With due promulgation, Hideyori's advent occasioned upon the surface
great rejoicing everywhere throughout the land. Especially were the
tidings well received at Ozaka and thereabout: still more earnestly by
the older of Hideyoshi's immediate supporters--those captains who had
fought side by side with him from obscurity to mastery; none among them
had so forgotten his duty as to think of independent action or listen to
a suggestion in contravention of the taiko; he had been their guidance,
and upon his regeneration depended their welfare; the father at once
became a god, and the son his natural prognosticator.
Quite different, however, with those forced or tolerated into
submission. Ieyasu had not tried out his capabilities, and Ishida
served only for a purpose. Neither had sown that others might reap: each
had awaited the harvest as best suited his particular need or
environment; and now, at last, dissension foreboded their several
necessities. Both, therefore, sought without delay to strengthen either
one his own conjectured position, in view of the taiko's possible
retirement.
"You have no need to make oath, Hideyoshi," promised Yodogima, in answer
to his further protestations; "my interests and your purpose within
themselves make us but one. Command me."
"Let some fitting entertainment be had; I have now an heir, peace is at
home, and China, I am told, sends an envoy to crown me emperor; what
greater joy could be?"
To this proposal Yodogima made no protest, in fact encouraged its doing,
yet knew full well the purport and surmised an eagerness on the part of
every daimyo--invited or not--to seize any opportunity to test
underhandedly his influence or lay discreetly some self-bettered plan.
The taiko had whipped them into subjection and she herself borne him a
recognized successor, but would the nation accept an authority incapable
of enforcing itself? Could individual powers be transmitted in the
absence of personal prowess? In fact, were they a nation as yet? If not,
then what, required?
These were some of the questions vitally confronting Yodogima at the
very outset of her enlarged career, and she had answered each
satisfactorily to herself: the husband's declining whimsicalities,
presumably more tolerable than impressive to others--in view of their
several intentions and universal unpreparedness--should be made to
promote not only a devoted life's well earned vacation, but to attend as
well the immediate requirements of those upon whose shoulders an
unfinished work had certainly, if not rightfully, fallen. The taiko's
frivolities, therefore, had been, likely, not only permitted but
undertaken, and the completion of the Fushima castle was made the
occasion: no captain would refuse, nor could any daimyo have been kept
away except by force; the first longed to do the master any honor, and
the others to avail themselves of what they designed making an occasion
for the feathering of their own nests, no matter when or where the
chance. Yodogima had not been thought of, only as a mother, by any,
excepting possibly two--one a daimyo, the other a bakufu--had not been
contemplated as inevitably standing over like the sun emerging behind a
receding storm.
"You must attend, as I direct," urged Ieyasu, to Esyo, who persisted in
declining an invitation.
"I shall not," replied she, deigning to proffer no excuse whatsoever.
"Well," replied he, thoughtfully; "this is a dilemma; I cannot make you
go consistently, but I shall resolve at least a plausible stay at
home--you can have Hidetada, my son; perhaps a growing husband would
suit you better than a declining suitor. Take him and welcome."
"Oh, I am not so particular; an infant might perchance serve me as well
as an older man served my sister. Then, on the other hand, there is
nothing like agreeableness; Esyo is an obedient body, whatever else you
or others may contemplate. Let's have done with it."
They were married--she and the infant Hidetada--and Esyo, in
consequence, excused attendance upon the taiko's grand cha-no-yu
(tea-drinking party)--conserving probably Ieyasu's pleasure or safety
no more than her own self-understood purpose.
Ishida, on the other hand, had brought all his persuasion to bear upon
Oyea--the taiko had quite ignored or forgotten her, but Yodogima had
not. Many of the older captains retained at heart a warm place for the
elder wife, and truly sympathized with her for her many sacrifices and
half-requited support. She had surrendered position and all that goes
with it to marry Hideyoshi in his poverty-stricken beginning, and
through all the trials and hardships of a relentless struggle had never
once lost faith or asked a favor: Yodogima appreciated the influence her
presence should have upon this the most vital occasion at which she had
been privileged the prestige of hostess.
"I regret very much Oyea's decision," said Yodogima, to Ishida, shortly
before the time set for the entertainment. "I wonder if some outside
influence can deter her? I hardly think so, however; Oyea is above
suspicion, and is the closest friend I have, aside my own good sisters.
Please pay her my best compliments, and use your better judgment as to
proper measures; I can easily enough overlook Esyo's idiosyncracies, but
Oyea is a practical woman."
