In quick response to the signal, the chamberlain who had conducted us
to the palace entered at the side of the room. Over his feet and a
yard behind trailed a grotesque prolongation of his trouser legs that
gave him the appearance of walking on his knees. I supposed he had
been summoned to usher us out. But when he crept forward on hands and
knees and kowtowed, the Shogun commanded harshly: “Look at the _tojin_,
Gengo. Report has been made that he committed the crime of firing a gun
within the bounds of Yedo. Speak the truth.”
The chamberlain raised his head a little above the floor, and stared
across at me, his face gray with fear beneath its set smile.
“Your Highness,” he murmured, “the truth cannot be concealed. This is
the _tojin_ who, in company with Yoritomo, son of Owari dono, fired
many shots from a little gun the like of which has never before been
seen in Yedo. Your Highness knows that I had no share in the crime.
Yuki was captain of the cortege, and the responsibility--”
“Enough,” interrupted the Shogun. “Send in Setsu.”
As the fellow crept from the room I stared after him, astounded that
fear could so debase one who had outmatched by his skill and braveness
the armored _ronins_. He had stood unflinching before the bloody swords
that had cut down his comrades, yet now, at the bare intimation that
his lord was displeased with me, crawled away without venturing a word
in favor of the _tojin_ whose so-called crime had saved him from death
and his Princess from the disgrace of capture.
I turned to the Prince, expecting him to burst into warm protests
against the injustice of the Shogun’s attitude. He sat in placid
silence, his face wreathed in the polite smile of the Japanese
courtier. Yet I knew that he could not be indifferent. Ruin to me would
spell ruin to Yoritomo. Determined not to be outdone in self-control,
I composed myself, and faced the Shogun with the same forced smile of
etiquette.
Iyeyoshi regarded me with an inscrutable look. Though his features
were as impassive as if cast in golden bronze, I fancied a sinister
mockery behind the cold curiosity of his gaze. I felt as a mouse must
feel between the paws of the cat. I had been so foolish as to leave
my revolvers in my apartments. I was absolutely in the power of this
gloomy-eyed ruler. I thought of all the hideous mediæval tortures
still in practice in this benighted land, and a cold sweat oozed out
upon my skin and chilled me. Yet I maintained my courtier’s smile.
Noiselessly as a shadow a girl glided across the room and prostrated
herself before the Shogun. It was the younger of the Princess Azai’s
_samurai_ ladies. Iyeyoshi muttered a command. She raised her head a
few inches, and spoke rapidly, but in tones so soft and low I could
only conjecture that she was giving a detailed account of the attack
and defeat of the _ronins_. Throughout the recital the Shogun held to
his cold scrutiny of my face. I continued to smile.
At the end he signed her to go. In turning about, she cast at me a
glance of modest interest, and I thought there was friendliness in her
smile. She glided out as noiselessly as she had entered. There was a
moment’s pause, and another girl glided in to prostrate herself before
the Shogun,--a girl still more graceful and lissome, dressed in crepes
of gossamer texture. I stared in amazement, my heart skipping a beat
and then bounding with a force that sent a flood of color into my face.
The girl was the Shogun’s daughter, the Princess Azai.
“Speak the full truth!” commanded the Shogun, with the barest
suggestion of tenderness beneath his stern tone. “This is not the first
time you have seen the _tojin_.”
“Your Highness,” she murmured, in a voice as clear and musical as it
was low, “the _tojin sama_ appeared before me first below the holy
image of Kwannon at Zozoji. I thought him a god or a spirit. Again he
appeared, in the midst of the attack by the evil _ronins_, and then I
knew him to be a hero such as are told of in the ancient writings.”
“The privilege of rulers is to honor heroes,” said the Shogun, and he
made a sign with his fan.
Azai glided to the opening in the screens, and returned with a tea
tray of unvarnished cypress wood, which she held above her white brow
until she had knelt to set it before her father. Having served him, she
glided across again, to return with a tray and service of vermilion
lacquer. This she brought to the Prince, holding it not so high as
the first tray. Last of all she came to serve me in precisely the
same manner as my fellow-guest. Tray and service and ceremonial were
identical. In other words, I was received by the Shogun as a personage
of rank equal to that of the Prince of Owari.
But I gave scant thought to this triumph of diplomacy when I looked
down upon the quaint coiffure and slender figure of the kowtowing girl.
As she straightened from the salute and, still upon her knees, bent
forward to offer me my tea and sweetmeats, her eyes rose to mine in a
timid glance. By good fortune I was able to restrain my tongue. But I
could not withhold from my gaze the adoration which overwhelmed me at
this close view of her exquisite purity and loveliness.
