The Usurper

Fatkoura had strength not to cry out. She went back to Tika. She had learned enough. Her pallor was alarming, but she was calm. She pressed the sword against her flesh. It hurt her, but it calmed her.

"Return, I entreat you, mistress," said Tika. "If we should be discovered, our purpose would be suspected, and we should be thrown into prison."

"You are right," said Fatkoura; "but it is absolutely necessary for me to know in what part of the palace Nagato lies. His captor means to kill him; he is condemned to a disgraceful death. If I cannot save him, I can at least give him the means to die nobly."

"I can pass unobserved," said Tika; "I can talk with the servants without arousing suspicion. I will contrive to find out what you want to know."

Fatkoura returned to the palace, and fell upon her cushions, depressed and almost unconscious. Tika was absent a long time. When she came back, her mistress was still in the same place, motionless.

"Well, Tika?" she cried, as soon as she saw the girl.

"I know where he is, mistress; I have seen the pavilion where he lies. I can guide you thither."

"Come!" said Fatkoura, rising to her feet.

"Are you mad?" cried Tika. "It is broad daylight still. We must wait for night."

"True," said Fatkoura; "let us wait."

She sank back. Until evening she remained without moving or speaking, her eyes fixed upon the same spot on the floor. When it was quite dark, she rose and said, "Come!" Tika made no objection, and they set off. They traversed the gardens once more, skirted other houses and courtyards. The girl found her way by looking from time to time at the great tower, upon which a lantern burned.

"You see that small house with two roofs, outlined clear against the sky? It is there."

"The window is lighted," said Fatkoura. "Is he there? Is it indeed possible? Conquered, captive, about to die!"

They went on.

"Are there soldiers there?" asked Fatkoura, in a low voice.

"I do not know," said Tika; "I see no one."

"If I cannot speak to him, I will throw the sword through that open window."

They walked on, and down a slight slope. All at once Fatkoura felt herself clasped by a strong arm, which held her back.

"Another step, and you would have fallen into a deep ditch, which lies just beneath your feet," said a voice. Fatkoura recognized the Prince of Tosa.

"All is over," she muttered.

He still held her; she made desperate efforts to release herself from his grasp, but could not succeed.

"Is it thus you thank me for saving your life?" said he. "Luckily, I was forewarned of the walk you meant to take to-night, and I followed you, to preserve you from danger. Do you suppose that your every word and movement are not faithfully reported to me? Do you suppose that I did not know your mad plan to deliver your lover, or provide him with the means to escape my vengeance?"

"Release me, wretch!" groaned Fatkoura, struggling.

"No," said the Prince; "you shall remain in my embrace. Your touch enchants me. I am determined to love you, whether you will or no. Still, I will make one last attempt to win your affection. Give me your love, and I will let you carry Nagato the sword which you stole from one of my soldiers."

"That offer is quite worthy of you!" said Fatkoura, with disdain.

"You refuse?"

"The Princess of Nagato will never dishonor her name."

"Then you must give up that weapon," said the Prince, himself drawing it from Fatkoura's bosom. "You might escape me by death, which would distress me sorely. Consider my offer; you have until to-morrow to decide. Up to the hour of the execution, at which you will be present, it will be in your power to procure your husband a more easy death."

The Prince then led her back to the palace, where he left her. She was so overwhelmed by terror and despair that it seemed to her she no longer existed. She fell into a troubled sleep; but all the hideous creations of her feverish dreams were less horrible than the reality. When she waked, her first thought stopped the beating of her heart, and bathed her brow in cold perspiration.

The Prince of Tosa sent to know her decision, and for what form of death the Prince of Nagato was to prepare.

"Say to Tosa," haughtily replied the Princess, "that he may cease to insult me by feigning to believe that I could tarnish Nagato's name by committing an act of infamy."

She was then informed that the execution would take place before her windows, just as the sun began to sink towards the west.

"That odious lord thinks, perhaps," said Fatkoura, when she was once more alone with Tika, "that I shall survive the death of him who is dearer to me than my own life. He thinks that the blow which strikes him before my very eyes will not kill me too. He little knows a woman's heart."

