The body of their senseless leader was placed in the norimon, while Oguri, in order to attend to his wishes when he should regain consciousness, was forced also to crowd into the vehicle. Eight strong samurai lifted the carriage.
“Back to Choshui,” ordered Oguri, mindful of the last order of his chief. Moreover, the long march back to their base of supplies was the best, and indeed the only course left to them.
Three miles outside the city, Mori, moaning, struggled in the arms of Oguri.
“All is lost! All is lost!” cried Mori, with heart-breaking bitterness.
“Nay, my prince, my dear lord,” said Oguri, in a voice as tender and soft as a woman’s, “all is not lost. We were but a portion of our one clan of Choshui. Our southern allies, our friends, are only waiting to rally to thy aid. Moreover, we have achieved a great triumph over our enemies.” He lowered his voice. “Your highness, we have honorably captured the person of the Son of Heaven. See!”
He lifted with one hand the head of Mori, while with the other he parted the curtains of the norimon, letting in the strong light of day, which shone upon the face of the figure reclining on the opposite seat in the norimon.
Painfully Mori looked. His head fell back.
“Fools! Fools!” he mumbled. “You have been tricked by the cunning Aidzu. That is not the Emperor.”
