of five years before, Lord Kiyomori presently desired that Go-Shirakawa should be deprived of some of that new power. Consequently, the imperial sniping pleased him.
Not that his pleasure was obvious. No one was more solicitous of both emperors than was Kiyomori, no one more punctilious in regard to visits and presents, no one more patient during long, closeted sessions than he.
I was often a member of the retinue that accompanied our lord on these imperial visits. We used to believe that our accompanying throng was so large because we had little else to do and so had somehow to be given employment, but I now think the real reason was that our numbers were meant to intimidate the court and to impose upon their majesties.
We would stand around in the grounds of the new palace while Lord Kiyomori was being entertained by the retired emperor. The sun hot on our helmeted heads, we waited, our noses filled with the smell of freshly cut lumber, which this modest little palace still exuded. Nor were we allowed to amuse ourselves. No talking, neither with each other, nor with the sometimes pretty palace servants who came to gawk. We stood or squatted or knelt, holding our flags and halberds and making a fine show while the higher officers were offered refreshment in one of the outer rooms where the future was being decided.
All to the Taira advantage. In recognition of our great service against the insurgents, Kiyomori was elevated to the senior grade of the third court rank. And over the years further promotions came fast; he was made member of the court council, then captain of the police commissioner's division, then vice-councilor, councilor, and finally state minister. Further, upon entering palaces he was no longer required to dismount from his carriage—a grand if cumbersome affair drawn on these occasions by a large ox, on others by us.
His privileges were those of premier, though that title was still withheld him. It was one he wanted because it promised ulti-mate power. In practice, however, the position was vacant. It was waiting for the proper person to be found. Since this person— someone capable of instructing the young emperor, someone who could govern in his stead, someone who was a model to the people—was scarcely ever found, the title usually went empty.
I well understood our Kiyomori's ambitions and his irritation at having the title withheld. After all, it was the ultimate indication that he had made something of himself. This was also my intention. And I too had my share of irritations.
My small platoon, originally boys from Musashi, now included city youths as well, and all had in this lazy peace grown insubordinate. They could not accustom themselves to being supervised by someone as rustic as myself. Their leader—me— they said, was such a country boy that he could not read even the simplest Chinese character. Jocular remarks about radishes were made, horse manure as well. And cow patties. Even my father's bear was joshed over.
I caught one of the men at such pleasantries and had him publicly flogged. The gathered men stared at the red muscle as a buttock split and there was a respectful hush—disturbed to be sure by the culprit's screams. Though this display muffled the ridicule, it did not increase my popularity.
Since I was determined to make something of myself, however, a good reputation was called for and so I continued to enforce discipline. I detained the entire group for the remark of a single man and had numbers of them locked up, beatings were common. During such sessions I became terrible in my wrath, and thus, in a modest way, emulted our respected Lord Kiyomori.
* * *
Our Taira policies were successful. In less than two years, by the second year of Ninnan [1167], Lord Kiyomori had assumed the highest position in the civil government and had finally received the coveted premiership. And in the years to come he would marry his daughter, Tokuko, to the new emperor, Takakura, and their son, the child-emperor Antoku, would be our lord's own grandchild.
In this our leader proved that he had learned well from our former foe, the now much diminished Fujiwara, for it had long been their policy to so intermarry their women with the imperial house that relations of fealty became those of family.
The resemblance of the new Taira clan to the old Fujiwara was openly commented upon. It was said Premier Kiyomori and his family controlled almost half the country. At that time the land was divided into sixty-six provinces and those governed by the Taira certainly numbered more than thirty. Too, Kiyomori's sons were all ministers, all of his daughters were married to royalty, sixteen of his close relatives were nobles, and thirty more were courtiers, while others—his was a large family—were made provincial governors or the heads of imperial guards.
He became as grand as he was powerful. Our Rokuhara fortress was transformed into a palace, at night as bright as day, lanterns everywhere. The most brilliant was the chamber housing our master's gem collection. It was so stuffed that there was no room for further offerings, though such appeared daily. People said the place shone even in the dark.
In the corridors the attendents were so brilliantly costumed that the popular song of the day called the palace a garden and these servants butterflies. The splendor spilled into the courtyards, which swarmed with horses and carriages, visitors and petitioners. And in the apartments were rare woods, incenses, spices, brocades, embroideries, jewels, gold, silver. By comparison the imperial palaces, homes of the emperors Go-Shirakawa and Nijō, were shabby. It was in regard to this successful splendor that Lord Kiyomori's brother-in-law, Tokitada, famously said: If one is not a Taira, one is not a man.
This was a sentiment to which the general populace enthusiastically subscribed. A rage for things Taira swept the capital. Our winning color (red—the Minamoto color was white) was everywhere: red flags, red bunting, even a few red robes on the more patriotic wives of merchants. There were also a number of fads—a way of wrapping the kimono sash, of doing the hair, of twisting the brim of the headdress: these were found to be in the Taira manner and became the fashion.
So overweening was this new regard that when Kiyomori took up with a young dancer named Gio, other young dancers began calling themselves by such names as Gini and Gifuku and Gitoku and Gichi. Equally, there was a gradual move of the capital to the east of the city, where stood the Rokuhara, now a palace in itself with a splendid new bridge leading to it. Property around the Kiyomori estate, in particular the Gojō gate, became extremely expensive as the gentry bought to build.
In consequence the western part of the capital, never much, became even more unfashionable. It was here that the beggars found their homes. They swarmed everywhere but were mainly about the temples. Guards had to be posted to protect the faithful in their prayers, since those in need of alms became more and more demanding.
Yet, for those already prosperous, these years of peace were indeed rich times. Money (newly minted, ordered by the new premier) was to be made from almost every enterprise, and the newly rich set about aping their ruler. Here the house of Kiyomori set very high standards. Take, for example, the sudden fad for learning it engendered.
As I remember, it began around the first year of Eiryaku [1160]. Younger officers were encouraged to visit the Imperial Academy and there read the Confucian classics, long moldering in their old Chinese bindings. Few, of course, could, but such is the power of fashion that there shortly appeared an entire race of military scholars whose sole purpose was to make simplified adaptations into the native tongue and to indulge in learned disputation on this arcane point or that.
The officers passed the fad onto their men who shortly memorized a few tag-lines with which they now decorated their observations. From here the craze descended to members of the merchant class. Having soon become learned as well, they in turn passed it on, and eventually even the cooks and postillions could supply a sage quote if so required.
I remember that ladies' letters—I was paying some attention to a daughter of the minor gentry at the time—became almost impossible to read.
