Part 10

They had reached a beautiful and tranquil hill. At the top, above the pines and cedars enclosing it in nature’s own sacred wall, the amber peaks of a celestial temple, with its myriad slanting lights, pointed upward in the sky. Their journey was ended.

Very still now stood the cortège. Low and deeply bent stood the silent attendants, as with streaming eyes they gazed longingly upon the slight young figure which the samurai Genji, almost bowed over with personal grief, assisted to alight from the norimon. In her white robes the Lady Wistaria seemed a spirit as she stood there under the moonbeams. Mutely she looked about her. As the muffled sobs of her servitors reached her ears, she wrung her hands with an unconscious gesture of anguish greater than their own.

As if in sympathy with the intense sadness over all who were there, nature herself seemed to show signs of her own distress. Clouds rolled over the skies above the mountains, veiling the moon and the star beams. A little river that flowed at the foot of the hill was heard sobbing as it rolled with a mournful sound over its rapids.

But the lights twinkled out warmly from the temple beyond, and a white-robed priestess was descending to welcome the novitiate. An odor of sweet incense, such as of umegaku or tambo, was wafted to the watchers on the hill from the temple doors. Wistaria turned her face towards it. Then back again she directed her glance to her kneeling servitors. Her voice was as soft and gentle as a benediction.

“Pray thee” she said, “to take care of your honorable healths. Sayonara!”

She hesitated on the threshold of the temple. Then silently she entered the place of tranquil rest amid the shadows of the mountains.

XXII

THE Prince Keiki had been on the highway three days before he became again something more than an unconscious automaton. After the first great shock of Wistaria’s revelation had passed from him, there had come a desperate terror and horror which seemed to numb his faculties. For several days he was not conscious of anything either within or without him. There was no anguish in his heart or intelligence in his brain. His memory of events succeeding Wistaria’s unmasking, as he believed it, was as vague as the tangled threads of a dream. He had fallen into that apathetic lethargy with which he had been afflicted upon his arrest.

He had, it is true, uncertain recollections of a place passed on the way, or of a halt here and refreshment there, but he could not assert that they were real. He might have dreamed them. He could not tell.

Then Keiki returned to his normal being. He awoke as from a troubled sleep to a world of torment. Could he have slept, and, sleeping, have imagined the events with which the name Wistaria was repulsively associated? No! It was, alas, all too true. He must bear it. As the first sharp anguish of his awakening passed away, there came visions to comfort Keiki.

When what he termed in after years his great awakening burst upon him, he found himself walking down a muddy road which led, his sense of locality told him, south to his province of Choshui. It was raining, fiercely, sullenly. Almost with a feeling of relief, Keiki found that he was wet. It gave him new life and new courage to do some simple elemental thing, such as drawing his cape tighter, closer about him. Then, as he battled against the wind and the driving rain, a fierce joy came to him. He was wise in the wisdom of suffering. His life should be devoted to the cause. No woman should destroy the significance life held for him.

Too long had he tarried with inclination. He had pictured to himself a beautiful highway through life, upon which Wistaria should tread by his side. She was lost forever. The rough path, the developing path of struggle, should be his. He would not falter. He would be true first to himself, his higher self, and then to the holy cause of his country. Patriotism and the restoration of rightful rule to the Mikado should guide him in every act. The events through which he had passed had consecrated him anew. His life could not be taken; he could not fail, until all had been accomplished.

In the new life which he was about to enter his course would not always be plain; he would not always be understood. For that he must be prepared.

When the Prince Keiki had thus settled the past and ordered the future, he began to take cognizance of outward conditions, as became him now. It was wet, and growing dark. He must seek shelter for the night. Turning aside from the highway, Keiki asked the simple hospitality of the country-side from a little house hard by the path of travel. Although it was long past the hour of their evening meal, the good dwellers in the cottage sent their daughter to the rear of the house to prepare food for the hungry Prince.