I had barely a glimpse of the soft brown-black eyes, purpling with
emotion. Then the lids drooped their long lashes, and a scarlet blush
leaped into her ivory cheeks. Yet with consummate grace and composure,
she maintained her delicious little smile of greeting, and served me
without a falter.
Her blush passed as swiftly as it had come, but it left me stunned
and dizzy with the realization that I loved this divinely sweet and
innocent maiden,--the daughter of the proud ruler of Nippon,--the
promised bride of my true friend Tomo. She was as far beyond my reach
as the silvery moon. What of that? Love does not reason. Even in the
midst of my shame at the thought of my friend, I found myself unable to
resist the mad longing to win the lovely girl.
My infatuated gaze could not have escaped the keen eyes of her father
and the Prince. To my surprise, instead of reproving me with word or
look, they sipped their tiny cups of tea as fast as the little Princess
could refill them, and exchanged cryptic verses from the Chinese
classics. The poetic contest continued until we had finished our
refreshment and Azai had withdrawn with her trays.
The Shogun quoted a last verse, and turned upon me with pedagogical
severity. “Woroto gives no heed to the golden words of the Chinese
sage!”
“Your Highness,” I replied, “if ignorance of Confucius is the sole
test, regard me as a barbarian. Less than two years have passed since I
began the study of your language with Yoritomo Sama.”
“In the matter of _tojin_ learning, Woroto Sama is a scholar,”
interposed the Prince.
“And a true _samurai_ in battle,” added the Shogun with a graciousness
that, I must confess, relieved me not a little.
“Your Highness,” I asked, “if inquiry is admissible--there were two
_hatamotos_ who lived to see the flight of the _ronins_. Both fought
with utmost skill and courage.”
“Gengo, as you have seen, has been promoted,” answered the Shogun. “He
did all that his position called for. Yuki, as captain of the cortege,
was guilty of falling into an ambush. In consideration of his loyal
valor, his life has been mercifully spared, and his punishment limited
to degradation from the service of the Shogunate.”
Only with utmost difficulty could I maintain my set smile. Here was
bitter requital for service,--the loyal and courageous _hatamoto_ made
a _ronin_ and beggared because of a surprise which he had no shadow of
reason to anticipate.
“Rumor says that one of the traitors was taken alive,” remarked the
Prince. “Is permission given to inquire?”
“The criminal refused to speak, and so died under examination.”
A shudder passed through me at the terse reply. I called to mind what I
had read of rack and boot and fire and all the other hideous tortures
of mediæval court procedure.
The Prince must have been bitterly disappointed. He laughed softly, and
ventured another inquiry: “It is rumored that the band came from the
north.”
“They were _ronins_, formerly in the service of Mito,” replied the
Shogun. “Written declarations found upon their bodies state that they
had foresworn their loyalty to their lord, and intended to strike
a blow against the Shogunate in favor of the temporal power of the
Mikado.”
“In Tenno’s name, for Mito’s fame,” rhymed the Prince.
The verse was not improbably a paraphrase of a classic couplet and
must have contained an allusion beyond the bare meaning of the words.
Iyeyoshi’s face darkened with a double suspicion.
“Eleven years have passed since the Prince of Mito was compelled to
resign his _daimiate_ to his eldest son and confine himself in his
inferior Yedo _yashiki_,” he stated. “Rekko’s enemies have yet to
furnish clear proof that his casting of bells into cannon was not
for the conquest of the Ainos and the glory of the Shogunate, as was
claimed by him.”
“Mito walks with face to the past and eyes turned upward,” murmured
the Prince. “No Mito has yet sat on the stool of the Mikado’s high
commander of armies. But neither was Hideyoshi the Taiko Sama made
Shogun. He held a higher title in the Mikado’s court, and was supreme
general in fact though not in name. Is it for the glory of our holy
Mikado or for the elevation of Keiki that Mito plots the overthrow of
the Shogunate?”
Stung to fury by the bare mention of the threatened disaster to his
rule, Iyeyoshi bent forward, his face distorted with murderous rage,
and his hand clutching at the hilt of his dirk. The Prince, still
smiling under the menace of instant death, kowtowed, and waited on
hands and knees, with his neck bared for the blade.
“Gladly does a loyal subject offer life in confirmation of sincerity,”
he murmured.
