YODOGIMA
IN FEUDALISTIC JAPAN
BY
I. WILLIAM ADAMS
AUTHOR OF
SHIBUSAWA, THE PASSING OF OLD JAPAN, ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
THE MIKILOSCH PRESS
1911
COPYRIGHT, 1911
BY I. WILLIAM ADAMS
Manufactured by
L. H. Jenkins, Richmond, Va.
YODOGIMA
CHAPTER I
Japan lay sweltering with uncertainty. Four centuries of unbridled
warfare had reduced her once sturdy, centralized government to little
more than a revered impotency; the country had become the property or
the booty of its daimyos--those knights-errant, the pride of a nation.
It was an age of military prowess, of unlicensed chivalry, and to the
victor belonged the spoils--till wrested from him, by another more
powerful or less nice about the taking.
Shibata, grizzled and fair, sat upon the veranda, looking out, over the
ramparts, across the moats, along the busied streets, to the mellowed
hillsides beyond. It was all his: gained by life's devoted, loyal
service, not to self, but to a chosen, rising superior. It had now come
time for him to assert his own supremacy; the lord he served had met his
doom, gone the self same way that ambition for ages had decreed--lay
shrouded in state, with his good rich blood dripping cold at the
dagger's point.
"Nobunaga conceived well," mused he, half aloud, the tears fast welling
in his great dark eyes, "but Shibata, his oldest captain, alone shall
finish what the master undertook--Japan must be subdued."
The skies darkened and the land-tempered breeze calmed, as the big lord
rested back upon the soft-matted floor, gazing now afar over the hill
tops toward the starry vaulted space in the distance. A little maiden,
tender and eager, with black eyes and darker, massive hair, stealing
near, sat at his side.
Perhaps she, too, dreamed of the future, for she had learned to love.
Learned to love as the Taira maidens, her ancestors, of a half thousand
years ago, had not attempted to do. The deeds of daring and flights of
fancy through all those tumultuous centuries had not only given to man
the privileges of individuality, but wrested woman from the thraldom of
the ages and secured to her a place and choice worthy her being.
Once again she might love and be loved--though the father's command, the
shogun's decree, or the mikado's will stood over her, in fact, as law,
and at heart, both materially and spiritually.
Shibata did not at once turn to her, nor did he take his eyes from the
vision conjured within. Conscious of her presence, the very thought
burned and seared deeper and firmer his ready-made if rigorous
anticipations. Fortune had given him a child in whom the blood of Taira
made possible the connection. His own efforts had carved out a place and
privilege. Their chieftain's death afforded the opportunity. By the
sacrifice of a child he himself would gain the shogun's favor.
"Yodogima?" commanded he, after a while.
"Yes, father."
"What were you just now thinking about?"
"Amida, most honorable father."
"Your own, or some other fair one's goddess of mercy; you are so
considerate, my daughter?"
"Mine, dear father," replied she, without any change of expression or an
apparent heart-beat.
"Humph!" ejaculated Shibata, thoughtfully; "it is strange how affinities
get mixed; I myself possessed somewhat a consciousness--of Amaterasu,
though, the goddess of love. I wonder what is the time; the hour must
draw nigh: the barons will soon be gathering; it is really getting dark.
You may retire now, to make ready; Katsutoya shall be present, and your
maid must grow impatient--though, I promise, nature has left really
little to be done, and you need not blush; a father is privileged, you
know."
In the great hall, at another side of the high-walled inclosure--with
its ponderous gate and turreted angles, surrounding a network of
tile-covered, wood-lacquered buildings or grained-post colonnades, with
here and there a shrine or a bell or a row of lanterns or a fretwork of
gold--sat Sakuma and Gonroku, the one Shibata's chief captain and the
other his natural son.
Sakuma had just returned with added laurels; a new fief or more had been
wrested from Uesugi (to the eastward) his master's old-time foe and a
daimyo of undoubted rank. To beat him in battle was no mean feat, and
this, Sakuma's latest triumph, had once more demonstrated the power and
efficiency of Kitanoshi, Shibata's stronghold, in whose castle all the
great barons formerly subject to Nobunaga were then about to assemble.
Shibata, the lord daimyo of all Echizen, had issued the invitations,
ostensibly to cement friendships and perpetuate in authority the house
of their late master, Nobunaga. Gonroku, too, felt the force of his
father's growing ascendency, but may have been just now a little
jealous; duties elsewhere, to the westward, escorting Katsutoya to
Nagahama castle--lately surrendered to them by Hideyoshi--had
disappointed and kept him personally from the latest battle field.
The perfume of azalea freshened the room; lanterns suspended everywhere
cast a subdued light into the farthest corners; soft, velvety matting
set in oblongs edged round with black-lacquered frames covered the floor
and a huge vase of old Satsuma ware, with a single scroll hung at the
back, constituted the only decoration. Sakuma and Gonroku had come in
early, and seating themselves at one side spoke in low anxious tones or
whacked cautiously their pipes, as convenience required, against the one
hibachi (brazier) shared between them.
"You did nobly, Sakuma: my father's house owes much to your abilities."
