Tale of the Warrior Geisha (13 page)

Tomoe Gozen

M
IYANOKOSHI
F
ORTRESS

S
H
INANO
P
ROVINCE

H
ONSH
U
, J
APAN

Summer 1180

W
hat's this one?” Tomoe scratched a symbol into the dirt with a stick. Dry, hot wind whipping about nearly wiped out the lesson before it began. Her throat itched in the dust. When were the rains going to return? They had been missing all spring and summer. Everything was dead. It was far worse than the drought of a few years earlier.

She scratched the symbol again. “Come now.” The three-year-old boy squatting next to her did not answer. He dimpled his chubby cheeks into a smile.

“I don't remember,” he said in childish singsong.

“It's
ki
,” she said, deliberately getting it wrong.

“Ka,”
he corrected.

“I knew you knew it!” She reached over and tickled him. Yoshitaka, the son of Yoshinaka, doubled over in giggles. He looked exactly like his father had when he was a little boy. Tomoe tickled him some more, kissing his cheeks for good measure.

“Stop! I can't breathe!” he said.

Yamabuki paused at her laundry-hanging, pausing as her oversized belly made her off-balance. “Tomoe, he's going to pee his pants!”

Tomoe raised her hands. “I've already stopped,” she called.

The boy picked up a wooden sword lying in the dirt and swung it at Tomoe's legs. She hopped over it effortlessly. The boy was stocky and strong. Already he could climb trees like Tomoe, and fire arrows a short distance. “I chase you down, Kiyomori Taira,” the boy said firmly, his hands on his hips. “Yah!”

“See if you can catch me first.” Tomoe took off in a run, the boy chasing her with giggles. The boy played like his father had when he was little, too. When would they ever go into a real battle?

They had not been attacked for three years. But Kiyomori sent his Search and Punish troops instead to various places in their region, burning down monasteries when monks refused to help him, trying to overtake outposts loyal to Yoshinaka. Yoshinaka had gone to each outpost and executed the Taira soldiers. He was now governor of the northern area.

Emperor Go-Shirakawa, the cloistered ruler, was unhappy with Kiyomori throwing around his power. Because Kiyomori had burned down two monasteries of monks who had refused to ally with him, Go-Shirakawa took back some of Kiyomori's land to punish him.

Instead of accepting the will of the emperor, as any good citizen would, as Tomoe herself would—for wasn't the emperor divine?—Kiyomori had shown up on Go-Shirakawa's doorstep with an army and arrested him. The sitting emperor, Takakura, had given up the throne in fear. And who had been placed on the throne?

Kiyomori's two-year-old grandson, Antoku.

That a child younger than Yoshinaka's son was now acting emperor was too much for Tomoe to bear. A Taira grandson was most definitely not descended from the gods. Obviously, the toddler's “decisions” were all the work of his power-mad grandfather.

Yamabuki shook out a laundered kimono. The clothes were barely wet, the stream mostly dried from the past winter's light snows. Those she could not wash, she was airing out. Yamabuki had long ago given up any pretension she was a lady. She might have been any peasant woman, except for her appearance. Though the sun still made her weak, she ventured out now every day. Her skin had never lost its pallor, almost as though it naturally lacked pigment, like a turnip. Her large belly loomed in profile as Yamabuki leaned over the laundry basket. “You really should be teaching him with ink, on paper,” Yamabuki admonished gently.

“I'll leave that to his tutor. I don't want to waste the materials with my small teachings.” Tomoe put her forehead against the boy's and blew air through her lips, buzzing them. He chortled.

This boy would have to be well educated. Already his future was decided. He was engaged to the toddler daughter of the head of the Minamoto clan, Cousin Yoritomo. Someday, little Yoshitaka could inherit much land.

Oh, babies were such a joy. Any reticence she felt toward Yamabuki had disappeared with the birth of Yoshitaka. At the sight of his wrinkled, scarlet, pointy newborn head, Tomoe had expected to feel disgust. Instead she found herself holding her arms out to Yamabuki, whiter than ever, the blue-green vein on her forehead throbbing. “Let me hold him, Yamabuki-chan, so you may rest.”