"Your ladyship is quite right, and far-seeing if, perhaps, most
charitable, though not altogether inattentive. There is an ulterior
purpose, I will not say reason--there could be no justice in any sort of
breach toward our good princess--believe me, your ladyship--Ishida
cannot speak otherwise, and my long service as master of ceremonies to
our most excellent taiko, his lordship--beginning, as your honorable
ladyship well knows, these many years ago--as I say, such a round, so
highly prized and as graciously bestowed, entitles one--I dare say, that
your ladyship herself would extend to an humbler subject a
consideration--arising only within the bosom of a traditional
appreciation little in evidence these days, I tell you--emanating from a
desire to do nothing contrary to the best ethics of the
times--dominating the heart-interests especially of that one whom the
master has permitted us each and all alike to serve and revere as
jealously and considerately as the fleeting moments--"
"Time is precious. Pardon me, Ishida?"
"Yes; as I was about to say; Esyo out of the way, Ieyasu is fast
becoming a favorite at Azuchi; and, though only a visitor at Fushima,
may bode more than a kwambaku's disseverance. These require drastic
consideration."
"Hush. You speak unbecomingly."
"Excuse me. I have only your ladyship's best interests at heart."
"It were more like it, I trow, had you said 'in mind,' my good Ishida."
"No less at my finger's end, your ladyship."
"Boaster--one might think you Sen-no-rikyu himself, to hear you talk."
"Stranger mistakes have been made."
"Not to-day, Ishida."
"Yodogima--"
"Stop! You forget yourself; the taiko still lives: it is he that we
serve."
The festal day coming on, and all in readiness, Sen-no-rikyu apparently
took his place at the bowl. No man had greater fame than he. There had
been brewers of a superior flavor, but none ever reached the excellence
of Hideyoshi's day and favor, save Sen-no-rikyu, and he alone. Famed as
no man had been at cha-no-yu, trusted as only a Hideyoshi knew how to
trust, truant or designer, patronized by an age famed above all others
in the wealth and luxury and refinement and indulgence of a nobility
unsurpassed in the annals of time, this, the supposed Sen-no-rikyu, but
in fact substitute tea-server, a scion of all that had gone before and a
deceiver among adepts, may have rightly thought himself, too, a master,
undiscovered and immune.
Had not these lords and ladies, serving and served, the kuge and the
bakufu, come or remained there to partake of a hospitality made possible
only by the perfection of an art, a crafthood not comparable to the
deftness of his hand, with the cunning of his brain, against the force
of his will? What mattered if he traduced as others reviled?
"The hand that rules is not the one who feeds," argued he, to himself,
as the guests gathered in anticipation of all that Hideyoshi, the
greatest of them, had thought to develop in life or fought to leave at
death.
And they did patronize thus in gorgeous splendor. Silks soft to the
touch and pleasing to behold covered these people, whose bodies bore no
taint of coarse, close-fitting and ill-shaped garments. The great
chamber in which they lounged comfortably or demeaned themselves
gracefully bespoke cycles of rigid aesthetics; the crude walls and
hard-made floors, cumbersome furniture and meaningless ornaments of
earlier days had long ago succumbed to oblivion's kindlier grace. The
food they ate, and the tea they drank--only a god could brew and serve
it as they wot.
Seated there as placed, no sense of man disturbed them--the animal had
been subdued in times gone by--thought, too, lost all sway, and only the
soul called down from ethereal realms a glory that made earth in truth a
heaven.
A careful hand filled the fated cup. Nature-clad messengers bore it
toward the taiko. The cha-no-yu had begun.
Two simply-robed humans, no different except in degree, sat at the head
of this vast compulsorily punctilious assemblage--the one at the other's
side. The messengers came on, and no sound issued or lip as much as
moved. Hideyoshi raised his hand to take the coveted draught, but
Yodogima, instead, seized the cup and, raising it to her lips, a mighty
confusion broke forth, from Ishida to her husband, over that beaten and
mystified audience--Sen-no-rikyu was nowhere there; Ishida sat in his
place!
"What? Would you, even you, deny me first--Yodogima?" tremblingly asked
the taiko.
"It is Hidetsugu's fault," shouted Ishida, undisguising in the confusion
and rushing forward. "He has poisoned the princess--please strike him
and pardon her," continued he, snatching the cup away and dashing its
contents upon the floor.