Sitting alone in a corner, Keiki, waited upon by the little maiden, found a quiet and comfort that three days ago he would have thought impossible. A strange comfort exhales from a perfectly appointed meal after the heart has been tried. It is the acme of despair, the realization of one’s duty to one’s self. Keiki, absorbed in these fantastic reflections, suddenly became conscious of the fact that for several minutes past the little maid had been making strange signals to him. Seeing this, he signed to her to advance. She did so, but in a faltering and almost fearful fashion. When near enough to him to speak without being overheard, she glanced in terror at his face and slipped to the ground, where she prostrated herself at his feet, her head nodding in frantic motions of servility.

“Why, what is this?” ejaculated the Prince, displeased.

“Y—your highness!” she gasped.

“Speak,” said Keiki, sternly. “You appear desirous of serving me. What is it?”

She rose tremblingly.

“You must not tarry here long,” she whispered. “The spies of the Shogun are about.”

“Ha!”

“It is broadly reported that the Shining Prince Keiki has escaped his fate. The roads are beset. They are tracking his footsteps. Even now some of them are before the house. Oh, my lord, I know you to resemble too closely the Shining Prince for you to linger here. We—the whole country—are in sympathy with thee and would befriend thee, but the shogunate—” She broke off, her fear and distress completely overpowering her.

Keiki laid an alert hand upon his sword.

“None may take me now,” he said, defiantly, “for I am become invincible.”

“Come!” urged the little maid.

“Whither?” inquired the Prince.

Pushing aside the doors at the rear, she led Keiki into the garden. Passing through it, they came to a wall. The maid spoke.

“Climb this, turn to the west. Go along the road a bit until you come to a cross-path. Take that, and you will come out upon your southern route below the danger point. I—”

There was a movement in the bushes behind.

“Oh, all the gods!” she cried. “It is too late, I fear!”

“What do you there?” a voice, stern with threatening, demanded from the bushes. The maid responded:

“Peace to thee! I do but bid farewell to my lover.”

A laugh answered.

“Do not fear, maiden. We do not disturb cooing birds,” came from the bushes, and a drawn sword was shifted from hand to hand, carelessly.

The warm blood surged about the temples of Keiki. Because of the perfidy of Wistaria, he would accept no service from her sex.

“I did not need thy lie, maiden,” he said.

Then to those in the bushes he shouted:

“I am he whom you seek, the Prince Keiki. Come, take me!”

As he spoke, he hurled his cape to the ground and rested his sword with its point upon his sandalled foot. Quick as was his action, it was met by those lurking in hiding. Three forms glided out from the bushes. Three blades flashed towards him. Keiki’s quick eye perceived that those attacking him wore but one sword. They were evidently merely Shogun spies or common soldiery. Their clumsy handling of their swords filled his soul with a wild elation. He would have some play with these vassals—he, Keiki, the most exquisite swordsman in Japan, and the most finished Jiujutsu student.

“Come hither—hither!” he taunted. “Without dishonor ye may yield yourselves to me, Keiki, the invincible!”

A savage yell replied. In imagination, perhaps, the Shogun spies saw the glittering price of the Prince’s head within their hands. They closed with him.

The hand of Keiki instantly snatched the second sword from his belt. With a sword in each hand he met the advance. The sword in his right hand met and parried the initial blows and thrusts of his two adversaries; the sword in his left met the blade of the third, and, though it could not attack, maintained an effective defence.

The attacking swordsmen were startled. Such a thing was beyond the traditions of the samurai, and a feat wellnigh impossible.

