Kitabı oku: «The Curse of Koshiu: A Chronicle of Old Japan», sayfa 16
CHAPTER XIX.
THE WEB IS WOVEN
Typhoon was the best charger in the Daimio's stable, and worthy of his name; but this was his last journey. He was so hard pressed by his frantic master, that at the castle gate he sank and died.
The sudden arrival of my lord, a fugitive, without a single follower, created within the fortress a commotion which was no little aggravated by the news of which he was the bearer. How swift was the cumulation of events. My lord of Nara and his heiress murdered. A siege in immediate prospect, and after that-what? A long course of excess and idleness had sapped the discipline of the braves, and instead of hailing the coming fray with the joy that becomes heroes, they showed signs of sullen discontent. No-Kami had slain in a secret manner, without witnesses, the venerable Nara, the esteemed friend of the Holy Mikado.
This was going too far, even for so overbearing a despot. Even the samurai of Tsu were aware that Japan at bay would arise and shake off its incubus. The castle would be invested by the foes of Hojo, who were legion. Look where he would, there was no single ally who could be counted on for succour. There was but one consummation possible. An iron wall would hem the fortress, and all within would perish. Under these circumstances, the warriors (privately discussing the situation) were divided in opinion. Would it be well to accept the inevitable and bow the neck at once, suing for mercy; or would it perchance be better to baulk the foe, to act as the celebrated forty-seven ronins did-revered for ever by the Japanese-namely, to perform harakiri in concert? Thus it will be seen that the glamour of evil fortune had wrapped the castle like a mist. Even the bold retainers of the crumbling family lost heart, and if they prepared to show any resistance at all, it was owing to the presence of Sampei, the heroic subduer of Corea.
Even Sampei, whilom bravest of the brave, showed no enthusiasm. He had stumbled along the stony road of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and seemed to look down from afar upon the petty frettings of humanity, as you might idly watch the proceedings in an opened anthill.
The first acute bitterness waned insensibly, and he grew resigned to life-long pain. Had it not been so, reason would have fallen from her throne. He could think of O'Tei not as corruption but as transformed. The sap of a tree, the glow of a gem, the plumage of a bird, contained her outward part. Nature had taken back and set to other purpose that which she had lent. As to the other, who might tell where it wandered? Where was her pure soul hovering?
Was the gulf that yawned in front as dark as the path already trodden? If the gods were really good, they could not but be mild to one who was so gentle. After all, for himself it mattered not. What, to a mortal so maimed as he, was a little more or less of suffering, after that wound from which the life-drops of his heart were slowly dripping?
He would not desert his brother, Sampei declared with quiet gravity. So long as the gods willed that he should fight, he would fight; but the sooner suspense was over, the greater the relief for all.
The bewitching O'Kikú when, rosy and wreathed with smiles, she flew from her bower in the most becoming of costumes to embrace her love, was considerably disconcerted by her reception. She had carefully gone over details, and planned within her mind exactly how it was all to be. He would be a little upset, possibly, on his arrival, to hear of the sudden and mysterious end of his icicle. He would pretend concern, and probably show anger, relieved all the while by her flitting. She, O'Kikú, would condole, clasp her husband-all her own now-in white arms, and, breast to breast, divulge the delicious secret. He would be enchanted, of course. She would make herself so agreeable bringing forth the entire armoury of her blandishments for his behoof, that memory of O'Tei would speedily be relegated to the limbo prepared for the ghosts of marplots. This point reached, she would summon all her skill and tact, wheedle and cajole and flatter, so as to achieve the desired prize.
By making herself absolutely necessary to No-Kami, then turning on the tap of tears, the living wife would advance a step, be lifted to the dead one's place. And he should never have cause to regret the signal favour. His interests would then be hers completely. No prospect in the future, then, of being put away, – compelled, like Masago, to assume the crape. She would take her lord in hand, – be a long-headed little counsellor, chide his faults with gentleness, teach him to curb his passions, help him to replace on the neck of struggling Japan the yoke that was ominously-loose. And lo! how quickly did her toy palace tumble! No-Kami looked twenty years older than when he went away. There was a haggard wildness in his face-an expression, as he glanced at the enchantress, curiously akin, if it were possible, to aversion. His hands twitched; foam gathered on his lips. When, cooing, she laid her head upon his bosom, her hair new dressed with fresh camellia oil, he pushed her so rudely from him, that, reeling, with bruised arms, she tottered against the wall.
