Again the mist of blood passed across the vision of the General. It was decreed. No-Kami rushed upon his fate. He himself pointed out the blade, lying so ready to the hand. A pass or two, and O'Tei, the long-suffering, would be freed from her grinding bondage. Involuntarily he stretched forth his arm, while No-Kami stood waiting. He touched the sword; his hand recoiled, his arm dropped by his side inert, for beyond the taunting visage of the geisha he seemed to behold, tearless and pale, the shadowy figure of O'Tei. No, this was a trap deliberately set by that wicked woman for her undoing and his. If, in the combat, it was his lot to fall, her fair fame would be for ever blasted. It would be skilfully bruited abroad by O'Kikú that the Daimio had avenged his honour. Forcing himself to calmness by strength of will, aided by an all-absorbing love, Sampei crossed his arms upon his labouring chest, and sadly shook his head.
"You are insane," he sighed,--"beguiled to frenzy by the glamour of this sorceress. You know, if you have power to think, that the dawn is no purer than your wife. What madness is it that has so mastered you that you would rather believe this harlot--for she is a harlot, and a shameless one, as every one in the castle knows except yourself? Rave as you will, I shall not gratify her spleen by fighting with you. Should the necessity be forced on me, I will summon the samurai to bind you, for your own protection. Cudgel your distempered brain, my brother, and see the snare. Your father was mine before you--unhappily--were born. The honour of our name is mine as well as yours, and for me it shall remain untarnished. Alas, we are under a ban, indeed! I can surety trace the finger of the Eternal; this harlot, the instrument of ruin."
Foiled spite and impotent rage leapt up and invaded the calculating spirit of the geisha. That he, so hot and careless usually, should be able to school himself to prudence. How he must adore that pale-face!
It was humiliating to one who justly prided herself on cunning, to be outwitted by truth and manhood. No doubt it was satisfactory to mark how firm was her hold upon No-Kami. He had hearkened to her accusation of his wife and brother, but the countercharge brought by the latter against herself had remained unnoticed. And yet Sampei had had the best of it. She was obliged to confess with self-upbraiding that, exasperated by the appearance of Nara, whose unexpected arrival seemed like to mar her plots and upset her calculations, she had been precipitate--led into a foolish error.
The moment chosen was curiously ill-timed for bringing about a quarrel. Not that she would have permitted blood to flow. Not so silly as that. At the first onset she would have rushed out with clamour and shrill cries to summon the sleepy attendants,--have sworn that Sampei had attacked his feudal lord,--have created such a coil as would have led to the former's banishment. But, devoted to the paleface, he had for her sake curbed his heat. Noble and severe in bearing, his dark brow seamed by battle scars, he was just the man to master a turbulent plebeian woman of strong passions. As he stood, erect and self-possessed, O'Kikú adored yet hated him. His scathing antipathy to her he did not care to mask, and who should know as well as she how well it was deserved. A man such as this might have wrought a miracle upon her nature. She could have hugged her gyves, glorying in his tyranny. Could have! He had repulsed her,--shrunk with loathing undisguised as from a reptile, and all for love of the pale-face. The dregs of her low nature bubbled to the surface in a rising surge of abhorrence. At this moment, as she contemplated his still dignity, she could have stabbed him to the heart with joy.
As schemes and combinations passed swiftly through her brain, the geisha hotly blamed herself. A short-sighted novice! An awkward bungler! The merest tyro could have warned her of the imprudence of airing family feuds before outsiders. What a moment this, when the powerful and astute noble of Nara was on the spot, to suggest charges against his heiress. Well, well, it was for the best that Sampei had kept his temper. The seed, dropped into the mind of No-Kami, would swell and burst and blossom by-and-by--the grain of suspicion which at a fitting season was to make of these brothers enemies. For the present it was best to drop the subject, to turn it off with a jest; then to make much of the illustrious visitor, and get rid of him as soon as possible.
O'Kikú, therefore, suddenly changed her tactics. With a careless laugh and a wave of shapely arms she swept aside the dangerous topic, and remarked: "Perhaps I was wrong,--too prone to believe evil. Your brother was before me with the news. The Daimio of Nara is here, and must be made welcome. If you will do him honour, I will see to the bestowing of his retinue. As you are her friend, Sampei--if really nothing more--I trust you will beg his daughter to refrain from telling lies of us." With this, awaiting no reply, she vanished, and, resuming the demureness of the past and assuming a meek and gracious air that befitted the position of the concubine, proceeded to charm the retainers of Nara as she had already conquered Hojo's.
What was he here for, this inconvenient guest? What could his object be in swooping down on Tsu? The question buzzed in her head as she moved hither and thither, on hospitality intent. He must know that he, was little welcome. Had the chatelaine been goaded at last out of her silence? Did the tiny pins at last lacerate her skin? Had she summoned her father to rescue her from a position that was unbearable?
What then? Would Nara, interfering on his child's behalf, insist upon the prompt suppression of the second wife? And if he did, would his mandate be obeyed, or was No-Kami still strong enough to do battle for his siren? The prestige of Japan's despot had not paled as yet, for the secret of his peculiar mental condition was well kept. Such precautions had been taken that, though many knew the Daimio to be ill, none but O'Kikú and Sampei were aware of his critical state. Had Sampei, pursuing a tortuous game of his own, summoned Nara to council? The traitor! And what a simpleton she not to have foreseen and parried such a stroke. Nara present and siding with Sampei--made aware of No-Kami's weakness--what easier for the twain than to seize the reins and fling forth the offending concubine? Again was O'Kikú compelled to admit with tingling cheeks how unskilfully she had developed plans which at the start had seemed so promising. By pandering to his fears, and plying my lord with drink, she gained no doubt a measure of extra liberty, but purchased at what a cost! At a time when every man's hand was at his neighbour's throat, to lose your nerve was to lose respect and be toppled over in the fray. Execrated as she knew my lord to be, with myriad and lynx eyes watching for a cranny in his armour, why had she not foreseen that there would be traitors in the camp? O'Kikú had been so careless because she reckoned on her rival's unpopularity. Not a swaggerer among the samurai--as she had long since learned--but looked on his liege mistress with uncomprehending pity. To think that bluff, single-minded Sampei--so skilful in the field, so blundering at home--should have had the inspiration to summon Nara! But had he? Sure his surprise on the arrival of the cavalcade was not feigned? If it were, then was he a dangerous enemy indeed--concealing consummate craft under an appearance of simplicity.
The more O'Kikú pondered and considered, the more nebulous grew the result of her meditations, and on the morrow she was brought to the highest stage of bewilderment by the departure of the Daimio of Nara as abruptly as he had arrived, and in a friendly manner too. Gazing through the hole made by a wetted finger in her paper-covered casement, she had striven to read on the faces of those concerned the result of their interview: and her jaw dropped in sheer amazement. Was the lady O'Tei even more mean-spirited and craven than her rival had supposed? Fearful of retribution and ill-usage in the future, had she masked her wounds from her parent, vowing she was well and happy, when her very looks should betray the truth? In that case, neither she nor her paramour had summoned Nara. Why then was he come? Could it have been of his own accord, so speedily to go away, with no result from his advent? The more she considered, the more knotty did the problem grow--one that her low instincts could never fathom. She wist not that a proud nature, instead of crying out with shrill uproar, will conceal stabs dealt in private by her legitimate lord from the scrutiny even of a father; the more when her parent bears only the name, since he has never won her love.