"Ticklish times," muttered he who was in command, "each moment fraught with peril. My lord of Nara, no doubt, has given the best advice. My lord is gone to act on it. Well, well, the gods be praised, our chief is himself again!"
CHAPTER XIX.
[THE WEB IS WOVEN.]
Typhoon was the best charger in the Daimio's stable, and worthy of his name; but this was his last journey. He was so hard pressed by his frantic master, that at the castle gate he sank and died.
The sudden arrival of my lord, a fugitive, without a single follower, created within the fortress a commotion which was no little aggravated by the news of which he was the bearer. How swift was the cumulation of events. My lord of Nara and his heiress murdered. A siege in immediate prospect, and after that--what? A long course of excess and idleness had sapped the discipline of the braves, and instead of hailing the coming fray with the joy that becomes heroes, they showed signs of sullen discontent. No-Kami had slain in a secret manner, without witnesses, the venerable Nara, the esteemed friend of the Holy Mikado.
This was going too far, even for so overbearing a despot. Even the samurai of Tsu were aware that Japan at bay would arise and shake off its incubus. The castle would be invested by the foes of Hojo, who were legion. Look where he would, there was no single ally who could be counted on for succour. There was but one consummation possible. An iron wall would hem the fortress, and all within would perish. Under these circumstances, the warriors (privately discussing the situation) were divided in opinion. Would it be well to accept the inevitable and bow the neck at once, suing for mercy; or would it perchance be better to baulk the foe, to act as the celebrated forty-seven ronins did--revered for ever by the Japanese--namely, to perform harakiri in concert? Thus it will be seen that the glamour of evil fortune had wrapped the castle like a mist. Even the bold retainers of the crumbling family lost heart, and if they prepared to show any resistance at all, it was owing to the presence of Sampei, the heroic subduer of Corea.
Even Sampei, whilom bravest of the brave, showed no enthusiasm. He had stumbled along the stony road of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and seemed to look down from afar upon the petty frettings of humanity, as you might idly watch the proceedings in an opened anthill.
The first acute bitterness waned insensibly, and he grew resigned to life-long pain. Had it not been so, reason would have fallen from her throne. He could think of O'Tei not as corruption but as transformed. The sap of a tree, the glow of a gem, the plumage of a bird, contained her outward part. Nature had taken back and set to other purpose that which she had lent. As to the other, who might tell where it wandered? Where was her pure soul hovering?
Was the gulf that yawned in front as dark as the path already trodden? If the gods were really good, they could not but be mild to one who was so gentle. After all, for himself it mattered not. What, to a mortal so maimed as he, was a little more or less of suffering, after that wound from which the life-drops of his heart were slowly dripping?
He would not desert his brother, Sampei declared with quiet gravity. So long as the gods willed that he should fight, he would fight; but the sooner suspense was over, the greater the relief for all.