“They were ronins, formerly in the service of Mito,” replied the Shogun. “Written declarations found upon their bodies state that they had foresworn their loyalty to their lord, and intended to strike a blow against the Shogunate in favor of the temporal power of the Mikado.”
“In Tenno’s name, for Mito’s fame,” rhymed the Prince.
The verse was not improbably a paraphrase of a classic couplet and must have contained an allusion beyond the bare meaning of the words. Iyeyoshi’s face darkened with a double suspicion.
“Eleven years have passed since the Prince of Mito was compelled to resign his daimiate to his eldest son and confine himself in his inferior Yedo yashiki,” he stated. “Rekko’s enemies have yet to furnish clear proof that his casting of bells into cannon was not for the conquest of the Ainos and the glory of the Shogunate, as was claimed by him.”
“Mito walks with face to the past and eyes turned upward,” murmured the Prince. “No Mito has yet sat on the stool of the Mikado’s high commander of armies. But neither was Hideyoshi the Taiko Sama made Shogun. He held a higher title in the Mikado’s court, and was supreme general in fact though not in name. Is it for the glory of our holy Mikado or for the elevation of Keiki that Mito plots the overthrow of the Shogunate?”
Stung to fury by the bare mention of the threatened disaster to his rule, Iyeyoshi bent forward, his face distorted with murderous rage, and his hand clutching at the hilt of his dirk. The Prince, still smiling under the menace of instant death, kowtowed, and waited on hands and knees, with his neck bared for the blade.
“Gladly does a loyal subject offer life in confirmation of sincerity,” he murmured.
The blood curdled in my veins as the full horror of the moment burst upon me. Unsoftened by my companion’s submissiveness, the Shogun thrust back his long sleeve with his left hand and tightened his grip on the dirk. His eyes narrowed to cruel slits. I knew there would be only one movement,—a flashing stroke from the scabbard that would sever the outstretched neck of the Prince. In the same instant I realized that the death of the father would mean death to the son and the ruin of what he valued far above life,—his mission. I had pledged myself to help Yoritomo, and—I loved his betrothed! What had I to live for?
“Your Highness!” I gasped. “I do not know all your customs. In China a condemned man may sometimes receive punishment through a substitute. Accept my life for the life of my kinsman!”
The Shogun turned his glittering eyes upon me. They were as cold and hard and malignant as the eyes of an enraged snake. Yet the same impulse that had forced my offer now impelled me to creep nearer to him, fearful that he might refuse to accept. I did not realize that my interference was in itself an outrage upon the dignity of the Shogun, punishable with death. First the Prince, then myself! The bared arm of the despot twitched—