Could it, oh could it be, that he could have ever loved that woman? Could it be that his fiery nature was consuming, torn by the pincers of remorse? Surely he could feel naught at most for an icicle but a cold regret that would soon pass. Was it possible that in a revulsion of feeling he had actually come to detest the enchanting siren who so easily had won him? Verily it seemed like it. With eyes lowered in antipathy, he seemed to avoid her gaze with loathing. And what was that he muttered as he so roughly threw her off. Was it murderess? And what a look accompanied the word. Her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth, and though she ardently wished to repel the accusation, her lips refused their office. Did he really believe her guilty of such a foolish prank, of such a stupid blunder? She had no doubt arranged to oust the rival, to procure her expulsion from the castle; but to shed her blood and create a scandal, that would have been too foolish. Before she had time to recover from shocked surprise, my lord was gone. He gave a few brief husky orders, then groped his way, as if in darkness, to the retired eyrie where had dwelt the vanished chatelaine. Thither she felt that she dared not follow him. With forebodings gathering within her breast, O'Kikú withdrew to her apartments, fearing she knew not what.
There, on the mat, where she had laid it down, was O'Tei's samisen, encrusted with gold and ivory; yonder her broidery-frame, a book of poems open, a hundred pathetic evidences, eloquent of her who was gone. Far removed from the hum of preparation, No-Kami sat, dumbly gazing from the casement across the river towards the sea.
And then, for the first time, there passed across the mental ken of Hojo the phantoms of a gloomy retrospect. He seemed, as they swept by, to hear a forlorn chant, with the saddest of refrains-"Too late!"
He had been given a life full of brilliant opportunities and had cast them all away. His name was a byword in the land. There was not one living thing that loved him, while thousands clamoured for his death. The chill of a desolation, novel and surprising, crept over his heart, as, glancing around the bower, small objects recalled the past. Why had they tied him to O'Tei? With one more congenial the asperities of his character might have softened. O'Tei, the soft and clinging, had never loved him; no-never-not for a single moment. Something whispered now that, had he been more kind, she might have come to like him. Then, as if stung by an adder, he sprang upon his feet, with beads of perspiration on his forehead. Fool! what spell was this? – what disgraceful, infatuated weakness? Had he been more kind! Had she not loved his brother? The poison instilled by the geisha, dormant through the rapid passage of stirring events, throbbed through his veins, and he gasped and grew faint under the pain of it. Both false-his wife and brother. She was dead; no wonder he looked so glum! Perturbed though his own mind was, No-Kami could not but notice the change which had come over the face of Sampei. The sharp iron share of an ineffable sorrow had passed over his features, ploughing deep lines of grief.
On second thoughts, it was well that she was dead. She had sinned, and was justly punished. Thus far was his honour satisfied. The murderess must suffer also. By-and-by, when there should be breathing time. And the paramour as well. With staggering steps the Daimio roamed like a caged animal about the chamber, revolving direful designs. Then suddenly stopping, he laughed aloud and clapped his palms together. By-and-by, in the future! Was there any future except a yawning, bottomless gulf down which he and his were sliding? Honour, forsooth! He and his had as little to do with honour as with a future, or with life.
From far away across the sunlit waters a voice whispered mockingly, "Accursed and doomed! betrayed and friendless! Oh, desolate, solitary soul, the gods have set their brand on thee! In worlds to come an outcast!"
Trembling, the Daimio peered around. Some one had spoken. Who? No one in the corridor without. No one beneath the window. That unearthly jibing merriment! Two bloodshot eyes glaring from the cloudless sky. Cursed and doomed! Predestined to endless travail! Moaning, the Daimio cowered down and rocked himself in terror.
It was soon understood that, my lord being unhinged, and grievously sick in body and mind, Sampei would assume command. So long as the gods willed it, there should be defence, the General had determined, and to that end he moved hither and thither with forced calm, arranging details by the light of a shrewd experience; steady as some strong machine that does its work unconsciously.
