.

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 butchered; a young serving girl was disemboweled; our commander took an arrow in the sleeve. And all accompanied by a noise so great— shouts, cries, yells, screams—that eventually one no longer heard it, as one no longer hears the rush of a nearby waterfall.

      The battle was going much against us, but we were saved by the foresight of Shigemori's lieutenants who now returned to the palace and took it, killing those who had remained on guard. When news of this reached Yoshitomo, he realized that he had no place upon which to fall back and so, with Rokuhara all but assured, he began a retreat.

      He did not, to be sure, know how desperate our position was. Plans had already been made that it would be we who retreated—back up the hills toward the Kiyomizu Temple. But we well knew of this desperation, and so when the unwise Minamoto showed us their backs we swarmed out of our gates like angry hornets in full pursuit.

      So close had we been to defeat and death that our sudden reprise was like wine. We became instantly drunk and, leaping the small gap we had made in our bridge, we raced over the dead and the dying and set out in pursuit. From all of Yoshitomo's company only fourteen, it is said, reached the far hills alive.

      I remember running after a wounded foot soldier, dragging himself along as swiftly as he could, and slicing through his neck—then being surprised that killing was so simple.

      Even Tamamaru, who stayed near me all day, frightened but elated, became carried away. He had found a sword and with it went limping about attacking the fleeing soldiers. He pinned to the ground a boy not much older than himself, then cut his throat. It was strange to see this fourteen-year-old page, blood-covered, his silk garments in shreds, grimace ferociously as he sliced through the living flesh and then look up to me for approbation.

      Eventually there were no more to kill. The dead lay deep in the streets, in the river, and they were piled like earth-filled sacks around the snowy ramparts of Rokuhara. We went back to the fortress, my captured head bumping against my thigh— secured by its hair to my scabbard belt. Tamamaru's was held fast in his bloody fist, since his silken belt was lost. Already, the servants were making cooking fires, soldiers were pulling arrows from the gates, and valets were rolling bodies into the river where the winter current carried them away. It was sunset.

      We soldiers were assembled in the big courtyard and Kiyomori himself addressed us, praising our fidelity to the emperor. This imperial personage was then brought out. No longer dressed as a girl, he now carried a ceremonial sword, and we all knelt and bowed.

      Then we turned in our trophies. Mine was marked beside my name and added to the growing pile. Tamamaru's was not, since he was but a page. I thought I might get credit for his as well but it was instead added to a separate pile, later allocated to the credit of our leader. We were then given something to eat and sent to our barracks and to bed.

      Mine was again my own. Tamamaru was herded back to the apartments of the young emperor and when I next saw him he was in a new silk outfit, purple on a cream background, and he looked straight through me. Again he was an imperial page and I was a common subaltern. The delightful disorder of battle was over.

      * * *

      The Minamoto were now in full rout. Yoshitomo and his sons attempted to flee to the farther side of Lake Biwa; Nobuyori tried to reach Ninnaji to ask the retired emperor for pardon— neither succeeded.

      Kiyomori's soldiers were everywhere and found nearly everyone. Officers, nobles, soldiers alike, all were decapitated the following day. The headless corpses were stacked like firewood and the heads were neatly laid out, as in a pumpkin field, scribes busily attaching labels and marking which was accredited to whom.

      The following day Kiyomori ordered an inspection of the imperial palace and a ceremonial reinstatement of the Emperor Nijō, so we all bathed, put on clean uniforms, and made ourselves a splendid sight as our grand procession left Rokuhara, proceeding up from Gojō to the palace, the emperor and his sister in a ceremonial oxcart flanked by an honor guard. Along the way, homes and stores were unshuttered and the people of the city appeared, also all dressed up. The winter sun shone. It was like a holiday—as indeed it was, since that day no work was done.

      At the palace there was an amusing occurrence. After the fighting, the place had been deserted and into it poured the destitute, all the orphans, beggars, and criminals of the city. Here they made themselves at home, dressed themselves up in silks and brocades, and built bonfires in the chambers. Not finding food, they butchered and barbecued some horses and left the remains. A corner of the council chamber was their lavatory, but in general they relieved themselves wherever they happened to be and cleaned themselves with whatever came to hand.

      When our procession arrived, they were still deep in their