There was much gossip and idle conjecture in the party as to the caprice of the Princess Sado-ko. At the last moment she had despatched word to Komatzu, saying that she would not travel in the unholy barbarian train, but preferred to proceed leisurely to Tokyo in the old-fashioned but honorable mode of travel,—by kago or norimono. Should the journey prove too tiresome for her strength, she would stop a little while in Kamakura, at the castle Aoyama, and there it was possible she might spend a day or two in maidenly retirement. She desired, however, that her suite should not await her, but proceed with the train to Tokyo. She did not wish to deprive them of the enjoyment (to them) of the peculiar foreign method of travel, and would need only her personal attendants,—eight men retainers, whom she still termed “samurai,” the chaperon, old Madame Bara, and her waiting-woman, Natsu-no.
CHAPTER XII
MISTS OF KAMAKURA
CHAPTER XII
MISTS OF KAMAKURA
THERE were marsh lands and boggy rice-fields in the valley country along the Hayama, and during the season of White Dew (end of August) the river was low and scarcely seemed to stir.
In the early morning a white mist arose from it, eerily enshrouding the land like a veil of gauze, evaporating, and disappearing slowly. Sometimes, too, at night heavy fogs rose up even to the hills and obscured all sight of land. Oftentimes the traveller, even the native, lost his way. Tales were told of the smiling, languorous river, whose beauty, siren-like, lured her victims to destruction.
Even the villagers, whose homes nestled so cosily in the fragrant valleys, did not venture out on foggy nights in the direction of the river, unless attended by the Hayama guide, Oka, who boasted he could find his way blind-folded among the familiar paths of Kamakura, even to the very water’s edge.