COURT LADY’S HEAD-DRESS AND STATE FAN.
CHAPTER IX.
It was late at night on the second day before Sennoske arrived at Mishima, at the foot of the other side of the mountains. The town was full of people; for besides the ordinary contingent of travellers, who always muster here in force, there were a great many samurai—some who had started too late to join the army, others, like Sennoske, already returning home—and a considerable number of Hōjō adherents fleeing in various disguises to find an asylum before pursuit was fairly organized against them. The inns and hostelries were over-crowded; but the Kuwana nobility had always enjoyed a good reputation on the road, and the charm of the young man’s manner moreover failed not in its usual effect; so at the inn at which he determined to stay, two parties of merchants, already closely packed, were forced to content themselves with even less space in order to clear a room for the new arrival. Sennoske, who was weary, at once repaired to the bath, accompanied by Yamagawa, carrying the Muramasa sword, which was never out of sight or reach of either master or servant.
After his master had retired, the old servitor also indulged in the luxury of the bath, the daily use of which in Japan is considered almost a necessity. Already half overcome by the fumes of the wine-cup, the hot bath and the close air of the room still further increased his stupefaction; and in returning to his apartment he staggered along the corridor in a confused, aimless manner, until, mistaking one of the passages, he stopped at the end of it before what of course was the wrong room.
The sound of unknown voices from within reached his ears; but thinking they must belong to visitors of his master, he unhesitatingly opened the paper sliding-doors, and falling on his hands and knees with his head bowed down, in the fashion of Japanese servants, he pushed the sword forward as far as he could, uttering the customary phrase, “Have you any further orders for me?” Receiving no answer, and fearing that Sennoske had noticed his drunken condition and was displeased at his showing it before visitors,—something which heretofore had never happened,—he remained a minute or two in his prostrate position, bowing his head still lower, and muttering apologies. At last a voice which he did not recognize spoke out: “We will excuse you because you insist on being excused; but tell us first what it is that you require, and what brings you hither.”
Yamagawa looked up, and the sight that presented itself, unexpected as it was, partly sobered him. There were six or seven samurai, all unknown to him, seated on the mats; and the foremost among them, who also was the last speaker, had taken up the sword pushed towards him, and, regarding it with the eye of a connoisseur, was evidently surprised at the rich ornamentation and workmanship.
“Give me back my sword,” Yamagawa cried; “it belongs to my master, and I am responsible for it. Give it back to me, oh! please give it back to me at once,” he repeated, raising his voice and eagerly holding out his hands.
“Gently, my man! Of course I shall give it back to you,” said the other; “but do not be so importunate, and do not speak so loudly before your superiors, or you will have to be taught better manners. Who is your master?”