Of a sudden the blade of the first of Keiki’s adversaries dealt a vicious blow. Keiki met it with his left-hand sword, and before the blade could be recovered by his enemy the sword in his right hand had turned to the second adversary. This one, unprepared for Keiki’s sudden onslaught, fell back, with his sword-arm severed at the wrist. Again the first antagonist thrust; Keiki met him. He now had an antagonist on either side of him, at points nearly opposite. He answered the blow of the one with the first of his two swords, while the other recovered his blade. There could be only one issue to such unequal combat. The position of his adversaries would not permit Keiki to fight them with one sword alone. Alive to the necessities of his position, Keiki kept slowly turning as his opponents tried to take him from behind. Suddenly Keiki fell upon his left knee, as though overcome, while with his right-hand sword he kept up a vigorous attack. The sword in his left hand became feebler, weaker in its movements. Thinking Keiki affected by some of the numerous small wounds with which he was covered despite his defence, the soldier on Keiki’s left rushed in to despatch him, leaving himself but poorly guarded. The sword opposed to him became swiftly active. It passed into the breast of the samurai, where Keiki, glad that its necessity was over, allowed it to remain.

Quickly regaining his feet, the Prince devoted himself to his remaining enemy, who was a better swordsman than the others.

“Yield!” threatened Keiki, as he dealt a furious blow at the other’s head.

His antagonist laughed. Immediately Keiki thrust in quick succession at the other’s breast, head, and throat. His first blow was parried. The second at the head was a feint. As the soldier raised his sword to meet it, Keiki unopposed, thrust through his throat. He fell.

Breathing heavily from his exertion, Keiki looked about him for the maid, and the spy whose hand he had severed. He found the maiden bending over the lifeless body of his antagonist. From her hand a small dagger slipped to the ground. Satisfied as to her safety, Keiki quickly drew out his left sword from the breast of his opponent. Then without a word he climbed the wall and took the southern route again, disdaining to follow the directions of his late hostess.

In a rice-field farther down the road he bound up his wounds with the torn lining of his haori. Through the larger part of the following day he slept.

Alarmed by the recent occurrences at the little house by the highway, Keiki, who believed that the Shogun had put a price upon his head, now travelled only at night. The days he spent in sleep, and in locating, without exposing himself too much, the scenes of foraging expeditions made at night through which he managed to secure the means of sustenance.

The vigorous and unnatural fight through which he had just passed had a further invigorating effect upon him. Before that he had been near to death in his thoughts—death for the cause. Now he resolved in fresh and vigorous determination to live—and to live gloriously for the greatest cause that had ever made a pulse to leap in Japan.

At dusk on the fifth day after the fight, Keiki set forth upon the last stage of his journey. He was now near to the borders of the Choshui province. A few hours later he reckoned that he had crossed the boundary and was well within the limits of his father’s country, when there came to him the sound of swords clashing beyond a turn in the road. Keiki, now grown cautious, skirted the spot through a field, and then crept within sight of the place.

Five men were pitted against three, while on the road lay the bodies of two more. Keiki had made up his mind to aid the lesser party, when an exclamation in well-remembered tones came to him. It was from one of the lesser party, old Hashimoto, a trusted follower of his father.

In a moment Keiki was in the road. Before either party were aware of his presence, he had killed two of the larger number.

“I aid thee!” he shouted, as with his father’s men he engaged the despised Shogun followers. Speedily another of their number fell. The four obtained the easy surrender of the others.

Hashimoto approached the Prince.

“We thank thee for thy aid—” he began. Then, recognizing Keiki, he started back a pace and fell upon his knees.

“My noble prince! My master!” he cried, as he caught his robe and reverently pressed it to his lips.

“Thy master?” repeated Keiki. “My father, what of him?”

“Taken, your highness.”

“Taken?”

“After the rumors of your capture, your highness, we at once determined to raise the Imperial standard against the Shogun, and your father—”

“But we were not ready. None of our plans had been carried out!” cried the Prince.

Hashimoto answered:

“True, your highness, but your father was promised the assistance of most of the southern clans. Consequently he seized a number of Buddhist monasteries and cast their huge bronze bells into cannon. His undertaking was revealed to the Shogun before our allies could join us, and he was surprised and taken captive.”

“He serves a sentence?”

“He was sentenced, your highness. But the gods have anticipated—he is dead.”

Keiki threw off his cape, which Hashimoto respectfully lifted.

“Attend me to the fortress,” he commanded.

The followers bowed deeply. Suddenly Keiki raised his voice.