Yamabuki had turned her face away. “Of course,” she said.

Poor Yamabuki. She had bled too much and was too weak to nurse. They were frantic for a wet nurse. Nobody in their immediate vicinity had had a child recently.

“The first three days, the child doesn't have to eat,” Chizuru had told Tomoe. “But after that . . .”

“Goat milk?” Tomoe suggested. “Perhaps thinned with water. We can drop it into his mouth.”

“That's possible.” Chizuru hesitated. “There is one way, a way I've seen only work once before. Perhaps it will work with you, as you are so close to both the father and mother.” Chizuru put her hand on Tomoe's shoulder. Little Yoshitaka cried weakly, wrapped up next to his slumbering mother. “You must try.”

“Me?” Tomoe was in disbelief. She touched her breasts, half the size of Yamabuki's, which had swelled with pregnancy. “I've never had a baby. How could I have milk?”

“You must let him nurse. Pretend he is yours. The milk may come in.” Chizuru picked up the baby. “Focus on him.”

Tomoe doubtfully accepted the squalling baby. She opened her kimono and held his seeking mouth up to her nipple. He clamped down immediately, so painful Tomoe was certain he had teeth. She gritted her jaw against the pain and rocked him. She would not scream and risk startling him.

“His mouth must open wider.” Chizuru popped the infant off with a gentle finger. “Try again. Almost the entire areola goes into his mouth.” Her mother applied a warm wet cloth to Tomoe's breast. “This will help.”

Tomoe gulped. Already her nipples were red and chafed. But she applied the infant again. Battle was nothing compared with this pain.

He sucked furiously. He opened one eye to glare at her face, reminding her so much of a miniature Yoshinaka that she had to laugh. “He is his father's child,” Tomoe said.

Chizuru made Tomoe a tea with some medicinal thistle. “You must drink a cup of this every two hours.”

Tomoe sipped the bitter concoction and made a face, trying not to gag. She waited until it cooled, then gulped it quickly.

Chizuru mopped Yamabuki's forehead with a wet cloth. “Let me know if your milk comes in.”

“How will I know?”

Chizuru laughed a little. “Trust me. You will know.”

Tomoe kept the hungry little baby at her breasts for hours, lying down on a sleeping mat and positioning him beside her, switching sides occasionally. The baby fussed if she tried to roll away, so she kept him close. He woke up every half hour and sucked. At least it brought him some comfort. Her mother brought her the tea.

Mid-morning of the second day, a tiny bit of clear milk leaked out. This continued for three days. Tomoe wanted to stop, but Chizuru begged her to continue. Tomoe touched her cracked nipples. “He must be getting more blood than milk.”

“He is getting something,” Chizuru said. “He doesn't need much yet.”

It wasn't until the middle of the third night that Tomoe felt a hot prickling and swelling in her breasts, a painful fullness.

She put the infant to her breast again, sticking her nipple all the way into the grasping mouth. He pulled at her and she felt the milk coursing through her breasts. The baby locked his eyes with her, as if he was telling her not to leave him.

She touched his head, the tender spot where the skull hadn't fused. “Little Yoshitaka,” she said.

When he was full, he gave a sigh of contentment, releasing her and falling immediately asleep. Not even any gas to keep him up. In his sleep, he grunted.

“Mother?” Tomoe whispered.

Chizuru, dozing beside her, started awake. She pushed aside her mane of white-gray hair. She sniffed. “He's soiled his wrappings. That's a sign he's getting enough food.”

Chizuru handed her new swaddling cloths, and Tomoe swapped the clean ones for the dirty ones. “Now what?” Tomoe asked.

“Now you keep doing it until we find a wet nurse.” Chizuru put her head back down. “You probably won't make enough milk for him.”

Tomoe dozed off and awoke to find Yoshinaka lying next to her. “Tomoe. You are a natural mother,” he said, and kissed her neck.

Tomoe smiled and cuddled the baby. Perhaps, she thought, she could be content at home, for now.

At last, a week later, Kanehira found a new mother in a village a half-day's ride away willing to be the wet nurse, in exchange for rice for her family and long-term protection. She brought along her infant son.