The contents of the armoury were overhauled and furbished. Seasoned wood was sought throughout the town, for the making of countless arrows; thick porous paper for dressing wounds, according to the standard rules of rough field surgery. The ground within the inner moat was covered over with boards and canvas, to conceal what was done inside; for an investing army is ever full of stratagems for learning the weak points of the besieged. Lofty trees, or high peaks of rock, were sure to be occupied at once, tall towers to be erected on points of vantage. It was even a common thing to fly huge kites, large enough to support a man, and so obtain a bird's-eye view of the interior of an enemy's castle. Sampei organised a band of scouts, and sent them forth to crawl by night along the narrow causeways that intersected the oozy rice fields, bidding them return with earliest information with regard to the coming of the foe. Parties of braves were despatched in all directions to annex the scanty stores which oppression had left to the peasantry. All possible precautions taken, he divided his men into watches, taught each his post and duty, then waited for the future to unroll.
Nor had he long to wait. As though rising by magic through the ground, an army of combatants appeared, who surrounded the fortress with their engines. From the top of the central tower, crowned with its copper roof and golden fish, could be descried a host so numerous and well-equipped that Sampei stood marvelling how they could be here so quickly. It soon became manifest that they had no intention of endeavouring to storm the place, at least not yet, for they methodically set about the forming of a line of pallisades, consisting of heavy planks propped by hinged supports, behind which they could safely repose, and starve the foe to extremity.
There is nothing so soul-depressing to those hemmed in as a siege thus coldly carried out. The sense of being an animal shut in a trap, the lack of incident and excitement, the feeling of being without the pale of busy humanity, damp the courage, and chill the spirits. There is something so prosaic about a war waged against the stomach. The samurai of Tsu, disorganised already, their native prowess undermined, soon felt the pinch, and began to brawl and murmur. Their lord they saw no more, for, reason rocking on its pedestal, he remained shut up, refusing consolation, within the apartments of the deceased. But for the prestige that clung like a halo round his brother, and enforced a surly and half mutinous obedience, the braves would have thrown open the gates, have attempted to fraternise with the host of invading warriors. But the stoutest among them stood in dread of Sampei, – quailed before the bluff, uncompromising severity which, without the wink of an eyelid, would have made an example of traitors. The vassals of the Hojo fought, discharging arrows and javelins, occasionally making a feeble show of a sortie: but all knew that the end was imminent, that suspense would soon be over.
O'Kikú, grasping, sly, and unheroic, fretted, as may be imagined, bitterly. How different was the present state of things from her cherished rainbow-dream. That sharp repulse, followed by utter neglect, upset her calculations. She appeared of a sudden to have lost influence over all her willing slaves. My lord, absorbed in his own troubles, ignored the fact of her existence. The braves, with whom she was once so popular-many of whom, it must be confessed, were vain at one time of being numbered among her lovers-now gnashed their teeth in her face, and poured on her head twofold the obloquy that had been the portion of O'Tei.
And why was this? Doubtless the truculent and unlettered samurai could scarcely be expected to be logical. Yet having witnessed the passage-of-arms between the ladies, they must know as well as she that the concubine was innocent of the catastrophe. And yet somehow or other it had become plain to their obtuse intelligence that the siren was at the bottom of the trouble. There was no arguing the point, since none could deny that it was from her advent that the run of disaster must be dated. Accustomed to be pampered and petted, she was devoured with smouldering rage, and unreasoning hate of Tsu and Hojo, and all connected with the race, in finding herself treated like a leper. What a pity it was that, lured by a sham glitter, she should have turned aside from the pilgrimage to Isé, for the gathering of mundane baubles. What had she gained by it? Troubles and disappointments, and illusions roughly shattered. And perhaps in the background something even worse was lurking; for she realised with apprehension that she was hedged round with a phalanx of enemies, who persisted in connecting her, in spite of evidence, with the untimely death of the chatelaine. Was there ever anything so unreasonable, and yet fraught with graver peril? My lord was a madman, beset by absurd hallucinations; a furious tiger, accustomed to batten upon blood, as devoid of conscience as of scruple. He had called her murderess, and in the crooked recesses of his muddy brain was concocting some frightful retribution; There was no escape for her by flight, for she was in the position of a kid locked in a den of lions.
