On the river-bank, built out over the stream, not far from Tsu, there was just such another tea-house, from which a view was obtained of land-locked bay and rocks and feathery bamboo--the self-same picture which O'Tei used to enjoy from her own garden near the temple, seen from another point. It was to this tea-house that O'Kikú had proposed to conduct the rollicking samurai, to sit there a while with quip and jest, and thence return to supper. Preparations had been made on a grand scale; coolies had been sent to repair the path in rotten places with bundles of rushes, to clear away stones; and therefore the expedition was a matter of talk for several days before among those who dwelt in the castle. It was in obedience to a whim--in order more completely to crush her rival--that O'Tei had elected to choose this route. A vision of her favourite landscape had appeared before her. It was so long since she had seen it that she yearned to look on it again. As the procession moved swiftly and silently over the snow, she became lost in reverie. She had been happy once in her garden in a negative sort of way. How long ago it seemed! And since those early days (sure a century since) what a catalogue of suffering and crime! Yes, it must be a century, not a few years only. She was an old, old woman, seared and world-worn, longing for the mysterious change. Her ordeal on this planet would soon be over. How gladly would she move elsewhere.
The cold was intense. She drew over her head a purple kerchief, for the beauty of the scene must not be blocked out by curtains. The well-skilled bearers marched with a steady, gentle sway, picking their steps with cat-like caution. Their straw shoes made no sound on the soft snow. The regular rhythm of their breathing lulled to repose. Leaning back her weary head upon the cushions, O'Tei fell fast asleep.
At the last turn of the river, before reaching the spot whereon stood the tea-house, it sweeps in a wide bend, leaving a large flat space--a dangerous pitfall; for, firm though it appears to the unwary, between the pools it is a quagmire, a bog of thick ooze which forms a kind of quicksand. The bearers knew this right well, for skirting the water close they hugged a narrow causeway of masonry, the group that bore the pole walking one before the other, keeping time with monotonous chant, the rest of the party falling back, following in single file. It was necessary to move slowly now, for a false step would precipitate the top-heavy vehicle into the water. Two bettos pioneered in front, stepping deftly backwards, holding their lanterns aloft above their heads. "Steady, lads, steady!" one of them exhorted cheerily. Forty yards farther on the path would widen again, and the rest of the journey was plain-sailing.
Whirr! The bettos turned round startled. What was that? nothing; a stream of awakened wild-fowl scudding across the flat. The night was so solemnly silent that their wings rent the stillness with a loud sharp tearing as of linen.
* * * * *
For hours past, from out a brake of sedge and reeds two bright eyes had been intently watching. Heedless of cold and wet a man had been lying concealed with face turned towards the castle. From this point the fortress loomed out of the river in a dense mass against the sky, in full sombre majesty of battlement and ponderous roof and storied tower, with fish of gold upon its summit; for it was on this side that the stream laved its foundation wall of Cyclopean stones as it brawled towards the sea.
From where he lay, wrapped in a coolie's rain-coat, the man could mark the procession from afar, a line of swart insects on the white, glow-worms with twinkling lights. As they approached, winding with the river's windings, he counted the number of men who bore the litter, and observed with surprised exultation that the guards had been left behind. There was no panoply of spear and streaming banner and glancing lance-head, no clatter of armed horsemen such as usually attends the progress of a noble's kago.
"My task will be the easier," he muttered, unfastening the thongs of his rain-coat, and taking in the corners of his mouth the ends of the cloth about his head. The man's attire was strange and incongruous, for though his garb was that of a peasant, the cloth from out of which his sharp eyes peered was of silk broidered with silver. He rose stealthily upon his knees, felt for a dirk in his obi, drew forth the blade and ran a finger along the edge, then laid the scabbard in the water.
"How slow they are," he murmured.
Nearer--nearer still. The bearers were intent upon their task, for there had been a frost last night, and the stones were slippery. Clouds had been rising in banks, masses of cumuli that passed fitfully across the moon. Snowflakes began to fall.