Tomoe gave up the baby reluctantly. He had become a part of her in a very short period. Each morning she awoke to see his curious, mushed face examining hers, his mouth opening and closing. Nothing satisfied her as much as the day he pulled away from her breast, milk running down his face, full at last and stretching his arms luxuriously. “Can't I keep nursing him, from time to time?”

Chizuru said no, so Tomoe, wanting what was best for the child, bound up her breasts and focused on helping Yamabuki sit up and eat. But she couldn't help feeling a pang when she glimpsed the milk mother, one child in each arm, sitting there suckling them expertly as any farm animal with her enormous breasts. She admitted Yoshitaka put on weight rapidly, growing fine folds of fat all over his legs and arms.

And now that baby was three, in the blink of an eye.

Tomoe again scratched a symbol in the earth that looked like a knee cap.
“Ko,”
she said.

“Ko,”
Yoshitaka repeated dutifully.

Kanehira came into the yard. “Uncle!” Yoshitaka called.

“Little man.” Kanehira paused to ruffle Yoshitaka's hair. Her brother glanced up at Tomoe. “We have a visitor. Come on.”

From her brother's tone, she knew something important was afoot. Tomoe hurried into her house to throw on a clean kimono, a silk one she kept for such occasions.

Outside Yoshinaka's house, a derelict-looking horse was tied up. He neighed pitifully at Tomoe, foam all over his mouth. The drinking bucket was dry. “You!” she called out to a passing teenage boy she recognized. “Rub this horse down and water him.”

“That water's for us,” the boy protested. “Not strangers.”

She collared the boy, knocking him into a tree. “Then take my ration.” Tomoe charged into the house, eager to see who this visitor was. Someone of high rank would have a retainer.

Yoshinaka knelt at his table, staring with concentration at a skinny little stranger opposite him, who held a cup of whiskey in shaking hands. Yoshinaka did not glance up or indicate she was wanted there. Kanehira smirked at her. Tomoe paused, afraid that her brother had trapped her somehow, that Yoshinaka would bring his wrath down on her later. Then she decided as long as nobody protested, she would be in here. Tomoe sat behind Yoshinaka, kneeling on her customary pillow.

The man wiped a bead of sweat from his upper lip. “P-Prince Mochihito has called on Yoritomo.” He spread out a scroll before Yoshinaka. “Would you like me to read it for you?” he asked.

“I can read. You think I'm just Kiso, but I have skills like you academics,” Yoshinaka nearly snarled.

Prince Mochihito was the son of Go-Shirakawa and therefore should be the sitting, acting emperor. Now he was essentially powerless, a man sitting around with a title and nothing more.

Tomoe leaned forward to read over Yoshinaka's shoulder. She gasped.

After years of oppression, Yoritomo, we ask you to unseat the Taira once and for all. The royal family promises its support in any and all manner.

Yoshinaka licked his lips. “So it has begun,” he murmured to himself.

Kanehira and Tomoe exchanged an excited look. With the backing of the royal family, they could do it, they knew. They could get the Minamoto into power.

The skinny little messenger cleared his throat. “There's more.”

“What?”

The messenger leaned forward. “Do you know Wada-san?”

Tomoe's blood quickened. A flush rose into her cheeks. Yoshinaka glanced at her sidelong. “We used to know him,” Yoshinaka said darkly.

Wada-san was now a Taira official. She had put Wada out of her mind since the night of his sister's wedding. “What about Wada-san?” Tomoe asked, her voice ringing out in the silent room.

The messenger looked at Tomoe as if he wasn't sure she was allowed to speak. At Yoshinaka's nod, the messenger continued, “Wada-san tried to overthrow Kiyomori Taira.”

Yoshinaka inhaled. Tomoe leaned back. Wada-san. So he was working in their favor, as he had promised. She blinked. “Is he alive?” Obviously he had not succeeded. The messenger had used the word “tried.”

The messenger glanced at her nervously, as though she was a statue come to life in this realm of men. “Yes. He fights with Yoritomo now.”

Tomoe blew out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. Yoshinaka frowned. “Why do you tell us this?”

