During this long speech Terumasa fumed and chafed, and with kicks and blows sought to release himself. But Dansuké would not let go his grip and earnestly did he pour forth his supplication, though perforce it was delivered in rather jerky and intermittent fashion. The bloody and tearstained countenance of poor Dansuké at last wrought on the feelings of Terumasa and caused him to desist. Seeing no other course open to him, he ungraciously gave in and allowed his servant to lead his horse back to their own camp. Here much sympathy was expressed for him in his bereavement, but it was the unanimous opinion that Dansuké had done right, for the time for revenge was not now when he was only too certain to lose his own life without taking toll of that of his enemies.
Thus did the faithful Dansuké save the life of his young master and preserve the noble family of Ikeda from extinction.
Peace reigned, for a reconciliation had been effected between the conflicting factions of Tokugawa Iyeyasu and Hashiba Hideyoshi, to the latter of whom the Ikedas had adhered. Hideyoshi was proclaimed Regent. The bitter enemies of yesterday had turned, as you turn your hand, to the warm friends of to-day. Iyeyasu, long a widower, now sought the hand of Hideyoshi’s younger sister in marriage and was accepted. Hideyoshi, on his side, adopted a son of Iyeyasu’s for his own. Thus “after the rain the ground hardened,” as the old saying has it. All was smiling peace and goodwill between the two families which, so short a time before had been at daggers drawn, not in the figurative sense only, but in the most deadly reality.
Terumasa, his hot passion cooled down, began to look at things in a new light. To what purpose had his revered father sacrificed his life? To no purpose whatever! Not alone his father, but his elder brother and his brother-in-law—each and all had died in an utterly meaningless strife. No cause had been served by their death. By this time they were doubtless gnashing their teeth in Hades at the inconsequence of it all. He thought of his own feelings at the time and of Dansuké’s devotion which had saved him from falling another victim to the fate which had overtaken his relatives.
“At the moment Dansuké said, if I recollect aright, that the time would surely come when I should thank him for restraining my rash act. Yes, he was right, though I little thought so then and only yielded because I had to. That time has come, and sooner than even Dansuké could have foreseen. He is a worthy fellow that Dansuké—I must see what I can do for him.”
No sooner said than done. Terumasa, in recognition of signal service rendered in the face of danger, promoted his humble vassal to the rank of a samurai; and Dansuké, being a man of parts, once having his feet on the ladder speedily climbed to a high position. Ban Daizen, as he was now called, rose step by step till at last he reached the highest rank in the service of his lord, becoming one of the chief officials of the Bizen clan. It is within the memory of living men that on the gate of Ban’s house hung a pair of rusty stirrups. These stirrups are said to have been the identical ones with which Lord Terumasa kicked the progenitor of the house, Ban Daizen, at that time plain Dansuké, under the circumstances above related, at the ever memorable battle of Komaki Hill.
Though all was peaceful between the heads of the erstwhile belligerent parties, Terumasa cherished an intense feeling of hatred towards Tokugawa Iyeyasu, and resolved never to exchange greetings with the man whom he deemed had indirectly been the cause of the death of his father and elder brother. It was inevitable that the two should meet sometimes at the palace of the Regent, and Iyeyasu was not so obtuse as not to notice the stiff attitude of the young man, and shrewd enough to guess what was passing in his mind. Having no ill will on his side, however, Iyeyasu did his best to make friends. Whenever they came across each other the older man would bow courteously and make a pleasant remark about the weather, such as “Lord Ikeda, what a fine day it is!” or “Lord Ikeda, the wind is very cold to-day!”. But Terumasa was blind and deaf to all his overtures and would pass on quickly, with no acknowledgment other than a savage stare.
And thus eight years rolled on.
The Regent was well aware of the estrangement between the two great nobles, and it troubled him. He gave much thought to a plan that should alter the relations between them.
“It grieves me much,” he said, one day to Iyeyasu, “to see that you and Terumasa are not on good terms. I should be glad if you were friends.”