose designs nor ambition, leaving nothing to be done. Perhaps he still secretly clung to the faint hope that his lengthy written appeal of self-defense, sent to the capital, had been taken up by Tadahira and his son—and that a conciliatory envoy from the imperial court would soon arrive. Therefore, there are indications that he may have spared the likes of Taira no Sadamori’s wife and Minamoto no Suke’s wife as well.

However, what came in return was "In concert with Sadamori, Fujiwara no Hidesato of Tanuma marches over the mountains with four thousand Shimotsuke troops," a report that struck like thunder from clear skies.

Tempest Formation

“What? Hidesato? … A mistake, surely? … Why would Hidesato turn against this Masakado?” At first, Taira no Masakado did not believe it. Even when the second and third messengers arrived, he remained skeptical. But when he realized it was fact, he panicked without any pretense. He felt threatened by Hidesato’s veteran expertise and Shimotsuke’s military strength. Moreover, he had always paid respect to Hidesato’s position as Envoy in Charge of Pacification and Control and had striven not to infringe upon his official duties or the fields of his clan.

And that very Hidesato.

He was a man who had always proceeded under the belief that all people not deemed his enemies—even if they were not allies—were fundamentally good-natured, never anticipating harm from them even in emergencies or contingent circumstances. Thus, even in such moments, when he showed no sign of panic—neither flustering in disarray nor, conversely, giving extreme vent to his emotions through curses—his dull-wittedness and even simplemindedness became starkly apparent in his subordinates’ eyes. He appeared as a man who could not be relied upon.

Not only his earlier act of releasing the enemy generals’ wives, but witnessing this panicked state of his—his tearful sentimentality and naively trusting nature—further aligned their hearts with him and strengthened their resolve to share life and death. Yet among his clan members and officers, those who felt this way were likely limited to a mere handful. In any case, they hurriedly formulated a battle strategy. Then Taji Tsuneaki and Sakanoue Tokitaka conversely advanced toward Aso District—near Hidesato’s stronghold. Ambushed at the outset, the Shimotsuke forces’ vanguard would retreat when defeated, fight only to be routed again, and flee in disarray toward the rear.

Taji Tsuneaki, Sakanoue Tokitaka, and their men, “We’ve seen through Hidesato’s tactics!” they declared with fervor as they plunged deep into enemy territory. But having lost contact with Masakado’s main camp, they soon became an isolated force.

Hidesato deliberately issued a command to his subordinates. "Now, it begins. First, surround the enemy before us thoroughly—let not a single soldier escape." His planned strategy had fallen perfectly into place. From then on, they invaded Shimousa with the force of a rolling tide.

Meanwhile.

Sadamori and Tamenori rose simultaneously from Hitachi and Kazusa. In the initial battles, the news of Masakado’s forces’ defeat—having fallen into Hidesato’s stratagem—exerted a profound influence on the movements of the other provinces. “The New Emperor, after all, cannot rival the True Emperor.” “If you join the imperial army, rewards may come your way in time—but side with the rebels, and you’ll surely lose your heads. Even your nine clans—your entire lineage—will face severe punishment!” Taira no Sadamori loudly had this proclamation spread even among the farmers.

With each battle, Taira no Masakado suffered defeat after defeat, until at last the single palisade of Iwaya Mansion became his sole remaining stronghold.

He had burned down Sashima Mansion with his own hands and barricaded himself there, planning for a final stand—yet when he tallied the troops in his camp, he found only four or five hundred cavalry remaining. This was the extent of his downfall in the mere span of about ten days since February 1st.

And then, on the morning of February 14th.

Taira no Masakado positioned himself slightly apart from Iwaya Mansion, deploying his forces with their backs to the north. ―The enemy perceived their forces to be eight or nine times larger than ours, “Rather than waiting,” he commanded, “seize the moment and strike at their weak point!” With that declaration, he prepared for a surprise assault. A violent gale raged that day. The Nikkō wind whipped waves across the river’s surface. Mid-February’s withered reeds and pampas grass sent flute-like wails sweeping across the plains as swift, low-hanging clouds made the sun’s face flicker ceaselessly.