The messenger folded his hands. “You must call up your troops. Yoritomo wants to move at once.”

Yamabuki Gozen

M
IYANOKOSHI
F
ORTRESS

S
HINANO
P
ROVINCE

H
ONSHU
, J
APAN

Spring 1181

T
he clouded sky promised rain, but none would come. This year was cursed again. At least the sun was dim today. Tomoe insisted that Yamabuki come outside for some fresh air, for she was pregnant again, due at the end of summer. She managed to drag herself outside and lean against the house, watching Tomoe cut up some scrawny carrots for dinner.

Tomoe and Yoshinaka had just returned from the battle of Sunomata. Yoshinaka was in a terrible black mood, for they had lost. All he had done for the past few days was sit on a rock in the yard, staring into nothing, the sun beating down on him. He had his Go pieces in his hand and endlessly, nervously, played with them.

Today a messenger from Yoritomo had arrived on horseback and had disappeared into the house with Yoshinaka and Kanehira. Yamabuki wondered what he wanted, what was so important that Yoritomo had sent a man all the way up here to see them. It could not be good.

“Tell me what happened at Sunomata,” Yamabuki said in a low voice to Tomoe.

Tomoe mopped her brow with the back of her hand. “The famine is far worse throughout Japan than we have experienced up here, Yamabuki.” Tomoe's face was drawn. She seemed as tired and low as Yamabuki felt all the time. Tomoe lowered her voice. “We saw a pile of bodies bigger than a house. Just dead from disease. Rice paddies dried into cracks, going on and on like a vast desert.” Her voice dipped.

Yamabuki struggled to her feet and began hanging a basket of wet laundry on the line. They had gotten behind on the chores with Tomoe gone. Just this motion made her feel hot and swollen. She fanned her kimono against her chest. “You should go lie down inside. You only got back yesterday.”

Tomoe put down the carrots and joined Yamabuki with the laundry. “I cannot rest. Not with the messenger here.”

“How was the loss?” Yamabuki asked quietly.

Tomoe shook her head. “Yoshinaka and his uncle Yukiie decided to cross the river at night and sneak into the Taira camp while they slept.”

Yamabuki thought for a moment. “But wouldn't the Taira see that the enemy had wet clothes on?”

Tomoe flashed a rueful smile. “Exactly. We were driven away.” She ate a carrot. “Not me, though. I wasn't allowed into battle. Uncle Yukiie would not allow it.”

Yamabuki couldn't tell if Tomoe was bitter or not. She wouldn't question her.

Chizuru and little Yoshitaka emerged from inside the women's house, the boy immediately beginning to run around the yard, the dogs barking after him. Yamabuki kept one eye on him, making sure he did not fall into the near-dry well or run off. If only she had half as much energy, she would be able to conquer worlds. “Yoshi-chan! Stay near me.” She glanced toward the house and wished the men would emerge. She had to know what was going on.

Chizuru laughed. “You might as well tell the moon not to rise as to tell a son of Yoshinaka's to be still.”

Little Yoshitaka ran by, and Yamabuki grabbed him. “A kiss for your
okāchan
?”

He kissed her cheek and offered her his chubby one for hers. She pressed her lips into it. So delicious. Like an apple.

Again she thanked all the gods that were or could be for Tomoe. Tomoe had saved the boy's life by nursing him. Truly, the woman could do anything. The boy was healthy. But for how long, with this drought? She looked at the sky again, dread marring her happiness.

The men came out of the building, looking grim. Without ceremony, the messenger trotted away on his skinny horse. Yoshinaka walked over to them and sat down with a grunt on the porch steps. “What has happened?” Yamabuki whipered.

“Later,” Tomoe said in a hushed voice. “Let him tell us.”

Yoshinaka watched his son play, holding two walnuts in his hand, shifting them back and forth as he did when he needed to think something over. He glanced up. “If this drought continues, it will bode well for us.”

Tomoe frowned. “That's a terrible thing to say.” Only she felt free to display temper with Yoshinaka. He terrified everyone else.

“People want to fight when they have nothing left,” Yoshinaka answered. “Change is hard. They need to be desperate.”

