I rose and followed him to the bath, leaving Yoritomo and his beloved to say their farewells alone. When we returned, purified by the water and attired in ceremonial costume of hakama trousers and hempen winged jackets, I found my visitors gone. In their place Fujimaro waited to hand me my friend’s sword. The time had almost come.
To make certain of my part, I asked a number of questions and agreed upon a signal from Yuki. Fujimaro then led us to the wing of the palace in which a chamber had been set apart for the ceremony. In the centre of the room the mats were covered with a spread of white silk, upon which in turn were laid two red quilts. At each corner of the quilts stood a single whitewood candlestick with its hollow-wick taper. The only other lights in the room were two candles beside a pair of bench-like seats, five or six paces distant from the quilts.
Chancing to glance behind a set of white folding screens that stood across from the seats, I saw my friend’s dirk lying upon a tray of unvarnished cypress wood. There were other objects beside the tray. I looked hastily away. Having assured ourselves that all was in readiness, Yuki and I went out into a side room, and waited.
We heard soft footsteps in the chamber. After a few minutes Yoritomo came down a corridor, accompanied by several chamberlains. He had already taken leave of his father and mother, and was dressed in the prescribed ceremonial costume of white linen. Kohana had gone, and the Prince did not appear. Fujimaro entered and together with the other chamberlains kowtowed while Yuki and I conducted our principal into the chamber.
We found the witnesses to the ceremony seated upon the benches. Great as was my anguish, I thrilled with momentary pleasure when I recognized Ii Kamon-no-kami and the great Daimio of Satsuma. Not even Mito might doubt the testimony of such witnesses.
Yuki kowtowed. Yoritomo and I bowed low, and the daimios rose to return the salute. The daimios resumed their seats. Yoritomo seated himself on knees and heels in the centre of the quilts, facing so that the witnesses were before him on his left. I took up my position behind him and drew his sword as Fujimaro had directed me. Yuki brought the tray with the dirk from behind the screen, and knelt to present it.
Yoritomo bowed to the daimios, loosened his robes, and took the dirk from the tray. Yuki kowtowed in a position that enabled him to watch the fatal stroke and give me the signal. Yoritomo tucked the ends of his sleeves under his knees, that his body might not fall backward.
I stood in my place, rigid with horror. Fortunately I could not see his face or the frightful stroke. That at least I was spared. All I saw was the dear form of my friend bending over under the agony—to fail him now would mean a prolongation of his atrocious pain, possibly the fearful disgrace of an outcry—Yuki signed to me. I struck. Never had I aimed a truer blow!
The next I knew I was holding my sleeve before my eyes, and some one was leading me from the chamber of death.