“Daigi Meibunor! The Shogun shall die!” he cried.

The followers answered with a cheer.

With head bowed in deep thought, Keiki led the way towards the principal fortress and castle of the Mori.

XXIII

UPON his return to the fortress, Keiki, as the capable and devoted leader of the cause of Imperialism, was deferred to by his brothers. He at once assumed in his own right the command of the resources of the clan.

The household was put upon a footing even more military than before. Regular watch was kept at all points of the estate and at the boundaries of the province. Reports of all crossing the boundaries of the province in either direction were made to Keiki each morning.

An army of laborers impressed into service from the Mori as well as the friendly southern provinces were put to work strengthening the defences of the Mori fortress, now become the war headquarters of the Imperial party.

The castle itself, situated within the centre of the province, approach to which on all sides must be made through friendly provinces, with the exception of the Catzu, because of its natural defensive properties, became the nucleus for a host of outworks sheltering the activities of Keiki. Within the line of fortifications surrounding the immediate vicinity of the fortress were the factories and foundries now built by those who acknowledged Keiki as their leader. For while all this owed its inception to the Shining Prince, it could not be carried out with his resources alone. The neighboring clans, whose lords in the past had held equal and superior rank to the Shogun, sent of their best to the Prince of Mori. The clans of Satsuma, Ozumi, Hinga, Nagate, Suwo, the Liu Kiu Islands, and others ordered their artisans and mariners to Keiki’s headquarters.

The old Prince of Satsuma, more learned in European civilization than Keiki (although Choshui was the home in Japan of Dutch sciences), was the Prince’s preceptor. Under his direction the cannon foundries, whose weapons of war were to oust the Shogun, were built. A sort of light rifle designed by Satsuma was manufactured under his direction near Keiki’s fortress. The castle, which in time of war would afford protection to all these works and foundries, was reduced in the number of its living apartments. These were situated within the inmost recesses. All about the old portions of the house were built broad platforms. Upon their edges were set stone walls with openings for cannon. These, as fast as they came from the foundry, were set in tiers so arranged that they could command the approaches to the large circle, within which were set the factories and works of the Imperialists.

In the midst of these activities Keiki found relief from the flood of memories that otherwise might have overwhelmed him. He felt that now he was rising to true greatness. For him personally, selfishly, life held nothing. It was for his country he labored. So austere and unbending was his demeanor, that for months after his return his brothers forebore to speak of the message that had come during his absence.

But one evening as he sat in his chamber alone, within the centre of the fortress, his brother, Komozawa, came to him and held out in silence the letter which had disturbed them. Keiki read sufficient to ascertain its tenor. Then gently he laid it aside. There was no passion to his tones or manner as he said, coldly:

“Brother, whatever truth or falsity may lie in this epistle is of the past, and concerns me alone. It cannot affect the future. Speak to me no more of the leaves of last autumn.”

“But—” began the brother, timidly.

Keiki sprang to his feet. There was a cloud upon his brow, dark and threatening. His sword showed half its bare length.

“Not a word,” he said, “or, dearly as I love you, this blade shall give you explanation.”

Komozawa bowed submissively and retired.

In the thoughts that the words of his brother had called into being Keiki was led to remember the imprisoned Toro, whose existence he had forgotten. Immediately he ordered the youth before him.

To his surprise he found that Toro, instead of appearing sullen or dejected, was quite cheerful and optimistic. He greeted the Prince with so much bonhomie and frankness that Keiki was puzzled at first to know how to treat him.

“Toro,” he said, “I have come to a decision regarding you.”

“That is good,” said Toro, at once, “for I really am becoming interested in my prospects.”

“And what are your prospects?” said Keiki.

Toro fingered his sash buoyantly, and assumed the attitude of a gay spark.

“Well, if it please you, my lord, I should wish to remain in Choshui, but at peace and liberty, pray understand.”

Keiki frowned impatiently, but Toro remained apparently unconcerned.