Tika, confounded, said nothing. Sitting at the feet of her mistress, her tears flowed silently. People came and went outside the house, the gravel crackling under the many feet. Fatkoura approached the window, and peered through the blind.

Upright posts had been planted around the bare space extending before the palace front. Men, mounted on ladders, beat the ends of these posts with hammers, to drive them into the ground. Then they brought chests of black lacquer with silver corners, and took from them white silk hangings, which were fastened to the posts in such a way as to enclose the square in a wall of silk. Mats were spread on the ground; a pure white one with a red fringe in the centre; upon this mat the condemned man was to sit. A folding-chair was placed beneath Fatkoura's window for the Prince of Tosa, who desired to witness the execution.

The miserable young woman paced her chamber in a fever; she moved away from the window, then returned to it against her will. Her teeth chattered; a sort of terrible impatience took possession of her; she was afraid to wait.

Soldiers entered the square; then came Samurais, the vassals of the Prince of Tosa. The latter gathered in groups, and with one hand on their swords, talked in under-tones, blaming the conduct of their lord.

"To refuse the hara-kiri to one of the noblest among the sovereign princes of Japan! I cannot understand the sentence," said one.

"It is unheard of," said another, "even when it is a question of simple Samurais like us."

"He wants to send the Prince of Nagato's head to Hieyas."

"If the Prince had administered justice to himself, the corpse's head might have been cut off secretly, without dishonor to the memory of the noble victim."

"The lord of Tosa undoubtedly has some reason to hate Nagato."

"Never mind! Hatred does not excuse injustice."

When the hour for the execution arrived, the blinds were rolled up in Fatkoura's apartment.

The distracted young woman fled to the farthest corner of the palace; she hid her head in the folds of a satin curtain, that she might be blind and deaf, and might stifle the sound of her sobs. But all at once she rose, and wiped her eyes.

"Come, Tika!" she exclaimed, "it is not thus that Iwakura's wife should act; I must restrain my grief. Help me to that window!"

When she appeared, leaning upon Tika, deep silence reigned among the spectators, – a silence full of respect and compassion. The Prince of Tosa arrived at the same moment. He raised his eyes to her; but she let fall upon him a look so charged with hate and scorn that his head sank; and seating himself upon the folding-chair, he gave a sign for the prisoner to be brought in. The latter came forward nonchalantly, with a disdainful smile upon his lips. His chains had been removed, and he toyed with his fan. Two executioners walked behind him, bare-legged, dressed in black tunics confined at the waist by a belt, in which was a long sword. He stepped upon the white mat which was to be reddened with his blood a few moments later; then he raised his head. Fatkoura felt a strange thrill. The man who stood before her was not the Prince of Nagato. The gaze of the enamoured girl, which had lingered so often and so long upon the features of the beloved, could not be deceived even by a resemblance which cheated the whole world. She did not hesitate an instant. She did not see the brilliant eye, or the melancholy smile, or the haughty brow of him who filled her heart.

"I knew that he could not be conquered and humiliated," she said to herself, seized by a wild joy, which she with difficulty disguised.

The prisoner's doom was read aloud. He was condemned to have his hands, and then his head, hewn off.

"The infamy with which you would brand me does but dishonor you," exclaimed the prisoner. "My hands have never committed any but noble deeds, and do not deserve to be severed from the arms which guided them. But invent whatever torments you please, torture me as you will, I shall remain a prince, and you sink to the rank of on executioner. I fought with all my strength against the enemies of our legitimate lord; you betrayed him for another, who betrayed him too, and you craftily attacked my kingdom when there was no ground for war between us. You wanted my head to sell it to Hieyas for a good price; the dishonor is yours. What do I care for your ridiculous sentence!"

"Who is this man who speaks so boldly?" thought Fatkoura.

The Samurais approved the prisoner's words; they declared their dissatisfaction to the Prince of Tosa.

"Do not refuse him the death of a noble," they said; "he has done nothing to merit such severity."

Tosa's soul was filled with rage.

"My vengeance is not sufficient," said he, gnashing his teeth; "I wish I could think of something still more dreadful."

"But you can think of nothing," said the prisoner, laughing; "you always lacked imagination. Do you recollect, when you followed me in the merry pranks which I invented? You never could originate anything; but your brain next day would rehearse our inventions of the day before."

