“You intend to die fighting in to-morrow’s engagement:—is it not so, my husband?”
“Die fighting?” said Shigenari. “Why do you ask? Does not a soldier always take his life in his hand when he goes to the field of battle?”
“Yes, but there is some special reason why I think you will fall to-morrow. I have often heard that a warrior burns incense into his helmet when he is determined to die on the field. I know the castle will fall before long and I am sure you mean to give up your life in to-morrow’s battle. Do not seek to deceive me. I am the daughter of a samurai. I will not let you die alone.”
“My brave wife! Forgive my hesitation in disclosing to you my resolve. I forebore to take you into my confidence fearing just this thing.”
He then gave his wife an account of his conversation with Sanada Yukimura and of their decision.
“Though I give up my life for my lord,” he concluded. “Do not be so rash as to die with me. It is my wish that you should live and pray for the prosperity of our lord. Live for his sake. It is my last request.”
“Your wish is my law,” answered his wife. “I will obey you. I know you will die a glorious death and leave undying fame behind you!”
Then Aoyagi brought saké and two tiny cups in which they drank to their long farewell. That ceremony over, Aoyagi excused herself and retired to her own apartment. As she did not return, Shigenari, wondering at her long absence, went to seek her; and to his horror and amazement found that she had committed suicide with a short sword that lay beside the lifeless body. A written paper explained her rash act.
“Husband,” it ran, “forgive my dying before you. I meant to obey you, but I cannot do so. Kō-u of China, though a brave warrior overcome with grief at parting with wife, hesitated shamefully before going to his last battle. In our country Kiso Yoshinaka showed the same weakness. Not for a moment do I compare you to those men, but still I think that I, who losing you will have no further hope in this world, had better die now before you fight your last fight and go to wait for you in Hades. Do your best against the foe! We shall meet again in the Spirit World—till then farewell! Aoyagi.”
The morning of the next day broke clear and cloudless. It was the first day of the fifth month in the twentieth year of Keichō (1615).