On that day, the storm howled through the branches as the earth’s roar carried clods of soil. The New Emperor’s shields, swept forward by the gale, collapsed of their own accord; Sadamori’s shields too, their faces covered, went flying. As recorded in the Shōmonki, it was a day of what they call the Kantō region’s notorious dry gales. It can be reasonably surmised that Taira no Masakado’s decision to employ a surprise attack was based on leveraging this weather.

The Hour of the Monkey—3:00 PM—was said to be the appointed time. Masakado led his entire personal guard to close in on the enemy's massive army and launch an archery battle. The wind favored his position. Though Hidesato and Sadamori's combined forces boasted tenfold numbers and archers drawn in full array, without this tempest at their backs, they could only squander arrows while heaping up casualties. Seeing the enemy ranks thrown into disarray, "Charge!—Spare neither! Take both Sadamori's and Hidesato's heads!"

Masakado himself spurred his horse and plunged into the raging waves of the enemy. How could he—so prone to tears, so dull-witted, one who faltered when confronted—be so formidable? Was strength something separate from his usual chivalry and obtuseness? Both Masakado's brothers and his subordinates stood astonished. No—they found themselves emboldened. Taira no Sadamori fled on horseback in disarray, while Hidesato's forces scattered across the wilderness like a flock of panicked geese, their shadows swiftly vanishing as they dispersed.

It was truly a scene of utter chaos among the armies. No—the raging sandstorm and wind that swept through Bandō’s soil made for a truly fitting spectacle of heaven and earth to bury and erase the end of the man called Masakado. Masakado was no longer the human being known as Masakado. He was a single asura. From his eyelashes to the very tips of his hair, every ounce of life within him burned like flames. They were triumphant eyes. His face was so drenched in blood it no longer looked human—all he had wanted was to see that man Sadamori one more time before this. On the galloping back of his wild steed, he searched for only that one thing.

In an instant—an arrow struck his face. “…………” No voice sounded. The battle-weary face—under the weight of the helmet and the pressure of the lodged arrow—fell backward with a sickening crack, as though the neck bone had snapped. Or so it appeared. With a heavy thud that shook the ground, his body tumbled from the horse—and instantly, like a pack of starving dogs lunging at thrown scraps, they swarmed in with a roar: a mass of common foot soldiers and commanders in pitch-black armor, piling onto the fallen figure. Too abruptly—far too abruptly to be called the great upheaval of the realm—Sōma no Kojirō Masakado ended there.

His death in battle occurred on February 14th of Tengyō 3 (938 CE). At the time, he was still thirty-eight years old.

The Posthumous Chronicle of Masakado If one were to speak of anticlimactic ends, history holds none more abrupt than Masakado's death. Yet for him, it had been a life lived clawing desperately at survival. But so long as he drew breath, those whose own existence grew inconvenient hastened him toward death. They might as well have tortured him to extinction.

On this day, the number of those who perished following him in battle—cut down—was later reported by the Shimotsuke Provincial Office to the capital as one hundred and ninety-seven individuals. It is said that his head reached the capital on April 24th, while his remains were divided and buried at a temple in Shosazakimura Village of Edo’s domain and various other related locations, which later became mounds and historical sites. After his death, it could be said that the Bandō region held an unexpectedly large number of people who admired and pitied him—evidence of this fact.

Mikuriya Saburō Masayori, his younger brother, was struck down by pursuing forces while fleeing to Sagami, and Fujiwara no Haruaki was also killed in Hitachi. Kiyoō was shot in Inami, Kazusa Province. It is said that Shirō fled into Mutsu, while Masatake, having retreated as far as the mountains of Kai, also met his end not long after. However, it appears that even at the sites where Masakado’s brothers met their ends, local people conducted proper burials, and in each region these places became shrines or sacred groves resembling village shrines.

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Edo’s Kanda Myojin was another shrine that enshrined Masakado. The Shosazaki Engi provides a detailed account of its origins.