In case of personal peril, to whom might O'Kikú turn for succour? Sampei was honest and upright, but on his worn face, when turned to her, was a horrible expression of icy vindictiveness. That he had idolised O'Tei none knew better than she, and she was in some manner connected in his mind with that most unfortunate murder. He also was evidently brooding over some unpleasant form of reprisal. Enemies-nothing but enemies-inside and out; she their future target. At all events Sampei could be counted upon as straight and above mean treason. Gulping down the lees of offended vanity, O'Kikú resolved to clear herself in his eyes from any complicity in the tragedy. He would believe her-for once in her life she would really speak the truth-and he would stand by her if assaulted by the madman. But when, waylaying him one day, with a poor ghostly show of the old coquetry, she entered on the subject, such a wave of blank despair seemed to sweep over him that the words froze on her lips, and he was gone before she had recovered.
Condemned to inaction, deprived of amusement and male companionship, relegated to the uninteresting society of tire-women, the unhappy geisha pined as well as fretted. If they would only let her out, – set the caged bird free! Dreams of ambition faded, she now desired no more than liberty. Several times each day she climbed to the top of the central tower, just under the fish of gold, and gazed-oh, with what longing-at the cohorts of the invading host. The strictest guard was kept at the openings in the palisading, but soldiers off duty were free to amuse themselves. She could see bands of them engaged in military sports. Some went a-hunting, and returned laden. Oh, if she were only with them, outside these horrid walls, beyond which lay tantalising freedom! And what was to be the end? There was only one end possible. All could see that now. Scanty stores, hastily collected, were waning. What then? Gaunt famine stalked already. Would those without linger inactive till the besieged were dead to a man, then march in over the corpses? or would they in a more martial spirit wait only till the braves were weak, and then take the place by escalade? It was too revolting to die thus by inches. The idea suddenly flashed upon the wretched woman, whose moral sense, never acute, was blunting hourly, that the key of the situation was in her own little hand. Why should she not open the postern, let in the foe, who in gratitude would spare her life-maybe applaud and treat her with homage as a heroine? What to her were the Hojos; their illustrious name which was hers-that name about which the silly Masago had preached so loftily-now that they were on the brink of ruin? She had good cause to hate the Hojos. Many a lady in the annals of Japan has bared her breast to her husband's dirk in just such an emergency as this. When the famed Shibata knew all was lost, he gave a final banquet, at the conclusion of which he said to his wife, "You women must go, for it is time for us men to die." And what answer made she? With tears she thanked her lord, she, the sister of Nobunago the Great, composed a farewell verse of poetry, and received his sword into her bosom.
But then O'Kikú was not of noble birth, and such flights did not suit her fancy. She knew herself to be still young and lovely, and full of life, and burning for fresh fields to conquer. If all had gone well, and she had stepped into the dead one's place, she would, outwardly at least, have been henceforth as demure as prudery could desire. Rank and honour and power and appetites pampered, form one condition of things. Untimely death, trapped within four walls, is quite another. It would be merciful, – a deed worthy of commendation, to let the enemy in, and put these doomed ones out of misery. My lord, a prey to goblins, was become quite too contemptible. What a delight to be present at the slaying of the hateful Sampei! Doubtless in yonder host there were many as noble as he who would, when opportunity offered, vie with one another for her favours. Her mind was made up. A fig for the race of Hojo. She would start upon her scheme forthwith.
Changing her tactics, the geisha, braving the scowls of the samurai, became interested in military operations, and despite their new-born dislike of one whom they had come to esteem as a bad angel, it was cheering to be commended by the lips of a pretty woman. She organised her maidens into a band of mercy for the relief of those who were wounded; helped with her own hands to prepare and carry food; filled and passed the saké-cup, declaring that wine gives strength. Sampei observed these proceedings with displeasure, but did not interfere. One morning when the commander was busy, and she knew herself unwatched, O'Kikú crept to the top of the tower with her dainty bow, and discharged into the air an arrow, round which was wrapped a paper. As she marked its flight, and perceived that it fell beyond the palisade, "So far well," she murmured. "This suspense will conclude to-night."
