At this the newly arrived hatamotos came shouldering their way in among the Mito men with scant ceremony, and Keiki hastened to give the signal for his retainers to fall back. Again the bearers of the Princess started forward, with the two wounded hatamotos in the lead, each supported between a pair of his fellow-retainers. The others stationed themselves behind, to act as rearguard. Yoritomo sheathed his sword, and placed himself before the old samurai lady, on the right side of the norimon. Following his example, I thrust my sword and revolver inside my robe, and stationed myself on the left of the norimon, in front of the samurai girl.
As we advanced through the crowd of curious onlookers, I glanced about at the baffled Mito men, who were attempting to “save the face” of their lord by forming about his norimon in the usual stately cortege. Chancing to catch the eager gaze of the samurai girl, I smiled and nodded. Encouraged by my condescension to venture a like breach of etiquette, she bowed low, and murmured, with a soft laugh: “August lord! pardon the rudeness of Setsu!”
“O Setsu San is free to speak,” I said.
“Ten thousand years of happy life to my lord!” she murmured. “Again pardon the inexcusable rudeness,—but the awesome face of my lord has been seen by august eyes. Should report be made that my lord is to be numbered among the kami?—or is he a tojin sama?”
“A daimio of the tojin, come to aid Dai Nippon with sword and counsel,” I answered.
She bowed low, with a gentle insucking of breath, and fell silent. But as I sauntered along beside the slowly moving norimon, I caught glimpses of a pair of soft black eyes peering at me through the fringe of the window curtain. There could be no doubt that the Shogun’s daughter was studying such of my face as showed below the hat brim. The thought that she might be seeking to accustom herself to the “demon” eyes of the tojin set me aglow with blissful anticipations. But my amorous fancies quickly gave place to hot shame at the remembrance that the gentle little princess was the betrothed of my friend.
Our slow advance at last brought us up on the causeway, across the lake-like moat from the cyclopean wall and gate. The passage had been made through the midst of a multitude, drawn in rapidly increasing numbers by wild rumors of the fight. The causeway swarmed with hundreds of samurais, who stared at Yoritomo and myself in respectful silence.
A company of the hatamotos in charge of the great gate had advanced across the bridge to meet the Princess. Near the foot of the bridge Yoritomo signed me to stop. We stepped back while the norimon and those who followed it passed on between.
A venerable samurai wearing the circled cross of Satsuma saluted Yoritomo and pointed westward to the gate of one of the nearer yashikis.
“Shimadzu Satsuma-no-kami sends greeting to Yoritomo Sama, the heroic son of Owari dono, and to his heroic companion!” he said. “Will they honor the house of Shimadzu by entering and refreshing themselves?”