The Shogun's Daughter

by Robert Ames Bennet

He rose and bowed me to follow him. I signed to the old gate captain, who appeared to consider the final words of the chamberlain as a dismissal.

“Come with me to the threshold of the audience chamber,” I said.

Gengo nodded to the guardsman and smiled blandly. “The commands of my lord are the pleasure of his servants,” he murmured.

The readiness of his assent lessened my suspicion of the fellow. But as we entered the dark interior I took the precaution of keeping near the captain. I could not tell for certain whether the chamberlain had knowingly led me into an ambush in the garden. Yet if innocent, why had he been so startled at my appearance? At first thought his terror seemed an unmistakable confession of guilt. Then I remembered his fear in the presence of the Shogun, and coupled it with his present haste and his no less feverish eagerness in fetching me to the citadel. Was it not probable that he had blundered his orders in the confusion of the panic, and now feared that I would make complaint?

One thing alone was certain: This time he was intent on avoiding all mistakes, voluntary or involuntary. Straight as the lay of the rooms and corridors would permit, he led the way through the wing of the palace, and around the end of an inner garden court. A few steps more and we came into a dimly lighted anteroom, where guards and chamberlains crouched in waiting, flushed and bright-eyed with excitement, but silent as death. Beyond sounded a murmuring of low voices.

Gengo pointed to my sword and dirk. I drew them from my girdle with their scabbards and handed them to the old gate captain. The chamberlain whispered to a fellow-official who was kneeling close beside the wall at the upper end of the room. The latter at once drew open one of the screens, and Gengo entered on hands and knees.

I stepped forward to follow him. The doorkeeper whispered a startled command for me to kneel. But rather than crawl into the presence of their ruler in the posture of a dog, I preferred that the Japanese should consider me ignorant or even insolent. To the horror of the doorkeeper, I strode into the audience chamber proudly erect.

The large room before me was flooded with the soft rays of many lamps and lanterns. In the centre of the apartment the Shogun sat upon a low dais, close before which, to right and left, were grouped the few persons in attendance. I saw the long aristocratic face of the Prince of Owari and Satsuma’s heavy German visage on the left of the throne. Across from them knelt Midzuano the Chief Counsellor and three others, whose faces were turned from me. I gathered that the Shogun had called together an informal council of the leaders of both factions, in the hope of uniting them in the face of the supposed peril to all.

Unable to wait for the slow crawl of Gengo, I stepped past him up the room, and, heedless of Midzuano’s imperative gesture to fall upon hands and knees, crossed swiftly over the intervening mats to the dais. As I knelt to kowtow, the man beside Midzuano turned, and I saw the beautiful vindictive face of young Keiki.

I rose and slipped aside towards Satsuma. Keiki and Midzuano were glancing up at the Shogun with eager expectancy beneath their court smiles. The outrageous conduct of the barbarian had laid him open to severe punishment. The two other men, who were unknown to me, regarded me in a neutral manner. I deepened my smile, and looked up into the gloomy face of Iyeyoshi.