The weather was exceeding cold, the blood of the soldiers thin, by reason of under-feeding. Both food and drink were scrupulously measured now in gradually shrinking rations. But the wily damsel had a private supply of saké, remnant of that with which she used to ply my lord before his late visit to Kiŷoto. She prepared and warmed a pot of it, in which she distilled some seeds, and waited with philosophic patience for the night. Then, robed in a dark soft kimono, she stole through the first gate, and round under shadow of the fatal belt of trees, regardless of their wooing and their sighing (she was not one to be tricked to suicide), and thus reached unseen the corner of the outer gate. The muffled sentinel was leaning upon his lance against the parapet, and started from doleful reverie as she appeared before him.
"Hush," she murmured rapidly, "it is I, O'Kikú. You used to love me once-false that you are-or told me so. See how I love you still. Risking my good name for you, I have brought you this, lest haply you be frozen by the morning."
The man looked at her with feelings of self-reproach. Yes, he had fancied her once, more fickle apparently than she; and as she stood before him now, so small and dark, with eyes of mouse-like brightness, and ravishing dimples playing at hide-and-seek, he liked her yet again. But she fluttered like a bird in his embrace.
"No, no," she whispered, as she passed over his rough face caressing fingers. "Remember duty, and the plight we are in. Folly is over, and stern reality is here. You wronged me in your thoughts, deeming I had forgotten you. Admit you did. Fie, fie-for shame! There, you are forgiven! Drink!"
She held forth the saké pot, kept warm with a woollen covering. He took a long draught, his gaze on her the while, and she shook her shapely head in arch reproach. And then, with set teeth and no dimples showing now, she caught the saké-pot as it escaped from his hand, and he fell insensible upon his back.
"Idiot!" she said, with a curl of her full lip, "lie there undisturbed until your foolish throat is cut," and peering cautiously around, descended quickly to the postern.
It will be remembered that the outer gate stood at right angles to the road, for the better purpose of defence, but that there was a small postern in the angle facing it. In her outgoings and incomings she had always, as a matter of convenience, used this postern, and had kept the key of it. How provoking were these plaguy clouds over the moon. At one moment it was dark-at another as light as day-dazzling, puzzling. She stood in the open doorway peeping forth, when a mailed man in ambush seized her by the arm, and pinched it so suddenly that she had much ado to suppress a scream.
"I have you!" he said; "you are our hostage. We got your billet, and are ready."
"You hurt me, sir," she answered, struggling. "Brute! let me go. The door is open as I promised. Here is the key of the inner gate."
She endeavoured to shake off the iron grip and flee in the direction of liberty, but the man held her as in a vice.
"Softly, softly!" he chuckled, "or this tender flesh will suffer. She who can wantonly betray her people may not be trusted. You shall go before and lead us to the inner gate. When once we are within the citadel you shall receive reward, I promise."
A cry of vexation and abortive spite rose in the geisha's throat, and choked her. What hardened brutal wretches soldiers are! She who expected effusive gratitude for a signal favour was to be treated like a common spy. The biter was bit. The man-an officer of rank, as was evident by the glittering badge upon his casque-took no pains to conceal his lack of consideration for the agent whom he stooped to employ. He looked on her, it was but too evident, as on some reptile-of service for the moment, which was to be used, then crushed under the heel. Careless of her pain, he held her soft arm as tightly in his armoured hand as if he meant to snap the bone.
"Lead on," he threatened, "or-"
There was no help for it. With the sharpest twinge of self-upbraiding that she had ever felt, O'Kikú turned and led the officer under shadow of the wall, under the belt of devilish trees that swayed now, and wheezed and croaked in ghastly merriment, till they reached the inner moat. She could tell by the dull thud behind that the cohorts were silently following. One, tripping over the snoring sentinel, gave him his coup de grâce. The outer space within the range of huts was black with the ranks of the invader. Sampei, going his rounds, and hearing a strange sound, glanced over the parapet, and pressed his two hands upon his heart to still the commotion there.
It was all over then! So much the better-oh, so much the better-since the gods were ruthless. By treachery from within all was lost. The moment he had so yearned for was come at last, when he would be freed from the bondage that was rotting him.
"My love!" he murmured, spreading wide his arms towards the stars, while tears poured down his cheeks. "Wait for me, O'Tei, upon the other bank. Be patient for a few moments more. Stretch forth thy hand to me, my own; surely such love as mine should win its guerdon. In the next life we shall be re-united."
