Tale of the Warrior Geisha (16 page)

Tomoe Gozen

B
ATTLE
OF
K
URIKARA

E
TCHŪ
P
ROVINCE

H
ONSHU
, J
APAN

Summer 1183

T
omoe held the round bronze mirror with steady hands, fighting her nervous pulse. A warrior stared back at her, in full battle dress. The close-fitting wrapped jacket and ankle-length pants worn under her armor, her
hitatare
, was fuchsia silk, embroidered in a repeating light pink depiction of the Minamoto crest: bamboo leaves fanning above a gentian flower. Over this she wore her armor, a crimson damask cover hiding the sturdy bamboo plates.

A bronze crown of intricate scrollwork served as her helmet, with long red tassels dangling near each high cheekbone. Her full lower lip and pronounced Cupid's-bow mouth stood out crimson in her pale face.

It was mid-May, two years after their humiliating defeat with Uncle Yukiie at Sunomata. Now Yoritomo had called Yoshinaka into battle. They were to meet the Taira army near the Kurikara Pass, the journey to which would take at least a week. Yoritomo's other armies were deployed elsewhere and the Taira wanted to get rid of Yoshinaka once and for all.

They are coming for you,
read Yoritomo's warning. Tomoe shivered, thinking of it. Yoshinaka now had about ten thousand troops, but the Taira had at least three times that many.

“You're marching into your death,” Yamabuki had said. “Stay here with me.”

Tomoe laughed shortly. “Such an optimist. I thought your soothsaying days were over.” She thought of her mother and Aoi and Yamabuki. “I wish I could.”

The days had turned short and cold. Tomoe hoped they would be back before it got even colder. Traveling up and down the mountains was difficult enough without snow.

Behind her, Yamabuki's dark eyes shone like wet pearls. If Tomoe's skin could be called pale, then Yamabuki's was white, luminescent as sea life in the deepest waters. Yamabuki's hair was black, too, but shot through with silver and white strands.

Her belly was full once more with child, her third. Yamabuki wasn't due until December, but she looked like she carried three inside her. Her mother said no, the baby was simply low, Yamabuki's ligaments stretched out from the previous births. Yamabuki walked slowly, painfully. Tomoe did not want to think of how the latter part of her pregnancy would be.

Yamabuki worked through Tomoe's thick, long hair with a tortoiseshell comb and fragrant camellia oil, her small hands undoing the knots. “There. You are ready, my captain. Your hair is so well oiled, a typhoon cannot disturb it.”

Tomoe's throat went dry. Yamabuki had begun as her rival, but now she needed Yamabuki as much as Yamabuki needed her. Tomoe the warrior, Yamabuki the poet. The strong and the gentle. Two sides of one coin. Now she could no more imagine her world without Yamabuki than she could imagine cutting off her own arm.

Yamabuki blinked rapidly and Tomoe grasped the woman's hand. “And you? Are you prepared?”

“As ready as I need to be. What can I do? Offer the enemy some tea? Play him some music?” Yamabuki stood and retrieved Tomoe's short sword from the corner. The tiny woman staggered under its weight. Tomoe watched her, knowing Yamabuki would refuse any offers of help. “I do not understand how you can carry this, much less fight with it.”

Tomoe took the sword. Their fingers touched. Tomoe's insides seized, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. “I should stay here and protect you.”

“No.” Yamabuki retrieved the quiver of arrows and bow next. “You must go.” For a moment, she looked again like the girl she had been on her arrival. A wobbly newborn chick finding its way among piebald eagles. “I will be all right.”

There was a saying for a dear female friend you held as close as a relative. Sister of heart.

Unlike Yamabuki, Tomoe had never been good at putting what she felt into words. Instead, she retrieved her
naginata
from its place in the corner of the room. With a bow, she presented it to Yamabuki. The woman didn't move. “Take it.” How Tomoe wished Yamabuki would heft up the
naginata
and arc it through the air with a shout. Stab at something. But the woman could barely wrap her tiny fingers around the pole.

“Arigato.”
Yamabuki inclined her head toward Tomoe and laid the
naginata
carefully on the floor. “And I have something for you.” Yamabuki reached into her pocket and withdrew a piece of braided red cord, hung on bright blue fabric. A good-luck talisman. “An
omamori
. To protect you.”

