“Namida!” he broke in. “For far less presumption men have been sawn asunder—crucified!—burned!”
“Is the presumption so great when consideration is taken of the honor accorded me by Your Highness? As the acknowledged peer of the Prince of Owari and the Daimio of Satsuma—”
“Hairy barbarian!” he flung at me.
“Your Highness has read the memorial of Yoritomo Sama,” I replied. “My people are as vastly above your people in some respects as your people are above mine in others. Another matter—who may say whence our souls come and whither they go? My friend Yoritomo contends that the august lady and I must have loved one another in a previous incarnation. This I do not know, but I do know that I have seen my soul in the eyes of the Princess.”
His face darkened with a sudden return of anger, but his voice was constrained to a false calmness: “It is now perceived that the tojin is a madman. Permission is granted him to withdraw.”
“Your Highness!” I protested. “The happiness of the Princess—”
“Her happiness and honor will be safe in the keeping of her husband. She shall wed Keiki, the son of Mito.”
“Keiki?” I cried. “The man who sought to disgrace her?”
“Does the tojin still hold to that lie? Enough! His punishment will be considered, and command sent in due time.—Go!”
There was no hope for me in the cold menace of his look. Yet I did not give way to any outward display of the fear and despair that was within me. Sustained by the pride of race and blood, I forced a smile, and kowtowed and withdrew, complying with the most punctilious requirements of court etiquette.