Other tales are less romantic. The most prosaic sends Dewa no Kami to Kyōto, on orders of Hidétada Kō. For the princess a second bed was to be found among the Sekké (the five great kugé Houses of the imperial court). The mission was not unsuccessful, but by the time the messenger returned Hidétada had changed his mind.[16] Brusquely he offered her to Dewa no Kami. The Senhimé got wind of these movements. Her resentment toward the Tokugawa House determined her hostile stand. She would not be an instrument to their advancement. Family relations were taken very seriously. It is to be remembered that her uncle Hidéyasu, adopted into the Toyotomi, was so fiercely loyal to that House that his natural father, the Ōgoshō Iyeyasu, poisoned him, by his own hand and a gift of cakes, it is said. Those likely to hitch and hamper the movement against Ōsaka, such as the famous Katō Kiyomasa, found short shrift in the soup bowl. At all events the insult of refusal fell on Dewa no Kami. After all, by the most authentic tale, he seems to have deserved no particular credit. As to the actual escape from Ōsaka-Jō either of the following versions can be accepted. As suicide was the inevitable issue for the defeated, the Yodogimi, with some reluctance, had announced her purpose; and her intent to involve the himégimi in the fate of herself and son. This was but the ethics of the time; and was neither cruel nor unusual. It was thoroughly constitutional. Fortunately the fears of the Lady Dowager made her add—"the time is not yet propitious." She left the keep, intending to ascertain in person how matters went on outside, before going on with the ceremony inside. The maids of the Senhimé at once surrounded her and urged flight. Overpowering any resistance, moral and physical, these energetic samurai women bundled their mistress well into futon (quilts). Then with no particular gentleness they lowered her over the castle wall. Others followed her—to destruction or better luck, without futon. Some twenty of them risked the descent. Horiuchi Mondō, a gentleman of Kishū Kumano, noticed the unusual group. They besought an aid for the princess he readily gave. Dewa no Kami happened to come on the scene, and promptly took the responsibility of the safety of the princess on his own shoulders.
Here the two versions join, for by the other Ono Shuri, captain of the defense and hence most seriously involved, sought the safety of his own daughter. The princess therefore was sent from the castle, under the care of his karō Yonemura Gonémon, to plead for the lives of the Udaijin and his mother the Yodogimi. Ono was careful to include his daughter in the train, and the karō followed his illustrious example. Dewa no Kami met the party outside the castle, and grasped the chance of being agreeable by escorting it to the camp of the Ōgoshō. Honda Sado no Kami here was in charge. His mission to the grandfather was eminently successful. Iyeyasu, overjoyed at the escape of the beloved grandchild, consented; provided that of the actual Shōgun be obtained. All rejoiced, with little thought of Hidétada's harsh feeling. Perhaps the message expressed this; perhaps it was spoken to cover refusal, for he had deep affection for his children. But as in greatest wrath he made answer—"The thing is not to be spoken of. Why did she not die together with Hidéyori?" The Senhimé was safe enough now in his camp; and he did not purpose the escape of his rival Hidéyori, to be a permanent danger to his House. The princess, worn out by many days of suffering, went to sleep in the shed which furnished her with quarters, and never woke until high noon on the following day. By that time she could choose between the tales of her husband's escape to Satsuma; or his suicide and her widowhood, the only proof of which was the finding of the hereditary sword of the Toyotomi House. She clung to the former story, despite the ascertained suicide of the Yodogimi, who hardly would have allowed the escape of the son and her own destruction. Thus disgruntled, later the himégimi was removed to Kyōto, fiercely hostile to all the Kwantō influence.
A word in conclusion as to the fate of the attendants, thus skilfully foisted on her. The daughter of Ono Shuri had escaped, with all the sufferings and passions aroused by family disaster. When subsequently the princess was removed to Edo she went in her train. They were companions in misfortune. In the hostile atmosphere she was taken with a consumption, long to undergo its torments. Overcome by homesickness she would return to former scenes, and worship at her father's grave. Permission was now granted. Yonémura accompanied the dying girl to the capital. Here Ono Shuri had lost his head in the bed of the Kamogawa (the execution ground). Here at Kyōto the daughter found her tortured end. Gloomy the old vassal prepared the funeral pyre of his mistress. As the flames shot high and wrapped the corpse, a woman's figure darted forward and sprang into the midst. Unable to distinguish the bones of his daughter from those of the honoured mistress, Gonémon placed the remains of both within the same casket, to rest at the last beneath the pines and cedars of the holy mountain of Kōya.
On June 4th (1615) the castle had fallen. The date is important in connection with one of the current scandals. Later the Senhimé was escorted down to Edo by Honda Mino no Kami Tadamasa, in whose train was his handsome son Tōnosuké (Tadatoki). He is said to have been like enough in appearance to the Udaijin Hidéyori to act as his substitute in the most intimate sense. The fierce little lady fell violently in love with him. By the time Edo was reached she ought to have married Honda, and in the passage of the months and days would have to. At all events this rather disproportionate marriage was early proposed to the council of the Bakufu, and after some discussion accepted. This decision was not reached until Genwa 2nd year 9th month (October 1616), or more than a full year after the fall of the castle. The failure to carry out the agreement with Dewa no Kami afforded ample reason for the extremity to which this latter's rage was carried. By all accounts he had lost a bride, the acknowledged beauty of the land, apart from the great influence of the connection. Perhaps his own hideous disfigurement was involved. He determined to lie in wait for the journey down to Himeji, Honda's fief; and kill or carry off the lady. The Shōgun's Government got wind of the purpose. The lords were storming with wrath, and a public fracas was feared. All composition had been refused. Dewa refused to see his friend Yagyū Munénori, sent to him as messenger of greatest influence. Secret orders then were sent that Dewa no Kami must be induced to cut belly, or—his vassals ought to send his head to Edo. The Shōgun's word and bond must be saved. The vassals knew their lord, and had not loyalty enough to act otherwise than to sever his head, as he lay sleeping off a drunken fit in broad daylight. It was against rewarding this disloyal act that Honda Masazumi showed open opposition to the council's decision; and Hidétada Kō himself disapproved enough not to inflict extinction (kaieki) on the family of the dead lord, the usual process. The continuance of the succession was permitted on the Shōgun's order. All these matters were so public that little credit is to be given to the rôle assigned to Sakasaki Dewa no Kami in the event about to be described; the issue of which was so unfortunate in the carrying out, that Sakasaki, in command of the bridal cortege and keenly feeling the disgrace, cut open his belly in expiation; and that the Government, to hush up talk as to attack on the train of the princess, put forward as explanation the proposed treachery and resultant death of Dewa no Kami.
