“Your Highness,” I replied, “if ignorance of Confucius is the sole test, regard me as a barbarian. Less than two years have passed since I began the study of your language with Yoritomo Sama.”
“In the matter of tojin learning, Woroto Sama is a scholar,” interposed the Prince.
“And a true samurai in battle,” added the Shogun with a graciousness that, I must confess, relieved me not a little.
“Your Highness,” I asked, “if inquiry is admissible—there were two hatamotos who lived to see the flight of the ronins. Both fought with utmost skill and courage.”
“Gengo, as you have seen, has been promoted,” answered the Shogun. “He did all that his position called for. Yuki, as captain of the cortege, was guilty of falling into an ambush. In consideration of his loyal valor, his life has been mercifully spared, and his punishment limited to degradation from the service of the Shogunate.”
Only with utmost difficulty could I maintain my set smile. Here was bitter requital for service,—the loyal and courageous hatamoto made a ronin and beggared because of a surprise which he had no shadow of reason to anticipate.
“Rumor says that one of the traitors was taken alive,” remarked the Prince. “Is permission given to inquire?”
“The criminal refused to speak, and so died under examination.”
A shudder passed through me at the terse reply. I called to mind what I had read of rack and boot and fire and all the other hideous tortures of mediæval court procedure.
The Prince must have been bitterly disappointed. He laughed softly, and ventured another inquiry: “It is rumored that the band came from the north.”