The Shogun's Daughter

by Robert Ames Bennet

I bent forward to whisper a question: “You suspect poison?”

“Not alone for my lord! Hasten! I fear the worst! Keiki and Midzuano—Gengo the tool—”

But I was already up and crossing the room.

“Bring the sake flask!” I commanded. “Conduct me to the Shogun. I must see the Shogun at once!”

Some of the attendants murmured protests. But their superior had caught the alarm. He signed to the man with the sake flask, and led us swiftly out into the corridor and up it past the audience hall. The Shogun had retired to more private apartments. We hastened on through a suite of rooms. Suddenly a palace guard blocked our way. My escort whispered to him excitedly. The guard stepped aside.

We entered an anteroom and glided hastily across through the midst of the waiting attendants. At the upper wall we were again halted, while my request for an immediate audience was sent in to the Shogun. I waited in an agony of suspense. One moment after another dragged past. Unable to endure the uncertainty, I thrust my finger through the screen, and peered in. The official to whom my request had been whispered still crouched on the opposite side of the screen, waiting for the Shogun’s signal to advance.

I stared up the room to where Iyeyoshi sat at ease between Midzuano and the Daimio of Satsuma. As I looked, Gengo glided in with a tea bowl upon a tray, and knelt to present the drink to his lord. The suspicion of his hideous purpose struck me dumb with horror. The Shogun reached out and lifted the bowl from the tray. At that my hands spoke for my stricken tongue. I flung aside the screen that was before me and threw out my arm in a warning gesture.

Iyeyoshi paused with the bowl at his lips, and stared at me in frowning resentment. I pointed downward. The Shogun glanced from me to the cringing figure of Gengo. Instantly he dashed the bowl and its contents into the face of the chamberlain.

No man of samurai blood might endure such an insult even from the Sei-i-tai Shogun. The poisoner flared out in mad fury. With amazing swiftness he drew a dirk and bounded upon Iyeyoshi. The Shogun flung himself to one side. But Gengo struck with deadly aim. His dirk plunged down through the base of the Shogun’s neck the full twelve inches of the blade.

With a roar of fury, Satsuma leaped up to catch the dying man and interpose his own body for the second stroke. But Gengo was already springing back, well aware that the one blow had done the awful deed. We were already rushing in, my companions shrieking for the guards. Midzuano sat as if turned to stone. Gengo dropped down almost beside the Counsellor, to make an end of himself. The murderer was samurai bred. Swiftly as I rushed forward, I could not seize him in time to stay his dirk from the fatal cross stroke. He sank prostrate on his face, groaning.