The Usurper

"If Hieyas really feels a particle of respect for me," replied Yoke-Moura, "why does he feign to think me capable of selling myself? You can tell him that were he to give me half Japan, I would not even consider his offer; and that it is my glory to remain loyal to the master whom I have always served, and for whom I would gladly die."

"I was prepared for your answer; and if I accepted the mission offered to me, it was only from a desire to see my old comrade once more."

"You did not fear the just reproaches I might lavish upon you?"

"No; for I did not feel myself guilty. Now a strange remorse torments me at the sight of your calm, brave loyalty. I see that my deeds, dictated by wisdom, are not worth the folly of your blind fidelity."

"Well! it is not too late to repent; stay with us."

"I will do so, friend. If I fail to return, Hieyas will understand that the man who came to buy you with bribes has given you his soul."

The same proposal was made to General Signenari.

"Hieyas offers to gratify my every desire!" exclaimed the youthful General. "Very well; then let him send me his head!"

Next day considerable forces were gathered before Signenari's camp. The young warrior knew that the battle in which he was about to engage must be his last. He went the rounds of the camp, exhorting his men before the fight. Grave, gentle, and handsome as any woman, he passed along the ranks, tolling his attentive men how slight a value should be attached to life; not hiding the fact that the result of the day must be either death or dishonor. He added that a glorious death was enviable, and the life of a coward not worth that of a dog.

He then returned to his tent, and despatched a message to his mother, informing her that he was about to die, and sending her a costly dagger in remembrance of himself. Next he stepped to the mirror; and pouring perfume upon his head, placed on it his helmet of black horn, crowned in front with a copper plate of crescent shape; he tied it under his chin, and cut the loose ends of silk cord. This signified that he would never untie them again; that he vowed himself to death. If his head were taken to the victor, the latter would understand that he had allowed himself to be killed voluntarily.

The battle began, Signenari opening the attack; he rushed eagerly forward at the head of his men. The first of the fight was favorable to them; they broke the enemy's ranks, and slaughtered great numbers of them. Signenari's army, decimated the night before, and reduced to scanty numbers, pierced the enemy's ranks as a ship ploughs through the waves; but they closed behind the little band, who were surrounded and captured, but still undaunted. The soldiers of Hieyas thought they had imprisoned the whirlwind. Desperate men are terrible. The carnage was awful; the wounded went on fighting; the earth, bathed in blood, grew slippery; men stumbled in the mud; it seemed almost as if it had rained. But ten thousand men could not hold out long against one hundred thousand. Still the heroes who encircled the youthful leader were not conquered; they did not flinch; they met death on the ground that had been wrested from them. But their numbers lessened rapidly; soon there was nothing left in the centre of the army but a vast heap of corpses. Signenari, covered with wounds, fought on like a lion; he was alone. The enemy wavered before him, they admired his courage; but some one shot an arrow at him, and he fell.

Hieyas was on the battle-field in a litter. His men brought him the fair young head of Signenari. He saw that the helmet-strings were cut, and inhaled the perfume with which the hair was soaked.

"He preferred death to joining my cause," he said, with a sigh. "This victory saddens me as if it were a defeat."

The same day Fide-Yori, sending for Yoke-Moura, asked him what now remained to be done.

"We must attempt a general sortie to-morrow," he replied. "All the remnants of the various armies assembled in the city make a sum total of about sixty thousand men; to which we must add the garrison of the fortress, the ten thousand men still left of my command, and the ten thousand volunteers that you have collected. We may venture to undertake the struggle."

"Shall you return to the city?" asked the Shogun.

"It will be better, I think, for me to keep my advanced position on the hill. When the army is set in motion I will attack the enemy from another point, so that he may be obliged to divide his forces."

All the officers were called together for consultation. The gravity of the situation silenced the quarrels which usually separated them; all yielded to Yoke-Moura.

"The enemy's forces extend entirely round the city," said the General; "so that at whatever point you make your attack, you will be met by numbers fully equal to your own. The sortie must be effected on the south, so that, if possible, you may drive the enemy into the sea. Lot the leaders cheer their men by word and deed, and we may triumph yet.".

"I will take my place at the head of the army," cried Fide-Yori. "Let the royal insignia, borne before my father in battle, be drawn from their velvet cases, and the gilded gourds mounted on scarlet handles, which have always been the signal for victory whenever they appeared, be brought forward. That reminder of Taiko-Sama will inspire the men; it will recall the former triumphs, the glorious battles won in its shadow. This talisman will protect us, and will fill the perfidious Hieyas with alarm, calling up before him the image of the man whose trust he has betrayed."

