He touched his dirk. “You know the customary proof of sincerity. If that is not required, I have vowed to shave my head, and enter the monastery at Zozoji.”
“No, no, Tomo!” I protested. “Consider your chances for a glorious future. If we win against Mito, only the life of the feeble son of the Shogun stands between you and the succession to the throne. As the husband of the Shogun’s daughter and heir of Owari, with the strong friendship of Satsuma—”
“What is the saying of your great poet?” he interrupted. “‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.’ Neither power nor love tempt me. If now I can subdue my hatred of Mito and his clan, and fulfil my mission with self-abasement—”
“Be a Buddhist saint if you must, but when you have accomplished your mission, your gods will reward you with a happy life.”
“Your souls have met and loved in some former reincarnation,” he murmured. “Cast off all thought of shame, brother. I have no desire for the maiden. You belong to one another. Your souls are bound together inseparably.”
“Tomo!” I cried, and I bowed over, between shame and intoxicating delight.
Fujimaro entered with the freedom allowed a teacher, and said in his most formal style: “Permission to enter the august presence is humbly entreated by a woman of low degree, the geisha Kohana.”
Yoritomo nodded to me, and I answered: “Bring her in without delay.”
As Fujimaro glided out, I bent towards Yoritomo with a quick question: “Another of Keiki’s plots?”
“Would that be a matter of surprise?” he replied, with his placid smile. “She will soon tell us. We were talking of one to whom you have given your heart with true Occidental romanticism. I grieve for you, brother!”