"Enough!" shouted Tosa; "I will tear off your flesh with pincers, and pour boiling pitch into your wounds."

"That is only an improvement on the moxas invented by physicians. Try again; that's a trifle."

"I cannot explain that man's heroic conduct," thought Fatkoura; "he knows that he is taken for another, and he carries on an imposture which leads him to a sure and frightful death."

She longed to proclaim the truth, – to say that this man was not the Prince of Nagato; but she thought that no one would believe her. Besides, as he was silent himself, he must have grave reasons for acting as he did.

"I swear to avenge you in the most startling fashion," she cried aloud. "It is the Prince of Nagato's bride who takes the oath; and she will keep it."

"Thanks, divine Princess!" said the prisoner; "you are the only cause I have to regret my life. Tell my master that I died cheerfully for him, seeing a proof of our superiority and our future glory in the scarce-glutted wrath of my jailer."

"You shall speak no more," exclaimed the Prince of Tosa, with a sign to the executioner.

Sado's head was severed at a single blow. A torrent of blood deluged the white mat, and the body fell. Fatkoura could not repress a shriek of horror.

The Samurais turned away their heads with a frown, and silently retired, bowing to the Prince of Tosa. The latter, filled with shame and anger, shut himself up in his palace.

That very night a messenger, bearing a bloody head, wrapped in red silk and contained in a straw sack, left the castle of Tosa.

CHAPTER XIX.

A TOMB

The news of the victory gained at Soumiossi by General Harounaga was swiftly conveyed to Osaka. Yodogimi herself announced it to Fide-Yori with rapturous joy; nor did she disguise the pride which her lover's triumph caused her. But some peasants, coming from Soumiossi, related the details of the battle; and the Prince of Nagato's name was universally substituted for that of Harounaga. Yodogimi forbade the circulation of such a slander under penalty of severe punishment; she lost her temper, and wearied her son with fierce recriminations. Fide-Yori let her rave, loudly praising Harounaga, and quietly thanking his faithful friend for his untiring devotion.

Unluckily other and sad tidings soon effaced the joy caused by this first victory. Hieyas did not execute any of the movements anticipated; he did not attack Osaka on the south. General Signenari was therefore inactive in the Island of Awadsi, and yet no one dared recall him thence; nor did he make any attempt to break through the lines which barred the Island of Nipon. His army, divided into small detachments, came by sea, landed at different points on the coast near Osaka; then, by night, surprised and carried a position.

Attiska, Hieyas' general, soon took possession of a village near the capital. This news spread through Osaka, and terror ran riot. The Shogun's soldiers were massacred. At the moment of attack, their leader, Oussouda, was absent; he was revelling in a suburban tea-house.

General Sanada-Sayemon-Yoke-Moura was anxious to attack the victors at once, and if possible dislodge them from the position they had won. Fide-Yori begged him to do nothing of the sort.

"Your army is not large enough to lay siege to a village," said he; "and if by any mishap you were defeated, the city would be left defenceless. Recall the troops which you sent to Yamashiro, and until their arrival let us be content to defend Osaka."

Yoke-Moura reluctantly obeyed; but he employed skilful spies to watch the enemy's movements. Soon the troops came back from Yamashiro. A conflict was imminent. But now Yoke-Moura refused to quit the city or to give battle.

He no longer left the fortress; he paced to and fro day and night, restless and uneasy, apparently seeking for something. At night especially, accompanied only by his son Daiske, a lad of sixteen, he wandered incessantly along the outer wall.

The sentinels, who saw him pass and repass with his son, carrying a lantern, could not fathom his conduct, and thought that the General had gone mad. Every now and then Yoke-Moura would fall on his knees and press his ear to the ground. Daiske held his breath. Once, the General sprang up Hastily, greatly agitated.

"Is it the blood buzzing in my ears?" he cried; "I thought I heard something. Listen, my son, and see if I was mistaken."

The boy knelt in his turn, and laid his ear to the ground.

"Father," said he, "I distinctly hear distant blows, – muffled, but regular."

The General listened again.

"Yes, yes!" said he; "I hear them very plainly too; they are the strokes of a pick against the earth. It is there! We have them now; we are saved from a terrible danger!"