The clouds were rent like a curtain, and the light streamed forth. The whole outer space was covered now by a moving army as of locusts. Sampei could detect on fluttering banners the butterfly of the Lord of Bizen, the badges of Shioshiu, and of Satsuma. The moment had arrived for which his soul had pined, and he was glad. But for his vigilance, mutiny would have broken out long since; and now that treachery had unlocked the gates, resistance would be small. He knew full well that his men would not stand for a moment against panic. There would be a stampede, a massacre, unless the braves were permitted to make terms. Befall what might as to the rest, he and his must not be taken alive, for who might tell what ignominy was prepared for the fallen Hojos? Hastily summoning his captains, he pointed over the parapet, and laid a hand upon his dirk with a motion understood by all.
"Act for yourselves," he said; "and the gods, who have deserted us, be with you, old comrades."
As he rapidly strode away towards the distant corner by the river, where dwelt No-Kami, there were tears in the eyes of the veterans. Was this their final parting from the bravest of the brave? Ought they not to follow, and claim participation in the rites?
"No," a white-haired warrior said. "Let his last wishes be obeyed by us who love him. Be our last task to keep the gate, in order that they may not be interrupted. If we do not fall in the assault, and our lives are given us, it will be time then to follow our chiefs along the road which they have chosen."
With quick and steady foot Sampei ascended the stair, which to him was sanctified by the abiding presence of O'Tei. Pushing back the screen, he entered, and, looking on his brother, there was upon his face a newborn tenderness.
"The moment has come," he announced abruptly. "The foe is within the gate."
A great shout went up into the stillness-a double cry-a scream of fear, a yell of victory. How strangely close the air was-despite the cold, heavy and sulphurous. Now that the banks of inky cloud had completely rolled away, the sky was unnaturally clear, the stars like specks of steel, while low along the bases of the hills was a dense white vapour rising. Sampei clasped his throat and gasped for air, for he was suffocating. Shaking back his locks, which, untied, had drifted about his clammy brow, he took a candle and set fire to the dry woodwork of the room, which crackled and flared, while No-Kami, in a daze, looked on.
"You will be my kaishaku?" demanded the Hojo shortly.
"Not I!" returned his brother, with strange emotion. "Each one for himself now. You take your dirk; I mine. We will have no seconds. Quick! Each moment's golden."
"I am your feudal chief, as well as brother," No-Kami said, with supreme haughtiness, shaking off lethargy like an ill-fitting garment, "and as such I claim obedience. Shall it be said that the last Hojo passed away without befitting rites? Would you dare to refuse the last service to your departing lord?"
There was a tumult in the elder's breast. No, he dared not refuse the last offices which were claimed thus solemnly. The final tribute of respect due from the nearest kinsman to the head of a great house was to act as his kaishaku or executioner. And yet, how hard! O'Tei was waiting on the other bank. No-Kami would be there before him. Not far ahead, though, for Sampei disdained a kaishaku. His brother gone, he would not linger.
"Be it so," he said; and No-Kami nodded gratefully.
The heat of the curling flames was stifling. The air was thick with smoke, – dense with an overpowering and scorching weight, like the fumes belched out by a volcano.
Gently the lord of Tsu took from its rack his dirk, while his brother removed the sleeve from his own right arm and drew his sword, and, left foot forward, narrowly watched his movements. No-Kami, with dreamy deliberation, kneeled, supporting his weight upon his heels, and allowing his upper garment to drop down, tucked the sleeves under his knees, to save himself from falling backwards. Then, balancing the dirk, he looked on it with affectionate wistfulness, and, collecting his thoughts, hearkened musingly to the increasing turmoil. A clash of arms hard by; a hubbub of approaching voices; a volley of wild shouts and guttural curses, ever nearer-nearer.
"Despatch!" cried the elder, with impatience, as he tightened the grip upon his hilt.
No-Kami glanced round at him with a slow, proud smile, in which there was more of human softness than his features had ever worn. Then, stabbing himself below the waist on the left side, he drew the dirk with firm and unswerving hand across, and, twisting it in the wound, gave it a slight turn upwards.