northwest gate, eventually depositing him at the Ninnaji, a temple well outside the city gates. Just how easily this was accomplished I myself learned, since I had been ordered to serve on a like mission: the liberation of the Emperor Nijō.
Accompanying us were two Fujiwara officers—Tsunemune and Korekata, head of the police. That they had come over to our side was a surprise, yet there they were, right in our compound, their horses shaking the snow from their manes. They then rode out again, our men following, to lead us to the enemy, now unlawfully occupying the imperial palace.
Entering the grounds was simple. We were unchallenged. Either Nobuyori was asleep or, more likely, the guards had already defected. Once inside, Korekata led us directly to a small building on the north side. There he battered at the doors until they were opened by the terrified retainers, and in we marched.
When his imperial majesty the Emperor Nijō appeared, I did not recognize him. To be sure, I had never seen him before— still, I was not prepared for this pale and beautiful sixteen-year-old with eyebrows plucked, lips painted, lacquered teeth shining in the candlelight. Only when this wonderful figure moved did I see that it was a boy. With him was a real girl—his sister.
They made no complaint but entered their palanquins and we traversed the entire length of the city unchallenged until we came to Gojō. Here a group of Minamoto soldiers guarding the avenue to Rokuhara halted us, and the wisdom of Korekata's disguising the emperor became apparent.
The soldiery was told that two palace entertainers were being escorted to their homes by express orders of Nobuyori.
Suspicious, they demanded to be shown. And so the young emperor and his sister were ordered out. Here, while the guards were looking at them, I also had the opportunity of gazing at his majesty.
He made a boyish girl when one knew he was a boy. While his sister cowered, his confusion was masculine, resolute. I felt a strong emotion—I was only three years older than he—which I set down to reverence. It began again to snow and there he stood, flakes in his locks. I gazed at the sight and my eyes shone.
Satisfied, the guards let us pass and we proceeded up the road and eventually reached Rokuhara at four in the morning. And about an hour later there came another knocking at the gate. After the lookouts signaled that there was no danger, we unbarred it to a most miserable and bedraggled lot. It was the emperor's household, whole dozens who, having no place else to go, had followed us out, wandering after their emperor in all their finery through the slush and sleet.
We had no room for them. With us, the Ise army, the imperial suite, and now these; there might be food and drink enough, but where would everyone lie down? Quite a number had no beds, but I was permitted my pallet because I had had the duty that night. And with me under the coverlet I took a young page who would otherwise have had no place to sleep. He was about fourteen, knew nothing but life in the palace, but was anxious for his own safety and hence willing to please.
His name was Tamamaru and though he came from common folk he had been chosen for imperial service because of his beauty, which was great—cold, wet, and crying though he was. I thought he looked just like my young emperor, though his teeth were white and his eyebrows his own. At any rate he was frightened enough to do whatever I made him, and we then fell into an exhausted sleep. Which was just as well, as I got no more sleep for some time.
By dawn the torpid Nobuyori awoke to what had occurred and in the snow and the dark called for a review of his troops. Two thousand lined up, icicles doubtless on their visors. With the awakened general were Yoshitomo and his three sons— including the thirteen-year-old Yoritomo, whom I would come to know so well. Nobuyori gave his orders and Yoshitomo left with a mere battalion of soldiers to declare war.
They reached our bridge shortly after dawn and stood there in the white light on the other side of the river, a smallish group of men. Then Lord Yoshitomo rode forward and delivered his challenge.
It was a stirring one. A Minamoto, he shouted, was true always to the throne. And now that his majesty was in mortal danger due to the ambitions of the Taira, he—Minamoto no Yoshitomo—was ready to engage in righteous battle on behalf of his imperial majesty.
After this, he was, we later learned, to have been suddenly joined by Nobuyori and his two thousand men. The resulting sight—masses of armed men in the cold light of dawn—would have thrown Rokuhara into confusion and the attack upon this stronghold would have at once begun.
In the event, however, Nobuyori dawdled. He was still in the palace with his two thousand soldiers. And so the day dawned, the snow stopped, and it was a bright and sparkling morning— not at all appropriate for a sudden, nocturnal attack.
Kiyomori took advantage of this indecision. In fact, he had already dispatched his eldest son, Shigemori, with five hundred horsemen to take the palace, Nobuyori, and Yoshitomo's three sons.
When Shigemori galloped into that courtyard, Nobuyori turned and ran. Only Yoshihira, one of Yoshitomo's sons, held his ground and challenged Shigemori. This resulted in their famous duel, right outside the great hall, just in front of the sacred cherry tree.
Then, when Shigemori was getting the worst of it, some of the Minamoto horsemen who had run off with Nobuyori returned and attacked the Taira warriors. At that point, the chronicles tell us, the snow turned the color of cherry blossoms—a phrase which doubtless occurred to no one during the actual battle.
As more Minamoto returned to fight, more Taira were sent up from Rokuhara and the war raged. Four times the Taira were repelled and even the lazy Nobuyori, encouraged, returned to take the field. When Shigemori received an arrow there was a general rout and our men were forced back all the way to the Gojō bridge.
At this point I was wakened, and both Tamamaru and I were sent up to the wall to repell the invaders and, when none came, were sent outside to begin tearing down our side of the bridge.
It was a stirring sight that met our eyes. The far side was alive with men, all fighting in the slush. Horses were milling and slipping, and sometimes one of the horsemen would give a great cry as he fell with his mount into the black and icy river.
There was no telling which army was which, all the uniforms were wet and muddy and the flags had become indistinguishable, but we knew that the Minamoto must at all costs be kept out and so we all—soldiers, valets, pages, housemaids—worked to destroy the bridge.
Hard work it was too. That bridge had been made to last, and here we were trying to tear it apart with our hands. Since we were frantic, however, we managed to do so, throwing the loosened planks, the uprooted posts, one by one into the ice-filled stream below.
The housemaids' fingers were soon bleeding and Tamamaru dropped a railing on his foot. We worked hard and well but it seemed all for nothing because the enemy circled about and a group of men, led by Yoshihira, crossed downstream and was attacking us from the south.
Then Commander Kiyomori himself took full control. He seemed everywhere, his large nose and big ears all around us. He even found time to gather together the children onto the parapets and have them throw rocks down upon the invaders. Tamamaru, limping about in his torn silks, hit a climbing Minamoto squarely in the face with a paving stone.
Though this invader fell back, joining his fellows at the base of our walls, still the soldiers came, slipping in the mud and blood, wading through the slush and slime, climbing on the bodies of their comrades. Soon we were tearing the very tiles from the roofs because both our arrows and our stones were gone.
This desperate battle lasted all day. I saw a child slip and fall on the soldiers beneath, where it was at once
