“Return our greetings and thanks to the Daimio of Satsuma,” replied Yoritomo. “We hope soon to visit Shimadzu Sama, but now we have come from a long journey, and must hasten to salute my father.”
“The son of Owari dono is wounded,” suggested the samurai.
“A wound received in a good cause bears no sting,” replied my friend with a Confucian sententiousness that drew an appreciative murmur from the crowd. He waved aside the old samurai with a courteous gesture, and crossed to me. “Come, brother, we must be on our way. The sun is low, and we have no lanterns.”
The samurai again hastened around before him and bent low. “Fearing that Yoritomo Sama might be unable to linger for a call, my lord took the liberty to send norimons for the conveyance of the son of Owari dono and his companion.”
“The gracious offer of Shimadzu, the Daimio of Satsuma, is accepted with grateful thanks,” responded Yoritomo.
At a sign from the samurai, two red-lacquered norimons were borne forward through the crowd, and their doors opened for us to enter. Calling to mind Yoritomo’s instructions I slipped off my sandals and squeezed into one of the narrow boxes. Once inside, I crouched down on knees and heels in quite the correct manner, though I caught a murmur of politely smothered surprise at my failure to remove my hat.
A half-minute later our palanquins were swinging westward along the walled edge of the moat, an escort of Satsuma samurais in van and rear, and the old leader in attendance beside Yoritomo’s norimon.