“In fact,” he added, ingenuously, “I would very much like to remain in Choshui as a guest—such as your excellency was in my own province. I do assure you, my lord, that I have not been treated with the equal hospitality and courtesy offered to your highness in Catzu.”

“It is impossible for you to remain here,” said Keiki; “matters have changed.”

“Then let me recall a certain promise made to me by your excellency. For my services in your behalf with my lady cousin in Catzu, you in return—”

He stopped abruptly, held by the expression on the other’s face. For the first time he perceived that the Prince was in an unnatural state of mind.

“Wistaria, my lord—what of her? You do not mean to tell me that you failed in your suit!”

With a sob in which no tears intermingled, Keiki raised his sword, only to drop it, groaning inwardly.

“Return to your father, Toro. Be warned by me that this is best.”

“But I wish to repeat that your highness promised—”

“Listen. If you remain here, your life will not be safe. Do not further protest. I will say this, that if your lordship does not care to follow my suggestion, I shall be forced to eject you or allow my officers to deal with you.”

Toro shrugged angry shoulders, a gesture to Keiki reminiscent of his mother. The action displeased him. Sharply he clapped his hands. To the officers answering his summons he said, briefly:

“Be good enough to have my Lord of Catzu taken to Catzu under such escort as he may require.” To Toro he bowed perfunctorily: “Good-day, my lord.”

The preparations and activities of the past few months had brought all within the domination of Keiki to active readiness for war. Keiki himself was now of greater value to his cause, since old Satsuma had taught him all he knew—the result of years of European study and reading—of the making of the munitions of war. The lingering disease which threatened Satsuma need carry no fear to the Imperialists. Keiki, the disciple and heir in knowledge to Satsuma, could well cope with any man in the world in the utilization of the war resources at his hand.

Only a pretext, a happening that should afford the opening wedge for war, was wanting to the Imperialists. The public mind must be quieted by the outbreak of hostilities as the logical outcome of some event, not as a sudden, uncaused outburst.

It was during these days of waiting that the old Lord Satsuma sought Keiki out in the interior of the fortress. There was an evident perturbation and embarrassment manifest in his bearing. Keiki, alarmed lest some accident should have endangered one of the projects of the labor of years, started upon sight of his hereditary friend.

“My Lord Satsuma, is it ill with you?” he inquired with solicitude.

He noted that the face of Satsuma showed as never before that its master would never live to see the Restoration. This thought saddened him.

Satsuma, though in some pain, smiled gently.

“Ill indeed it is with me,” he said.

Keiki reached out and impulsively seized the hand of the old warrior, pressing it with sympathy that words could not have expressed.

“I may not be with you,” continued Satsuma, “on the day of the bakufu’s undoing.”

“Nay, do not say so.”

“It is so, nevertheless,” said Satsuma. “I must go before—”

“My lord, it is but the common lot—the common happiness of life to give up, to cease to struggle. Your achievements have been many. This rifle by my hand, that cannon in the embrasure, all these will speak for you with terrible effect after you yourself are long silent.”

“Prince Keiki, it is not for myself I think thus sadly of life and death. I have a daughter. We are on the eve of war, the country is unsettled. I cannot leave her unprotected to share its uncertain fate.”

“But surely,” said Keiki, with a mild surprise, “your daughter will be well cared for among her many honorable relations.”

“Alas, no, that is not possible. Her stepmother is ill disposed towards her, and all of her brothers are pressed into the Imperialist service.”

“This is very sad,” said Keiki, “and if it were in my power to aid you I would beseech you to command me immediately.”

“It is possible for your highness to aid me,” said Satsuma, slowly.

“How? Let me know at once how I can do so.”

“By permitting my insignificant daughter to have the personal protection of so chivalrous a prince as your excellency.”

“My personal protection!” exclaimed Keiki; “but I am engaged in the work of warfare.”

“True, but my lady would not distract you from these tasks. Her presence in the fortress need scarcely be felt.”

Keiki sprang to his feet and began to pace the apartment in a perturbed manner. Under his thick brows old Satsuma regarded him keenly.