The thought flashed upon me that in the heat and excitement of the panic the sight of my tojin eyes might cause the blades of other assassins to leap from their scabbards, or at best cause serious delays in our advance. I squinted my eyes, and followed Gengo with my chin on my breast. Though the gate watch had been doubled, neither my height nor the whiteness of my forehead was noticed by the crowd of chattering hatamotos through which we forced our way under the great gateway, across the court, and below the inner gateway on the right.
As we issued into a broad plaza within, Gengo turned on his heel. For a moment I fancied I saw chagrin and bitter disappointment in his narrow eyes. But then his face shone with the blandest of smiles, and I told myself I had been deceived by the gathering twilight.
“Woroto Sama is wise to walk humbly,” he whispered. “Let him continue so, and he will be conducted safely past all these.”
I followed the gesture that took in the hundreds of palace retainers before us, and replied: “Lead on.”
He turned again and walked swiftly along the edge of an inner moat of the citadel. I followed through the midst of the guards and other palace attendants, still unchallenged and unheeded. Presently Gengo led me across a bridge to a gateway whose guards seemed to have deserted their post. After pausing to peer about in an odd manner, my guide hurried me through the gateway with feverish haste. I found myself in one of the palace gardens. We advanced quickly along a narrow clean-swept path, between coppices tenanted only by birds, and our course was so full of irregular twists and turns that I soon lost our bearings.
After a few minutes we came to a small pagoda-roofed kiosk, or summer-house, in the midst of a grove of gnarled old cherry trees. It was the first building I had seen in the garden, though more than once I had heard voices, which led me to believe that we had passed other houses. Gengo stopped at the edge of the kiosk veranda, and kowtowed.
“Woroto Sama will be pleased to wait here,” he said.
Before I could reply, he hurried on along the path. Within the toss of a biscuit, he turned a bend and disappeared. I seated myself on the edge of the veranda, and waited. About me was the peaceful hush of the woods with its twittering birds. The turmoil of the terrified city barely reached me over the treetops. But my mood jarred with this sylvan quietude. I was burning with impatience to reach the Shogun and protest the absurdity of the wild panic that had seized upon his people.
I sprang up and paced half way to the next turn and back again, observing with surprise that objects were still distinctly visible even in the shadow of the coppice. We had come so quickly from where I had parted with Yoritomo that a full quarter-hour of twilight yet remained. Gengo could not miss his way for lack of light. Again I paced towards the turn and back. As I rounded the kiosk I glanced down the path by which we had come. At the last bend stood an armored hatamoto with drawn sword.
My first thought was that the man must be a foreguard of the Shogun. I waved my hand to him. In the same instant he whirled up his sword, and called fiercely: “The tojin! the tojin!—At the kiosk! Upon him!”