A SMALL portion of the night had been spent by the Prince in that sleep,
troubled by nervous starts and awakenings, which was now his only
repose, when there was a sound of disorder in the great enclosure
without the fortress. The challenging of sentinels, the rattle of arms,
the gallop of a considerable body of horse, came to him plainly within
the palace interior.
Hastily Keiki passed through the castle apartments to a parapet high
above the area of the enclosure. Leaning against a cannon, he sought
among the shadows for the cause of the disturbance. If he had any fears
as to the state of his defences, none appeared in his face, now grown
impassive almost to the point of apathy.
Gradually, as his eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness of the
enclosure, he saw that his followers were receiving an accession of
fresh troops, many of whom were mounted. Quarters for the rest of the
night were being made ready for the new-comers. Plainly, it was the
arrival of some of the long-expected clans.
With the knowledge that a report would be made presently, for such was
his standing order by day or by night, Keiki returned to his apartments,
seeking, after a few further preparations, the chamber in which he was
accustomed to receive guests.
Soon a number of his people, among them Toro and the boy Jiro, ushered
in his cousin, the cadet Lord of Nagato. Scarcely had he announced the
number and strength of the clans he had gathered about him, when he
burst out:
“Strange news, your highness!”
“Speak,” said Keiki, briefly.
“With these eyes have I seen it. Ill augurs it for our land and cause.”
“Speak,” said Keiki, impatiently.
“My lord, I have just come from Yedo, whither I went alone in disguise,
joining my men only yester morn.”
“My lord,” said the impatient Keiki, “pray remember that the hour is
late. All things wait upon your utterance. Tell me in a breath what is
your news. What did you see in Yedo?”
“Foreign ships-of-war sailing up the harbor.”
“What was their purpose?”
“They demand the opening of our ports, closed for two hundred years, to
the trade of the world.”
Keiki reflected.
“It is evil—this complication with foreign peoples at this time,” he
said. “But proceed, my lord.”
The other continued:
“Four foreign ships-of-war are now in Yedo Bay. They are American. They
are in much doubt as to who is the ruler of the country. The Shogun
Iyesada has assured them that he reigns supreme. Treaties are now being
negotiated. The Shogun has taken it upon himself to change the policy of
our country without reference to the Son of Heaven” (the Mikado).
“This is treason,” cried Keiki. “We must march against the Shogun at
once.”
“Nay, my lord, permit an insignificant vassal to suggest that our
country must present at this critical juncture an undivided front
against the foreigner. It may be that the Shogun in his weakness before
the foreigner but temporizes in his presence. The foreigner must be
expelled, and, after that, the Shogun dealt with.”
“You are right, my lord. I congratulate you upon your wisdom and
foresight, and beg that you will now retire to rest.”
“May I inquire whether you purpose taking any action, your highness?”
inquired Nagato.
“I am decided,” said Keiki. “In the morning I shall set out for Yedo,
whatever the peril. I must make observations.”
Long after the others had retired, Keiki tried to review clearly the
train of events that had led up to this occurrence. He must decide upon
his course. In spite of the European knowledge transferred to him by the
Lord of Satsuma, the very term “foreigner” sent a vague thrill of
unknown terror to his soul. He had been told of their arms and other
methods of warfare; many of their secrets were his. He had, if not their
armaments, at least fair imitations—gunpowder, cannon, and rifles. Yet
in spite of all this, an emotion that was not fear, not cowardice, made
its way subtly to his heart. These foreigners stood for a strange
civilization which, despite his vaguely derived knowledge, might yet
include greater destructive agencies.
Then who could clearly see beyond their diplomacy? They might come
simply, as they said, to demand open ports. But their own history showed
that such things had been the forerunners of wars of aggression, wars
for the acquisition of territory. No man might know what the extent of
the latter demanded. They were a distinct peril to the whole of Dai
Nippon. Yet what was to be done with regard to the shogunate? Iyesada
was dealing with these foreigners, making treaties, without the sanction
of his imperial master, the Mikado. If, on the other hand, Keiki should
move with all his forces against the Shogun, would not the foreigners,
taking advantage of civil war, better their mysterious position and gain
whatever object they might have in view?
No, it seemed clear to Keiki that, unless something unforeseen
intervened, every energy must be made by a united country to keep out
the foreign powers. When this was definitely accomplished the Mikado’s
reign would be established with little delay before the foreigners could
recover.
This was the final and definite conclusion reached by Keiki. He saw a
certain advantage in the arrival of the foreign ships-of-war, provided
they came in good faith. They would serve to distract attention from the
aroused and armed state in which the southern provinces now were, to
which they had been brought under his direction.
“I will go to Yedo at sunrise,” he told himself.
His temples were throbbing painfully, the result of long nights without
sleep, of long days of thought and care. He sighed and drew his hand
across his brow.
“My lord is ill?”
He started at the voice. It had a vaguely familiar sound. The young boy,
Jiro, had started towards him a pace, and then had retreated backward,
as though overcome by his temerity.
“My lord is ill?”
“An insignificant pain in the brow,” said the Prince.
The boy slipped behind the Prince softly and fell upon one knee.
“Dear lord, will you not permit me to relieve the pain of your august
brow?”
The Prince stirred uneasily. Again the strange quality of the boy’s
voice touched some hidden spring of memory. Taking his silence as
consent, the boy laid a soft, cool hand on either side of Keiki’s
temples, pressing them with his finger-tips. The action, the touch,
recalled in an instant a memory that was better than sleeping. It was
thus the Lady Wistaria had been wont to woo away the pain that beset his
brow when he had lain ill in her father’s house.
Suddenly the Prince clasped his hands over those on his brow. Gradually
he was drawing Jiro to a position facing him, when, eluding the Prince’s
grasp, Jiro sank to the floor and laid his head at Keiki’s feet.
“Oh, my lord, I beseech you not to be angry with me for my forwardness.
It was my solicitude for your pain—”
“Nay, rise,” said the Prince, gently. “Pray do not confound me with
apologies.”
With his head still drooping, the boy retreated towards the door.
The Prince smiled at the fear apparent in Jiro’s demeanor.
“You have done me no ill,” he said, kindly; “you have actually soothed
away the pain. I thank you.”
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[Illustration: Decoration]