“Your appeal is in vain,” said Sennoske, not altogether unmoved at the sight. “Seppuku was designed as a knightly punishment for samurai whose errors are errors of judgment, but whose deeds are the deeds of samurai. This does not apply to you, who have ever had recourse to intrigue, to circumvention and low cunning, rather than to arbitration by the sword. Men who were opposed to you you have stabbed in the dark, giving them no opportunity to defend or to justify themselves; you have even, as in the case of my father, prevented them from finding relief in an honorable death. The memory of his wrongs and sufferings stands between us, and steels my heart against any feelings of pity it might otherwise entertain for one who has fallen as low as you have.”
As Sennoske spoke, he himself experienced a thrill of unutterable horror. Without volition of his own he felt the sword in his hand raise and extend itself so as to oblige him to hold the hilt as firmly as he could, to prevent it from slipping out of his grasp. Was it merely a trick of his heated fancy? It seemed to him he was becoming unconscious. All the incidents of his young life passed before him in review. One picture however stood out in bold relief: it was that of his father leaving the presence of Taka Suke utterly prostrate in body and in mind, with only spirit enough left to pray that, impossible as it then seemed, he or his descendants might yet be able to carry out his just vengeance. Sennoske distinctly heard the prayer, and by a powerful effort roused himself to consciousness. As he did so, and looked before him, he saw the head of Taka Suke, severed from the body, lying at his feet, and at the same instant heard a low murmur of approbation from those who stood around. “I hardly saw your sword move, so quickly you did it,” said the leader of the Ise men. “These Muramasas will almost of themselves, I believe, cut off a man’s head.”
For the first time in his life the young soldier felt faint and weak, and it required all his strength of mind and will to complete the short ceremony he had to go through. Taking the head of Yamagawa and placing it by itself on the raised daïs at one end of the room, he put the heads of the six retainers of Taka Suke below and in front of it. As to the head of the Hōjō chief, he placed it by itself, adding a small piece of paper, on which he wrote in a few words the cause and purport of this kataki-uchi. Every one who saw it would thereby know the reason of this vendetta; and the gallant courage with which the deed had been performed was of itself sufficient to convince the many spectators of the justness of the cause.
It was long past midnight when Sennoske at last returned to his room; and after the excitement of the last few hours he found that sleep was impossible. He and his companions felt it a relief to remain awake and confer upon the events that had occurred, uniting them in a general way with that inexhaustible topic of conversation, kataki-uchi. Toward morning one of the party, wishing that their brave young leader should have a little rest, proposed that a day’s halt should be made; and the others, divining his reason, agreed to it. Sennoske strenuously objected, stating his determination to start with the dawn. To this the other wilily replied that such a course would look like flight, and might be called such by any of Taka Suke’s supporters either still present or liable to arrive in the course of the day. Every one, including Sennoske, felt that this was a weak reason; yet it was effectual, as such appeals often are when good arguments prove unavailing. It was determined, however, at once to send a courier to the court of Kuwana to carry the documents and despatches which they had brought with them from Kamakura, and a younger member of the party immediately volunteered for the service.
HELMET.
CHAPTER XII.
Mutto, after the departure of Sennoske, continued the same quiet, uneventful life that he had led for ten years. He was perhaps even a little more reserved than before, if that were possible, and in spite of the glorious news arriving day after day frequently making mention of his son’s gallantry and bold deeds, the gloom on his countenance seemed to be as firmly fixed as ever. Two or three times he called at the smith’s, and these were the only occasions when, listening to O Tetsu’s merry talk, he showed something like interest in passing events and a partial forgetfulness of the grief which weighed on him. His duties at the court—now that the number of retainers was limited—had become more onerous, and he was almost constantly in attendance. One morning he was there as usual, making a report of what had occurred, when a courier arrived and was ushered in. This man, who was almost breathless, with every sign of exhaustion, was he who had been despatched by Sennoske; and it happened that he was also the first to bring authentic news of the fall of Kamakura and of the complete overthrow and annihilation of the Hōjō power.