The generals returned to their troops, to prepare them for the decisive battle of the morrow. Fide-Yori hastened to his betrothed. "This may be the last day that we shall spend together," he said; "I must not lose a second of it."

"What say you, sire?" asked Omiti. "If you die, I die too; and we shall be reunited – to part no more."

"Never mind," said the King, with a sad smile; "I could wish that our happiness had lasted a little longer upon this earth, – it has been so brief, and my misery so long. And you! so gentle, so devoted, you have suffered ills of every sort for my sake; and for your reward, when I longed to load you with riches, honors, and joy, I can only offer you the spectacle of the horrors of war and the prospect of speedy death."

"You gave me your love," replied Omiti.

"Oh, yes!" cried the King; "and that love, which was my first, would have been my last; it would have filled my whole life. Why can I not carry you far from here, – escape this struggle and this slaughter? What care I for power? It never gave me any pleasure. To live with you in some deep retreat, forgetting men and their guilty ambitions, – that would be true felicity."

"Let us not think of that," said Omiti; "it is an idle dream. To die together is an additional delight, which will not be denied us."

"Alas!" cried the Shogun, "my youth revolts at the thought of death. Since I have found you again, dear heart, I have forgotten the contempt which I was taught for this transitory life; I love it, and I would not quit it."

Under cover of night, Harounaga contrived to regain the heights of Tchaousi, which he had lost. General Yoke-Moura had advised him to make the attempt, whose success would allow him to protect the Shogun's sally.

All was ready for the final effort: the soldiers were full of ardor; their leaders were hopeful. Fide-Yori was encouraged; he believed that they would be victorious. One thing, however, grieved him, and that was the absence at this supreme moment of his most faithful friend, his wisest counsellor, the Prince of Nagato. What had become of him? What had happened to him? No news had been heard of him since he left Osaka so abruptly, three weeks before.

"He is dead, since he is not by my side in the hour of danger," thought the Shogun, sighing heavily.

From the earliest dawn the inhabitants of Osaka thronged the approaches to the fortress; they wanted to see the Shogun come forth from the castle in battle array, in the midst of his richly dressed warriors. While they waited they chatted with the soldiers encamped in the streets, pouring them out bumpers of saki. The aspect of the city was joyful; in spite of all that had occurred, the gay disposition of the citizens gained the upper hand. They were going to see a fine sight; they were happy.

Towards the eighth hour the gates of the second wall of the stronghold were opened wide, and revealed a confused mass of banners floating among the bright rays of the tall spears.

The first division of the Shogun's lancers advanced, wearing cuirasses; on their heads the helmet with visor, hollowed at the neck, and ornamented over the forehead with a sort of copper crescent; lance in hand, a little flag fastened behind the left shoulder. Then came the archers, their brows bound with a strip of white stuff, the ends streaming behind them, their backs bristling with long arrows, holding in their hands the tall lacquer bow. After them marched strange creatures, who looked more like huge insects or fantastic shellfish than like men. Some wore above their grinning black masks a large helmet decked with copper antennæ; others had their heads adorned with monstrous horns curving inward, and their masks bristled with red or white mustaches and eyebrows; or else they had a hood of mail brought over the face and head, leaving nothing visible but their eyes. The plates of their armor, made of black horn, were square, heavy, and oddly arranged; still, beneath the parti-colored silken stitches fastening the sheets of horn together, they produced a fine effect. These warriors, dressed as were their ancestors, were armed with halberds, monstrous bows, and two-handed swords. They filed by in long lines, to the great admiration of the people. At last Fide-Yori appeared upon a horse with braided mane. Before him were borne the gilded gourds, which had never been taken from the castle since the last victories of Taiko-Sama. They were hailed with enthusiastic shouts.

"I intrust them to you," cried Fide-Yori, showing his army the glorious insignia. He said no more; and drawing his sword, rode off at a gallop.

The whole army, moving with heroic impetus, left the city. The people followed them beyond the suburbs.

From the summit of the hill, Yoke-Moura watched Fide-Yori and his troops march out from Osaka and deploy in the plain. He awaited the Shogun's first offensive movement to attack Hieyas' men.

"Certainly," thought the General, "victory is possible. Signenari, who met death so nobly yesterday, did the enemy much injury; I myself repulsed with considerable loss the detachment which attacked my position. We may cut to pieces that division of the army upon which the Shogun pounces. Then the two hostile forces will be almost equal; and with equal numbers we shall surely triumph."

Fide-Yori's army halted on the plain, occupying the ground where Signenari's camp had been pitched the day before.

"What can they be waiting for?" wondered Yoke-Moura; "why do they pause in their forward movement?"