Outside, the army chanted for her:
“Tomoe, Tomoe!”
The drums and horns sounded and the men stomped their feet on the ground, banging swords against metal. Tomoe felt the vibrations in her eardrums, in her heart.

Yamabuki took a step back and bowed deeply. Tomoe bowed in return. Both filled with unspoken words that would always remain so.

—

Yoshinaka slid the door open
, letting the roar of the army in like an ocean wave. “Now is the time for our revenge!” Yoshinaka slammed his fist into his open palm. The sleeping Aoi awoke and began to whimper.

Tomoe picked up the child. “You don't need to yell.”

Yoshinaka came over and cooed at Aoi. “I wasn't yelling. I was talking loudly.” He brushed the thick, blue-black hair out of Aoi's eyes and blew through his lips, making her giggle. He turned to Chizuru, who sat mending a kimono. “If anything happens to me and Tomoe, Chizuru, take the children to Yoritomo's family. They live in the Kantō.”

“But . . .” Chizuru sputtered, putting down the brown cloth. “You need a boat to get there. We have no boat.” Kantō was located across the bay. They would be safe. Kantō had always been sympathetic to their cause; this was where Yoritomo had established his base.

Where little Yoshitaka had been sent to live.

“There are boats for hire.” Yoshinaka took a drink of sake out of an earthenware mug. He stifled a belch. “Just don't tell them you're so closely related to me.”

Yamabuki propped herself up on an elbow. “Kantō? I've heard it's nice.” She couldn't contain her enthusiasm.
Reunited with little Yoshitaka,
she was thinking. Tomoe knew it, because she was thinking it, too.

Yoshinaka laughed. “Don't get rid of me so easily, woman. I'm not dead yet.”

Every able-bodied man was to join them; only a few elderly ones would remain behind. Yoshinaka and Tomoe bid Yamabuki good-bye outside the house, a crowd of the female townspeople watching. Chizuru held Aoi, who squirmed and squawked as though she knew something was amiss.

“I need you with me, Tomoe,” Yoshinaka said, as if reading her thoughts. He sheathed his sword. “Besides, the Taira will be engaged with me, not attacking us.” He glanced at his lawful wife. “Yamabuki, if you are attacked, take the women and children down to the river. It is better to die an honest death than be captured. Let the river turn crimson with your blood and spoil its water for the enemy.” His eyes gleamed as they did when he was delivering a rousing speech to his troops.

But Yamabuki, unlike his troops, did not clap and cheer. She merely cast a long, slow look at her daughter, then bowed.

Yoshinaka touched her briefly on her head, his great hand covering the black-and-white hair like a cap.
“Sayonara.”
He turned away.

Tomoe leaned down and pressed her forehead against Yamabuki's. “Take care of Chizuru and Aoi.” She straightened and took a step back. A retainer sounded a horn. They were leaving.
“Sayonara.”

“Dewa mata atode.”
Yamabuki picked up Aoi.

Dewa mata atode.
See you later. What a bit of optimism for Yamabuki to show. Tomoe didn't correct her.

—

A week later,
they arrived near the mountain range. The Kurikara Pass was steep, going up through a craggy hill. They made camp on an adjacent hill, overlooking the Kurikara Valley to the east and what had once been lush, fertile farmland.

Now there were only a few farmers working over the hard clay soil, a few dozen oxen grazing listlessly. The farmers had waved at them as they passed and let out a weak cheer, and Tomoe waved back, though Yoshinaka told her to not draw attention to herself.

“Everyone knows you have a female captain,” Tomoe pointed out, drawing Cherry Blossom up next to Demon. The two horses snorted at each other. “I'm hardly a secret.”

Kanehira clucked at this. He was always clucking at her. “Better to have left her behind to guard your wife.” He cast an imperious look toward his sister.

“Don't second-guess me, Kanehira, or I'll promote your sister above you.” Yoshinaka slapped Kanehira on the shoulder. They both laughed, Kanehira's forced.

Tomoe suppressed an inward sigh. She would never have a good relationship with her brother. At heart, he was jealous of her relationship with Yoshinaka. She had a lot of Yoshinaka, both at home and in war. Kanehira did not like to share. Never had. He was a man, he wasn't supposed to.

Suddenly, their scout raced back on a panting black mare. “General, the Taira are going up the other side of the pass. They outnumber us five to one.”