Sakuma's eyes sparkled, but the daring, impulsive soldier, middle-aged
and aggressive, made no answer. He knew this Gonroku: knew him to be a
chip off the block he had served well and truly: had come to regard
their praise and assurance at its true worth. Yodogima's words would
have pleased him more; she inherited well her mother's traits. The Taira
stock had taken deep root in the princess, and above all else Sakuma
worshipped at this ancient particular shrine. Then, again, she had
advised him somewhat of her wishes--without at all disclosing any
motive, though he may have guessed as much--and he had sworn in secrecy
to do her service at the cost of death; be that his own, or his
master's, or his lordship's good and faithful son's.
"It is less than I would do, were Shibata my age," replied Sakuma, after
a little, striking his metal pipe harder than was polite against the
resonant hibachi.
"Father is rather old, and a bit fidgety; but Gonroku is young and in
good favors: pray don't overlook that."
"But you forget Katsutoya. I must confess that I thought better of--our
lord's age than his placing at Nagahama, in the front, between Kitanoshi
and Kyoto, the capital, that--fellow, only an adopted son, even though
he carry the shogun's blood--poor stuff, in these days--a thing any true
knight might fairly doubt."
"Sh--h--h. Not above a whisper, my good Sakuma."
"Why so? These walls have no ears, I promise."
"But Hideyoshi has. They say his spies are everywhere, and anywhere; and
some--I told you so; there comes Junkei, now."
"He's an ass--frivolous, foolish, and a mask: a counterpart of the
monkey-faced Hideyoshi himself. I shall not rise--what say you,
Gonroku?"
"Flout him; I take it his superior shall fare no better at the hands of
the daimyos."
Junkei pranced in, to the center of the hall, and without pretending to
see anybody, much less their host's two worthy attendants, turned upon
his heel, shouting:
"Behold; the Great; a Hideyoshi approaches!"
No sooner had the echo died than Hideyoshi, the but recently created
daimyo of Omi; self-intended master of Nobunaga's leavings and loudly
proclaimed protector of the peace; with the commonest kind of low down
blood in his veins, and the largest aspirations in his mind;
weasen-faced, small, stooped, bullet-eyed and fiercely aggressive, yet
plausibly reserved, angled his way in, displaced his long-sword, handed
it to his own attendant, Junkei--who, himself, hung it upon the
wall--and squatting in the middle of the hall, at one end--where only
the host should sit--called loudly for a hibachi and attendance.
Hearing the noise and discerning the occasion, their host entered,
followed by Ikeda, daimyo of Settsu; Niwa, of Wakasa; Maeda; Takigawa,
and other invited guests, with their attendants, including Kuroda and
Takiyama, noted captains under Hideyoshi, who had the decency, if not
purpose, to comply with established etiquet and recognized custom.
Shibata belonged to the old school, the bakufu, acknowledged only the
bushido (code of chivalry), and when those daimyos observed Hideyoshi,
an upstart and outsider, self-made and wilful, usurping their host's
privileged place and rank, feelings something akin to shame if not
resentment possessed them, one and all alike.
"Yes, gentlemen; I am here," grinned Hideyoshi, rubbing his hands and
peering among them--without deigning to arise--"ready for business. Our
lord, Nobunaga, good and great, as he was, is dead. The work, though,
which he began, must be carried on. It behooves us, his once trusted
followers, to get together. Come close up, round Hideyoshi; who,
perchance, feels the loss more keenly than any other. Shibata, my old
friend and good fellow, bring in the sake (wine). We barons need cheer,
and Hideyoshi in particular--"
"Intends to shampoo lord Shibata. That is why he so audaciously usurps
his place," interposed Sakuma, coming threateningly up.
"Well said, Sakuma; I remember his doing so, once before. It is, though,
a long time now--. How do you, Hideyoshi? Is your hand steady, and
capable? now that you are a daimyo? like others of us? with less face?
however?" remarked Shibata, tauntingly.
A low twitter and ready gabble ensued. Only Kuroda and Takiyama remained
serious or composed. Junkei danced about, unconscious of any wrong, till
Hideyoshi spoke:
"Compose yourself, Junkei. Did not the queen Shomu once attend a beggar?
Why should not Hideyoshi shampoo Shibata? His hand is yet true, and the
heart pure. Come Shibata: prepare yourself. Hideyoshi shall again serve
his oldest friend."
Such complacency in the face of so mean a taunt fairly unnerved
Hideyoshi's bitterest enemies, and at least some of Shibata's less
staunch supporters really felt that such a man--one who could so govern
his temper and conserve his patience--must of necessity be the greater
man.
Hideyoshi began the shampooing as if wont to do a real service, and
Shibata to hide his only too patent chagrin and sorrow at such defeat
pretended to sleep.
"It is only the friendship between us here assembled that restrains our
enemies scattered everywhere around. If by surrendering Nagahama to
Shibata I have strengthened: if by shampooing him I have cemented that
bond, then Hideyoshi has done a good service--perhaps the end, if not
the method, shall be deemed worthy, if not befitting."
So saying, Hideyoshi left off further effort at conciliation, and
withdrawing proceeded thence, toward Kyoto, with a visible escort of
only some three hundred men.
Sakuma would have followed, possibly to no small purpose, but there was
one present, a small baron, hitherto unnoticed, who saw farther than
Shibata divined. Ieyasu, a prince from Mikawa, advised that Hideyoshi
be allowed to go his way unmolested.