The blood curdled in my veins as the full horror of the moment burst
upon me. Unsoftened by my companion’s submissiveness, the Shogun
thrust back his long sleeve with his left hand and tightened his grip
on the dirk. His eyes narrowed to cruel slits. I knew there would be
only one movement,--a flashing stroke from the scabbard that would
sever the outstretched neck of the Prince. In the same instant I
realized that the death of the father would mean death to the son and
the ruin of what he valued far above life,--his mission. I had pledged
myself to help Yoritomo, and--I loved his betrothed! What had I to live
for?
“Your Highness!” I gasped. “I do not know all your customs. In China a
condemned man may sometimes receive punishment through a substitute.
Accept my life for the life of my kinsman!”
The Shogun turned his glittering eyes upon me. They were as cold and
hard and malignant as the eyes of an enraged snake. Yet the same
impulse that had forced my offer now impelled me to creep nearer to
him, fearful that he might refuse to accept. I did not realize that my
interference was in itself an outrage upon the dignity of the Shogun,
punishable with death. First the Prince, then myself! The bared arm of
the despot twitched--
Suddenly the distorted face relaxed and the hand on the hilt drew away.
Either my offer had penetrated through the crust of ceremonialism to
the wellsprings of his nature, or, at the very height of his rage,
he had recalled to mind the power of the friendly Owari party and
remembered that even he had no lawful right to punish a _daimio_ of the
first class other than by deposition with the sanctioning assent of the
Mikado.
“_Namu Amida Butsu!_” he murmured. “Rage is an evil counsellor! Be
seated. The _tojin_ offends with his uncouth manners and unsmiling
face. Yet he has proved his high sense of loyalty and the filial duty
owing to his elder kinsman. I am appeased.”
“Your Highness has spared two unworthy lives,” replied the Prince. “The
loyalty of my counsel is still doubted. Grant me leave to withdraw,
that I may make proof of sincerity.”
Again a feeling of horror seized me and brought the cold sweat to my
face. The gruesome proof of sincerity was _hara-kiri_. I recalled
the suicide of the wounded _ronin_, and I shuddered. No! Not even
for Yoritomo’s sake could I offer this sacrifice of myself for his
father. I had not been trained from childhood in the stern _samurai_
code. Still on hands and knees, I stared up at the clouded face of the
Shogun, in agonized suspense.
At last the clear gaze and unchanging smile of the Prince won the
contest against doubt and suspicion.
“The sincerity of Owari dono is not questioned,” replied the Shogun.
But the Prince was still unsatisfied. “There remains doubt regarding
the wisdom of humbly offered counsel,” he insisted.
“Permission is granted Owari dono to present the memorial of Yoritomo
Sama, which will be read and considered,” came the welcome response.
We kowtowed together, loudly insucking our breath to express our
gratitude and delight. The Shogun rose, and we again kowtowed while he
left the room. A screen in the side wall opened before him and closed
again without a sound. We were once more alone.
As we settled back on our heels the Prince commended me for my part in
the successful outcome of the audience with a glance of warm approval.
I could not restrain an exultant exclamation: “We’ve won! He cannot
resist Yoritomo’s facts!”
The Prince touched his lips and signed to the rear. A shadow passed
across my face. I had not heard even a rustle of silken folds, yet
Gengo the court chamberlain was already beside me. He kowtowed, and
murmured in a tone of ingratiating obsequiousness: “The august princes
are implored to accept the humble services of their servant. The
condescension of the great fills with joy the breast of the lowly!”
“The duties of a court chamberlain restrict his services to his lord,”
replied my companion.
I had taken a dislike to the man, despite my remembrance of his
braveness and swordsmanship, but I thought the Prince spoke with undue
harshness. Heedless of the reproof, Gengo looked up, with a fawning
smile, and answered significantly: “Great men have accepted aid from
foxes.”
“A wise man trusts in the gods, and scorns the goblin power of badgers
and foxes,” rejoined the Prince.
“Gold opens gates that steel cannot force, my lord.”
“The gates that are already open may crush those who attempt to close
them.”
Gengo cringed and looked up with a bland smile.
“The favor of the exalted Prince of Owari will be remembered by his
servant,” he murmured, and he kowtowed, laughing softly and sucking his
breath.
The Prince signed me to rise. Gengo rose after us and ushered us out
by the way we had come, with utmost obsequiousness. In the waiting
room our caps and winged jackets were removed by our chamberlains, who
slipped on our lacquered clogs at the threshold.
Gengo conducted our party out across the inner moat and through the
palace gardens to the gate in the citadel rampart. There at last he
turned back, while we swung out across the great moat and homeward
along Kojimachi Street, to bear the good news to Yoritomo.