Kanehira frowned.

Tomoe looked at Yoshinaka. Yoshinaka grunted. “How many white banners do we have?” Yoshinaka said at last.

“Plenty. Hundreds,” Tomoe said. Yamabuki had sent them with more than they could possibly use, in case some became damaged or dirty. All the women of the compound had worked on them. It was all they had to do, to occupy their hands and minds.

“Good.” Yoshinaka turned Demon around to face his men. “I have a plan.”

—

Yoshinaka ordered them
to set up all the banners on top of the hill.

“
All
the banners?” Kanehira exchanged a look with Tomoe. It was a look they had known since childhood. The look that asked,
Is Yoshinaka serious?

“Every last one. I don't care if you have to use your own swords as poles. Put all of them in. Make them look dispersed about, as if people are holding them.” They did as he asked. It was late afternoon; they were losing the light. Tomoe stuck a banner on top of a branch, shoving it down into the parched hard earth. Yoshinaka strode around the hilltop. “Good, good.”

Tomoe looked out over the valley. The Kurikara Pass cut through two peaks. In the middle of the pass waved flags, the red Taira crest of a butterfly in profile. Tomoe's mouth went dry. They were outnumbered.

“Hurry,” Kanehira said, shoving more white banners into her hands. When they were done, there were five hundred banners dotting the hilltop. Tomoe realized the other force, at this distance, would see only material flapping in the wind, not people. Usually each unit of a hundred or so men carried one banner. “They're going to think we have three times the men we do!” she said in wonder.

Yoshinaka granted her a broad smile.

Kanehira frowned at his sister. “You are a master tactician, Yoshinaka,” he said with a bow. “Unparalleled among men.”

“No one would expect less.” Yoshinaka sat down on a rock and pulled out the Go pieces he liked to play with.

“Now what? Shall we send a messenger challenging them?” Kanehira was too eager.

“No.” Yoshinaka waved him off. “We wait.”

“Wait?” Tomoe was confused, too.

Yoshinaka patted the rock beside him. Tomoe sat. His body was fiery hot, protecting her from the breeze. “Wait.”

They sat quietly, listening to the men around them getting ready for night. Yoshinaka tore into his fish jerky, offering some to Tomoe. She bit into the salty meat, glad to have something to do. Her stomach flipped. Yes, the Taira thought that Yoshinaka had far more men, but would that matter during the actual battle? She swallowed.

Yoshinaka chuckled to himself.

“What is it?” She nudged him. Sometimes Yoshinaka would laugh out of nowhere, remembering a joke from years earlier or some prank he'd pulled as a boy. Little Yoshitaka would do that, too. She pushed that thought away.

“Remember the battle of Fujigawa?” He snorted.

She grinned. The Taira had run away in the middle of the night because they mistook the sound of a flock of ducks taking off for the enemy. “If only all victories could be so easy.” She stretched. Tomoe was sore and tired, but she did not complain. Perhaps this was why she was barren. She rode horses too much. It couldn't be good for her nether regions.

As if reading her mind, Yoshinaka finished his food and reached for her, winding his arm around her waist and pulling her into his lap. “Tomoe Gozen. While other women turn into crones, you get better looking every year. Like a man.”

She bristled a little, knowing he was talking about Yamabuki as a crone. Yet she would not refuse him. “I suppose because I
am
more like a man than most women.” Tomoe rested her arms on his shoulders. Yoshinaka had a full beard now, his eyebrows stuck out like bristly boar hair, and he smelled strongly of fish and male odor. Something Yamabuki complained about, his odor. Tomoe didn't mind. He smelled wrong if he was too clean. “Perhaps being a warrior is good for the complexion.”

He laughed, showing straight white teeth with unusually pronounced canines. He reminded her of the gray wolves; she wouldn't be surprised if he howled at the moon occasionally. He wound his fingers in her hair and pulled it free of its clasp. “This is how I like to see your hair. Free.”

“If I wore it like this, no work would ever be done,” Tomoe retorted. “It blocks my eyes.” But she fluffed it around her face anyway, and looked up at him coquettishly. “I am Tomoe Gozen, all things to all men. Beauty, warrior, lady, lover.”

She kissed him gently, then stood. “I am quite tired. I think I will retire.” She retreated into his tent, knowing he would follow soon.