“Ten thousand felicitous years to my lord!” she murmured. “The might of Hachiman and the craft of the geisha cat shall aid him!”
The waiting attendant conducted us direct to the audience hall, his unsmiling face a portent of calamity. At the entrance he halted and kowtowed. We passed in alone. The Prince was seated in state before the grand tokonoma and close beside him on his left sat a visitor also dressed in winged jacket,—a large and swarthy man, with features of the heavy German type.
When we entered, refreshments had been served, and the only retainers present were the six counsellors. Yoritomo led me to the head of the room, where we knelt and laid our swords upon the mats at our right, and exchanged bows with the Prince and his guest. I had no need of my friend’s greeting to the stranger to divine his identity. I had already perceived from the circle cross upon his coat and his position on the left of the Prince that he was none other than Yoritomo’s friend Shimadzu Nariakira, the great Daimio of Satsuma. Accepting the precedent set by the Prince, he greeted me as his junior but peer, and proceeded to look me over with a gaze as frank and kindly as it was keen.
“Woroto Sama is far different in appearance from the hairy tojin that I have seen on the black ships,” he said. “The august Prince of Owari has told me the deeds of his guest. My regret is doubled.”
Yoritomo glanced inquiringly at his father, who explained with utmost calmness of tone and manner: “Our noble friend, the Daimio of Satsuma, has received the command of the Shogunate to bring the heir of Owari and the tojin lord before the High Court in netted norimons.”
In a flash Yoritomo drew open his robes below the girdle and placed the point of his dirk to his side, ready for the fatal cross cut. Calm and steady as if cast in bronze, he looked up at his father for the signal to strike. The Prince turned quietly to his guest. The Daimio sat mute and impassive. The Prince faced the counsellors, who consulted together for what seemed to me an age of hideous suspense. Yet throughout it all the Prince and the Daimio waited, to all appearance as apathetic as lumps of clay, while my friend crouched, no less impassive in look, the cruel knife held ready to rend his loins in dreadful self-immolation.
At last the karo spoke, in a voice devoid of all emotion. “The words of the august lords have been heard and considered. Humble counsel is given that Yoritomo Sama should bear the present shame and should risk appearance before the High Court. To commit hara-kiri now would save his personal honor. It would not be proof of sincerity should doubt be expressed as to his motive in presenting the memorial to His Highness the Shogun.”
The Prince nodded in assent. Yoritomo still waited.
“Does the Shogun know of this order?” he asked.
“That we have yet to learn,” answered the Prince. “The risk is great. So also is the chance of great gain.”