The first person to exonerate Masakado of his false charges and make the Kanda Festival even more grand was Karasumaru Dainagon Mitsuhiro. In Kan’ei 2 (1625), when he was dispatched to Edo Castle as an envoy, he inquired about its origins, “To call Masakado an arch-rebel or demon god is absurd—these are baseless fabrications.”

he petitioned the imperial court and sought an imperial pardon. Thus, it is said that the grand Kanda Festival also came to be called the Imperial Pardon Festival. In front of the former Ministry of Finance’s entrance, there was a pond known as Masakado’s Head-Washing Pond until around the Meiji era. Furthermore, the names of places such as Nihonbashi’s Kabuto Shrine and Yoroi Bridge are also said to be traditionally associated with Masakado’s remains or relics.

Beyond these, Masakado legends exist throughout the Kanto region to an extent that cannot be fully enumerated. Undoubtedly, this stems from the fact that those claiming descent from Masakado or belonging to offshoots of the Bandō Taira clan proliferated across this land as pioneering families.

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There, in the aftermath of the rebellion, what seemed strange were the discussions surrounding Barbarian-Subduing Generalissimo Tadabumi’s triumphal return and the bestowal of rewards. By the time his legitimate punitive force arrived in Bandō, the war had already ended. In response, with what manner of greeting did Hidesato receive the Barbarian-Subduing Generalissimo who had come bearing the imperial sword from the court? Even imagining the surrounding circumstances, it remains a fascinating matter. In Tadabumi’s case, his return could not even be called a triumphal one. Perhaps because of this, even after returning to the capital, no rewards for meritorious deeds were bestowed by the imperial court upon Tadabumi and those under him.

There are articles in works such as *Kojidan* that state Tadabumi resented the court nobles’ deliberations and died of indignation over them. His resentful death, as well as the fact that Tadahira’s son Saneyori became prone to frequent illnesses thereafter—all calamities among those involved—began to be attributed to Masakado’s curse. No—not only the court nobles, but the general populace became possessed by the Masakado-as-demonic-god theory; whenever epidemics spread or disasters struck, they were attributed to Masakado’s curse, and for a time, people trembled in fear, repeating it like a mantra.

However, in Sumitomo’s case, there had not been much mention of subsequent curses. He too had vanished like seaweed scraps in the western seas, and even his once-rampant stronghold in Iyo Province had fallen—yet no peculiar shadows lingered into later ages. For some reason, he left behind none of the visceral dread that clung to Masakado in people’s hearts. Seeing this, one might say there had been some unnatural coercion in Masakado’s rebellion—underhanded dealings at play—and that people had vaguely sensed this unsavory aftertaste lingering in their perception.

As previously stated regarding Tadabumi’s fate, Deputy Commander Fujiwara no Hidesato had already been conferred his meritorious rank before Masakado’s head had even reached the capital. Moreover, he had been granted a Junior Fourth Rank—several grades higher than Sadamori’s. Sadamori had received Junior Fifth Lower Rank.

In any case, articles found in works such as *Jinnō Shōtōki* that state, “General Taira no Sadamori, having received an imperial decree, led Fujiwara no Hidesato’s government forces and marched to Shimōsa—” were generally later embellishments. It may be said that military houses of later generations, through their genealogical claims of venerating Hidesato or revering Sadamori as ancestral founders, layered prestige upon prestige until these men came to be praised as heroic figures in history. Therefore, whatever honorable titles Hidesato, Sadamori, and others may have been given up to this day, they remain idols—not real human beings themselves. Yet Masakado still makes us feel him as a human being, unadorned. A thousand years since Tengyō. Though he had been falsely branded an arch-rebel, none now truly accept the theories of his being a false official or usurper. In the end, it could be said that he alone remained—stripped bare. Nakedness is noble. No—even below nakedness, the true value does not diminish.

In contrast to Masakado, who had been toyed with by the world, what became of those like the immortal who toyed with it? The pirates of the southern seas had been subjugated, leaving him no roost to return to anymore. The capital's order could not have maintained conditions favorable to their rampage indefinitely—its end was all too foreseeable. They—he who sought to manipulate the world and Sumitomo's ilk alike—ultimately differed not at all from scattered fallen leaves tracing fragmented shadows in their era's winds before vanishing without trace.