As to the event itself: with greatest reluctance, uncertain as to her former husband's fate, the Senhimé had been forced into agreement with the Honda marriage. From the Nishimaru (western) palace the bridal cortege took its way to the yashiki of Honda near the Hitotsubashi Gomon. Time was at a discount in those days, and by no means was the shortest route to anything taken. The procession filed out of the Sakurada Gomon, to circle with its pompous glitter the outer moat. All went very well. The yashiki walls bordering Tayasumura were slipping by. Then the steadily accumulating clouds poured forth their contents. It was a downpour, blinding in effect. The rokushaku of the Kurokwagumi—stout and tall palanquin bearers, "six footers"—floundered and staggered in the mud. The heavy palanquin came to the ground. Great was the rage of the princess at this unseemly precedent for such an occasion. "Rude ruffians! By this very hand this scum shall die!" Te-uchi was to be the lot of the miserable fellows prostrate in obeisance and seeking pardon in the blinding storm from the lady's dagger, menacing them from the open door of the palanquin. The Lady of Ōsaka was quite capable of carrying out her threat. Abé Shirōgorō, later the famous Bungo no Kami, was equal to the occasion. With soft words he would soothe her. "Congratulations to the Himégimi! May her highness deign to accept the so happy augury of present ill luck bringing good fortune throughout a long and happy life. Deign to regard with future favour the words of Shirōgorō." He got as near the mud as he dared in his respectful salutation. The lady's face softened. She was appeased.
Then she held up the hand, with the dagger still ready for action. Shirōgorō sprang to his feet. Something else than storm was in progress. In the escort ahead there were other sounds than the rumbling and sharp crash of the thunder, the swishing of rain wind driven. The flashes of lightning showed that the cortege was the object of a most determined attack, which sought to make its way to the palanquin of the princess. Abé Shirōgorō would have leaped forward, but the flashing eyes and presence of the himégimi held him to her nearer defence. The number of the assailants could not be ascertained in this darkness like to night.[17] The tower of defence was Yagyū Tajima no Kami, greatest master of the sword in Nippon. He had the support of the younger Ōkubo, of Kondō Noborinosuké, of Mizuno Jurōzaémon even then noted as expert with the spear. In general command was the beloved superintendent of the hatamoto, Ōkubo Hikozaémon. In daylight the affair would have been easy. But in this darkness they had to stand to their defence. That it was an attack by Ōsaka rōnin, enraged at the marriage of the princess, there was no doubt. But what their numbers? So far the defense was impregnable. There was nothing to fear. Three of the leaders of the rōnin lay on the ground. Their chief, visible in the lightning flashes, could not hope for success. It was the old and still active Hikozaémon, the oyaji (old chap), the hardened warrior of Iyeyasu, who scented out the threatening move. He sprang off into the dark wood, almost as the crack of the musket was heard. They would seek the life of the himégimi with deadly missiles! How contemptible; for great as yet was the scorn of such use. Vigorous was the old man's pursuit of a foe, seeking to ascertain his success and reluctant to flee. "Ah! Ah! Rascal! Just wait! Wait for this Hikozaémon!" The fellow did wait, a little too long. Noting the lessening darkness, the discomfiture of his train, he turned to flee in real earnest. As he did so, Hikozaémon, despairing of success, hurled his dirk. Deep into the fellow's shoulder it went. "Atsu!" Savagely he turned on the old man. Hikozaémon was skilled in defence, but stiffening with age. His opponent showed himself an able warrior. "Ah! Ha! 'Tis Hikozaémon Dono. With him there is no quarrel. Deign to receive a wound." The old fellow's sword dropped helpless under a sharp rap over the wrist from the back of the blade. This was enough for the man's purpose. With laughing and respectful salutation, of short duration, he turned to a more successful flight.
The storm cleared away, the cortege was re-formed; to enter in state the yashiki of Honda Sama. It was said that he got but a cold bride—one on whom only "the bed quilt lay light." Time, the ascertained fact of Hidéyori's death, worked a change in the insanity simulated by the princess. Then she was so taken with her lord that she proved fatal to him. He died at the age of thirty-one years, was buried in his castle town of Himeji, leaving but one daughter as issue by the princess. The lady returned to residence at the Takébashi Goten, to be a disgruntling influence in her brother's court. But Honda Ke had not done badly. This consort made him a minister in the Shōgun's household (Nakatsukasa no Tayu), a more likely promotion than one at the age of sixteen years, at this date of the Shōgunate. From 10,000 koku his fief was raised to 150,000 koku; and he secured a wife so beautiful that his exodus to the houris of Paradise was a bad exchange. Meanwhile what was the cause of objection, thus expressed by force of arms, to the conduct and nuptials of the Sen-himégimi?