"What is it, father?" asked Daiske.

"What is it? Hieyas' soldiers are digging an underground passage, which leads from their camp, passes below the city, and the moat, and will open here."

"Is it possible?" cried Daiske.

"Fortunately a spy warned me betimes of the work which they had in hand; but no one knew where the mouth of the tunnel was to be. If I had left the castle, as Fide-Yori wished, we should have been lost."

"It was high time to discover the point they had chosen for invading the fortress," said Daiske, who was still listening; "they are not far off."

"They have one day's labor more," said Yoke-Moura. "Now I know where they are, I will watch them. But follow me, my son; I would confide to you alone the delicate mission which must now be executed."

The General returned to the pavilion which he occupied in the castle grounds. He wrote a long letter to the commander of the troops returned from Yamashiro, whose name was Aroufza, and who was a brother of Harounaga. He gave this officer all the necessary instructions for the next day's battle. When he had done, he called a peasant, who was waiting in the next room.

"This fellow knows the place where the tunnel begins," said Yoke-Moura to his son. "When the moment has come, he will lead the army thither. You will go with him. Try not to be seen by any one. Carry this letter to Aroufza, and tell him that he must carry out my orders exactly, and allow himself to be guided by this man. Be prudent, be adroit, my boy! It is easy to reach Aroufza's camp; but remember that you must get there unseen, that you may not rouse the suspicions of the spies whom Hieyas doubtless has in our midst. As soon as you arrive, send me a messenger."

"I will start at once, under cover of darkness," said Daiske. "In a few hours, father, you shall hear from me."

The young man then set off with the spy.

At daybreak Yoke-Moura proceeded to pay his respects to the Shogun. Fide-Yori received him coldly. He was displeased with the General, not understanding his inaction.

"Yoke-Moura," said he, "my confidence in your great valor and your devotion to my person alone prevent me from ordering you to make an immediate attack. Here are three whole days lost. What are you about? Why delay so long?"

"I could not begin until I had found something which I was seeking," said Yoke-Moura.

"What do you mean?" exclaimed the Shogun, seized by a dreadful fear; and in his turn he wondered if the General's mind was affected. He examined him; but the warrior's face expressed a cheerful tranquillity.

"I have indeed heard," continued Fide-Yori, "that for some time you have been roaming about, day and night, like a lunatic."

"I am resting now," said the General; "I have found what I was looking for."

The Shogun bowed his head. "Decidedly," he thought, "he is mad."

But Yoke-Moura answered his thought. "Wait till to-morrow before you judge me," said he; "and do not be uneasy, master, if you hear a noise to-night." With these words, he withdrew to issue orders to his soldiers. He sent two thousand men out of the city, to, encamp upon a slight eminence in sight of the enemy.

"He is preparing for the attack," said the people of Osaka; and they swarmed over the hills, to the towers of pagodas, and all high places. Fide-Yori himself, with a few courtiers, climbed to the topmost story of the great Goldfish tower, in the centre of the fortress. From there he could see Aroufza's troops in the plain, about eight thousand strong; and farther away, betrayed by the flashing of their weapons and of their armor, the enemy, encamped near a small wood. In the direction of the sea, in the bay, the war squadron was taking in stores; nearer at hand, the city streets, intersected by innumerable canals, like azure ribbons, were filled with an anxious crowd. All labor was suspended; every one was waiting for what was to come. The troops never budged. Fide-Yori grew tired of looking; a secret irritation began to rise within him. He asked for Yoke-Moura.

"The General is nowhere to be found," was the answer. "His men are under arms, ready to start at the first signal; but up to the present moment only two thousand troops have left the fortress."

Finally, towards evening, the enemy made a movement, and advanced towards the city. Instantly the soldiers posted on the hill by Yoke-Moura rushed furiously down. A few shots were fired. The fight began. The enemy were superior in numbers. At the first shock the Shogun's men were driven back.

"Why does not Aroufza move?" said the Shogun. "Is there a traitor in the camp? I really cannot understand the matter."

Hurried footsteps were now heard in the tower, and in a moment Yoke-Moura appeared upon the platform. He held in his arms a great truss of rice-straw. The men who followed him carried brushwood. The General hurriedly thrust aside the courtiers, and even the Shogun, built an enormous pile, and set fire to it. The flame soon rose, clear and bright. Its light illumined the tower, and hid the plain, now dimmed by twilight.