"No," replied Yodogima, composedly; "Ishida speaks falsely; it is mine
to answer."
Outside the rattle and purpose of troops made itself quickly apparent,
and Ieyasu sprang up, commanding:
"My sword." Then, "Forward, guards!"
The taiko only railed the harder; he could not look or feel beyond the
insult sustained; Yodogima had committed an act no penalty other than
direst torture could atone.
"I have not seen Hidetsugu, know not his purpose, or any other man's,
but I also have a duty to perform: if in that I have transgressed, then
let me suffer therefor. What is one life as compared with so many?"
continued Yodogima, without any intimation as to what she herself,
Ishida, and the Sen-no-rikyu alone knew.
"Hideyoshi has been insulted and the guilty must suffer. How are the
captains? Where Ieyasu?" demanded the taiko, nervously.
"Time will tell," suggested Ishida. "In the meantime your humble servant
would advise that Hideyori be taken in charge--I myself, with your
lordship's permission, shall attend Yodogima."
"Let Oyea stand sponsor for Hideyori; Yodogima has proven herself
untrustworthy--do with her as you like; I shall have enough to attend
Hidetsugu. Produce the child," commanded the taiko, believing himself
abused beyond forgiveness.
Yodogima sank down bewildered. Jokoin had been an onlooker and believed
her sister in the right, though she knew nothing and could not account
for the circumstance.
"Never mind, sister; Jokoin shall console you," promised she, coming
forward in a manner strictly her own, however menacingly it may have
seemed.
"And you, Hideyoshi, are just as mean as you can be. Now, then,"
continued Jokoin, stamping her foot in the taiko's presence.
"Hei, yeo! Ishida, we shall have enough of it, before done; I know this
little elf, of old," threatened Hideyoshi, vainly trying to hide a
deeper, more laborious concern.
The world, however, seemed awhirl, and Yodogima had surrendered, but
Harunaga watched his chance:
"Do not despair, Yodogima; the child shall not be torn from its mother,"
whispered he, and his words roused within her a new life.
Hidetsugu came in--he had flown at Ishida's accusation--in the charge of
Ieyasu, who had surrounded and taken him at his own quarters, while in
the act of communicating with Mori, a friend to Ishida. It had been the
kwambaku's guards marching, contrary to his orders or knowledge, but
well within the plans and connivance of Ishida, that caused the
disturbance, prompting Ieyasu to adopt extreme measures--cutting down
and dispersing them without inquiry or cause.
Ishida laughed. He stood at Hideyoshi's right. Yodogima in the melee had
disappeared, in company with Jokoin, as induced by Harunaga.
"I am guilty of no wrongdoing: God is my judge," protested Hidetsugu,
confronting Hideyoshi.
"Why, then, have you sought to impose a new form of oath?" inquired the
taiko, calling Mori to witness.
Hidetsugu stumbled--there were several Christians present and he himself
had more than once favored the good father Grecchi, though none now
offered him as much as a consolation.
Hideyoshi marvelled the circumstance.
It now came Ieyasu's turn, and he answered by absenting himself; it
occurring that there might be some further advantage gotten of China;
Chin Ikei had not yet crowned Hideyoshi.
With reaching her own apartment, Yodogima's spirit rekindled; but--
"The child!" shrieked she, as it dawned that Hideyori was nowhere to be
found.
The moments seemed ages now, and a thousand occasions suggested the most
likely place to search--yet back of it all there stood the look of
Ishida. He had proffered Hideyoshi the cup, condemned Hidetsugu, and
baffled Ieyasu: had he likewise the need of kidnapping her child? Were
he in truth master of Hideyoshi? Could she not play him and Ieyasu yet,
one against the other, to some advantage?"
"Have faith, Yodogima; we still have Taketomo, my own dear little imp,
and our intended ruse may yet avail--in the opposite direction. Would
you believe it, Harunaga says Take looks enough like Hide to be his
brother; and I'm sure you can have him, and welcome, for I should just
love to find another like him."
Yodogima snatched the child up, and vowed that the rearing of children
and the conserving of fortune were two occupations utterly incompatible
and hopelessly attempted--Hideyoshi had, without further consultation or
compunction, sent Hidetsugu, his three children, their mothers and some
thirty other ladies of his court to the execution grounds at Kyoto.
"These are marvels, not virtues: therein lies my strength," surmised the
expectant princess, long before "The Mound of Beasts" had echoed its
final warning over against the headsmen's block in Sanjomachi.