Gonshirō threw him by a supreme effort down on to the mats
“What a fool my lord has shown himself,” were his thoughts. “I could never have conceived it of him. I will remain in his service no longer. It is not on this place alone that the sun shines. A man of my prowess can find a billet anywhere. Heigh ho! I will go and seek service with some other daimio—some one I can respect more than I can my Lord Ujisato.”
Having made up his mind it did not take Gonshirō long to get ready. At midnight he stole secretly away intending never to return.
The next morning all the samurai made their appearance at the castle to enquire after the health of their lord—all that is, but Gonshirō. The daimio who had quite recovered himself noticed his absence and calling Gamō Gonzaemon, one of his karō, or chief councillors, he asked what had become of him.
“I beg to inform, your lordship,” replied the karō, “I have just heard a report that he has not been seen this morning and it is surmised that he has run away in consequence of the unfortunate occurrence of last evening.”
“If that is true,” exclaimed Ujisato, “I am indeed sorry. I did but dissimulate in order to test his fidelity, and if my words have lost me a good retainer I shall be much grieved. Order a search to be made and when he is found bring him instantly before me. Tell him I did but jest and that he shall have a liberal reward for the service he did me. Go at once, Gonzaemon; he cannot have gone far.”
So the missing samurai was sought for in every likely and unlikely place, but without success. Nothing was seen or heard of him for many a long day.
An emaciated, shabbily dressed rōnin[5] carrying two swords with worn and ragged hilt-strings and rusty scabbards, and having on his dusty feet well-worn straw sandals, walked up, with the swagger peculiar to his caste, to the front door of Gonzaemon’s residence.
“Insolent fellow!” cried the attendant whose business it was to answer the door. “This is not the place for you. If you would ask alms go to the back.”