Yoke-Moura, leaning over the balustrade, shielded his eyes with his hands, and strove to pierce the darkness with his gaze. He saw that Aroufza's army moved. "Good!" said he; and he went rapidly down the stairs without answering the many questions with which he was plied. He took up his post at some distance from the point where the tunnel was to open. It was finished; for the strokes of the pick had ceased at noon. Only a thin layer of earth was left, which might be pierced at the last moment.

At nightfall the General had listened, and had heard the tread of feet. The enemy had entered the subterranean passage. It was then that he kindled the flame upon the tower. At that signal Aroufza was to attack the enemy at the other end of the tunnel. It was now entirely dark. Yoke-Moura and his men waited in the most profound silence. At last slight blows were heard. They were cautiously dealt, to make as little noise as possible. The General and his men, motionless in the shadow, listened eagerly. They heard clods of earth drop, and then the heavy breathing of the laborers. Soon a man put his head and shoulders through the opening, standing out in relief in shadow more intense than the darkness itself. He stepped forth, and another followed. No one stirred. They advanced carefully, looking in every direction, until about fifty had appeared; then all at once, with ferocious cries, the watchers rushed upon them. They tried to fall back upon the tunnel.

"We are betrayed!" they shouted to their comrades. "Do not come out! Fly!"

"Yes, traitors, your plots are discovered," said Yoke-Moura; "and you have dug your own tomb."

All those who had issued from the tunnel were slaughtered. The shrieks of the dying filled the palace. People ran up with lights. Fide-Yori came himself, between two lines of servants bearing torches.

"This is what I was looking for, master," said the General, showing him the yawning hole. "Do you think now that I was right not to leave the fortress?"

The Shogun was dumb with surprise at the sight of the danger he had run.

"Not another man shall leave that tunnel alive!" cried the General.

"But they will escape at the other end," said Fide-Yori.

"You were surprised just now at Aroufza's inaction on the plain. He was waiting for the best part of the hostile army to enter this passage, that he might close the door on them."

"Then they are lost!" said the Shogun. "Forgive me, bravest of my warriors, for having doubted you one moment. But why did you not tell me what was going on?"

"Master," said the General, "there are spies everywhere: they are in the fortress, in your palace, in my chamber. One word overheard, and they were warned. At the least alarm, the bird I hoped to catch would have flown."

The enemy had now ceased coming from the tunnel.

"They fancy they can escape," said Yoke-Moura; "they will return when they find that their retreat is cut off."

Soon, in fact, cries of distress were heard. They were so heartrending that Fide-Yori shuddered.

"Unhappy wretches!" he muttered.

Their situation was horrible indeed; in that narrow passage, where two men could barely move abreast, where it was hard to breathe, those desperate soldiers, mad with fear, pushed and crushed each other in the darkness, frantic fur light at any cost, even were it the light of night, which would have seemed brilliant to them in comparison with that ill-omened gloom.

A terrible shove forced several men out of the tunnel, only to fall upon the swords of the enemy.

Amid their shrieks were heard confused cries: —

"Mercy! we surrender."

"Open! let us out."

"No," said Yoke-Moura; "no pity for such traitors as you. I repeat, you have dug your own tomb."

The General ordered stones and earth to be brought, to fill up the opening.

"Desist, I entreat you!" said Fide-Yori, pale with emotion; "those cries tear my heart. They only ask to surrender. Take them prisoners; that will suffice."

"You need not entreat me, master," said Yoke-Moura; "your wishes are my commands. Hollo there!" he added, "stop your noise; you are pardoned; you may come out."

The howls were redoubled. It was impossible to get out. The frightful crowding had suffocated many of the men, whose corpses blocked the mouth of the passage; they formed a solid rampart, increased with every instant, and impassable. All must perish; their struggles shook the ground; they trod one another down, bit one another; their swords pierced each the other's side; their armor was broken with their bones; they died amidst the blackest darkness, stifled in a sepulchre too narrow for their bodies. All attempts to clear away the mouth of the tunnel were vain.