Yamabuki understood, suddenly, what the message was about. “Are you to go to war?”

“Perhaps.” Yoshinaka cracked open a walnut against a stone and ate the contents. “I'm going to ask cousin Yoritomo for the lands of Musashi.”

Tomoe and Yamabuki exchanged a glance. Musashi was where Yoshinaka's father had lost his land, a place Yoritomo now had under his dominion as governor. Tomoe hung the last bit of laundry, lines creasing her forehead, between her eyes. “Do you think he will just hand it over?” Tomoe asked.

Even Yamabuki knew the answer to that. No Minamoto or Taira had ever simply handed something over. They held on with both hands and their teeth. Yoshinaka cracked the other walnut open. “He should. It's mine.”

Tomoe spoke again. “It might not be that easy.” Was Yoshinaka really willing to fight his cousin? Risk his wrath? “Why not wait until after the war? That's when land is divided.”

Yoshinaka straightened his shoulders. “You don't know anything about the affairs of men, Tomoe Gozen.”

“I know enough to know there's a fault in your plan. Don't be stubborn, Yoshi.” Tomoe sat on the step beside him.

“I'm not stubborn,” Yoshinaka said in a growl. “We'll find out. We are going to see him. In person. No go-betweens. Just us.” Yoshinaka threw the walnut shells to the dirt, then threw her an especially fierce frown. “He asked to see you, Tomoe,” he said, as if she was to blame for everything.

“Me? Why?” He should not want to see a woman. Women were of little importance.

Yamabuki needed Tomoe with her. She gulped down her fear. “Is it a trick?”

He shrugged. “He heard about you. Your great beauty. Your skills in battle.” Yoshinaka got up and walked away. “Be ready. We leave tomorrow at first light.”

There was no reason for Yoshinaka to believe his cousin would simply deed the land to him. That land was good farmland, and Yoritomo wanted it. No wonder Yoritomo felt so confident. His troops wouldn't starve, unlike the Taira, who always had trouble getting supplies from the capital while they were stationed up north.

Tomoe put her head in her hands. “I suppose Kiyomori Taira is cursing himself for sparing the lives of Yoritomo Minamoto and his brothers,” she muttered.

Yamabuki knew the story. Everyone did. Kiyomori Taira had killed Yoshitomo, the father of the six male Minamoto cousins. Kiyomori should have killed off all six boys. But Kiyomori fell in love with Yoshitomo's mistress, Tokiwa, the mother of the then infant General Yoshitsune and two other boys. She begged Kiyomori to spare the lives of all six of the boys, including those of the legal wife, not just her own sons. In return, Tokiwa promised, she would belong to Kiyomori, heart and soul.

Kiyomori, blinded by love, agreed, sending the boys to live in exile all around Japan. When they grew up, the six boys were supposed to be loyal to Kiyomori Taira. But of course, the Minamoto boys, like their cousin Yoshinaka, all grew up wanting revenge against Kiyomori. To take back their lands. Of course Yoritomo did. He was already ten when his father was killed, already shaped and formed. How could he grow up wanting to be a Taira?

Yamabuki liked the story, how Tokiwa asked for the lives of everyone, not just her own sons. A true mother. She believed if something similar happened to Tomoe, Tomoe, too, would beg for the life of Yamabuki's son.

Little Yoshitaka tugged on Tomoe's arm. “Can we go to the river, Tomoe Gozen?” The boy loved throwing in rocks, scaring away the fish. Though the river had dwindled to a stream.

“Perhaps later, little Yoshi.” She smiled with a sadness Yamabuki had not seen before. It frightened her. Tomoe returned her intense gaze. “I want to stay here with you.”

Yamabuki sat on the porch step with a sigh. Her ankles hurt and were swollen, her face haggard. Everyone said this baby was a girl, for it had sapped her looks. You can bet Yoshinaka left her alone now. She glanced across the yard, at Yoshinaka and Kanehira. “You had best keep him safe.”

Little Yoshitaka returned and she buried her face in his hair. It smelled of puppies and straw and faintly of his mother's hoarded perfume, and she inhaled over and over, as though it was oxygen.