“You have heard me speak of ronins,—samurais who, because of their own offences or the death of their daimios, have become masterless men. Whether scholars, teachers, or criminals, all alike are men for whose acts their former lords cannot be held responsible.”
“And who no longer owe loyalty to their lords,” I added.
“Not in law,” he assented. “But suppose certain loyal retainers became ronins at the bidding of their master? The samurai code says that a man shall serve his lord even to the death. What greater joy to the Mito men than to give their lives for the freeing of their prince?”
“You should hasten to warn the Shogun!” I exclaimed.
He smiled in gentle reproof of my heat. “There are guards at the gateways of all bridges across the inner moat, and within are officials interested in barring out the bearer of a warning message. Remember, Keiki has won the favor of Midzuano, chief of the Council of Elders. Yet suppose the message should penetrate to the august ear of Iyeyoshi Sama. What follows? The Princess does not go to worship at the temple of Zozoji; no blows are struck; small credit accrues to the tale-bearer.”
“You would risk the life of the Shogun’s daughter—of the princess to whom you are betrothed!”
“There will be no risk of life—for her,” he replied.
“But the shock?—her terror?”
“The most delicate of our ladies are taught to withstand fear.”
“Consider the indignity to be suffered by a princess, your kinsman,” I argued.