The leaders ran to the flanks of the various battalions. Strange agitation prevailed in the ranks; evidently something new had occurred. They hesitated; they were making plans. All at once the whole army wavered, faced about, and retracing their steps, re-entered the city.

"What does that mean?" cried Yoke-Moura, amazed, and pale with rage. "What sudden madness has seized upon them? It is a mockery! Are they cowards?"

The soldiers of Hieyas then advanced across the plain abandoned by Fide-Yori. At the same moment Yoke-Moura's men gave the alarm. They were attacked on two sides at once.

"It is well," said Yoke-Moura; "all is now lost."

He summoned his young son, Daiske.

"My son," said he, "return to the city; rejoin the Shogun, and say to him that nothing is left for me now but to die a glorious death for him, as I intend to do before evening. Remain with the master while he lives, and die with him."

"Father," said Daiske, casting an imploring look at the General, "I would rather die with you."

"Do as I bid you, my son," said Yoke-Moura, his voice trembling slightly.

A tear rolled down the boy's cheek; but he made no answer, and went. The General watched him for an instant as he descended the hill, sighed, and then plunged abruptly into the thick of the fight.

Without resistance, without exchanging one shaft with the enemy, the Shogun's army had returned to the city in disorder! The people could not believe their own eyes. What had happened? Why should rout precede the battle? This is what really occurred: Harounaga, suddenly abandoning the position which he held on the hill, hastened towards Fide-Yori, accompanied by a man coming from the camp of Hieyas. This man, who was a relative of Hieyas, declared that the majority of the army had gone over to Hieyas, and that when the fight began Fide-Yori would be hemmed in and taken prisoner by his own men. He said that he had surprised this secret, and hastened to warn the Shogun, to prevent his falling into an odious trap.

"Return to the fortress," said he to Fide-Yori. "In the shelter of its ramparts you may defend yourself still, and die nobly; while here you are at the victor's mercy."

After some hesitation the troops returned to the city. This tale of treachery was completely false: it was an act of perfidy planned by Hieyas, who, although he was strong, did not disdain to employ a ruse. But the people refused to accept the plea; the retreat of the soldiers produced a fatal effect.

"They don't know how to behave!" was the cry.

"They are lost; all is ended!" —

"After all, it's no concern of ours."

Half the citizens began to desire the accession of Hieyas.

The Shogun had no sooner returned to his castle, than the hostile army attacked the outskirts of the city. The inhabitants shut themselves up in their houses. A terrible conflict ensued; the ground was defended inch by inch, and yet the enemy advanced. They fought in the narrow streets, on the brink of the canals, upon whose waves, red with blood, dead bodies rocked to and fro; every bridge was carried after a desperate struggle. Little by little, Fide-Yori's troops were driven back towards the fortress.

Inside the castle the confusion was great. No one thought of defending the outer wall; the bastions no longer existed; the moat had not been re-dug to a depth of more than two feet. All withdrew into the second enclosure; but there they were too remote to offer any aid to those who fought. The latter, after three hours of struggle, were repulsed to the walls of the castle; they invaded the first courtyard, and shouted to those within to open the second, otherwise they must be crushed against the walls.

Yodogimi cried to the men to open the gates. All the doors were thrown wide at once, and the soldiers rushed in. But the enemy were at their heels; when they had passed, the doors could not be closed, and the followers of Hieyas came in behind them.

Fide-Yori, with a thousand men, had taken refuge in the third courtyard of the castle, which contained the great goldfish tower, the residence of the Shogun, and a few palaces of the most noble princes. He did not hope to to defend himself, but merely that he and his family might not be captured alive. In a hall of his palace, drawn sword in hand, between his mother and his betrothed, he gazed through the open window, and with bowed head listened to the awful clash of arms behind the second wall. Many of his troops surrendered. The man whose duty it was to guard the gilded gourds of Taiko-Sama, whose name was Tsou-Gawa, burned them outside the palace, before the eyes of Fide-Yori.

"All is over!" murmured the Shogun. "O you who are dearest in all the world to me, you must die for me and with me! I must take your life to save you from falling into the hands of the victors alive."

He looked at his naked blade; then raised his eyes to his mother and sweet Omiti with a bewildered air. "Is there no way to save them?" he cried; "to let them live? What does it matter to the victor, so I but die!"

"Live without you!" said Omiti, in a tone of reproach. Both women were pale, but calm.

"No, it is impossible!" suddenly exclaimed the Shogun. "I cannot see their blood flow; I cannot see them die; let me be the first to expire!"

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE FUNERAL PILE

"No one shall die!" suddenly shouted a voice, as Fide-Yori turned his blade against himself.

The Prince of Nagato appeared on the threshold; Loo stood beside him.

"Oh, my brother!" cried the Shogun, rushing towards him, "I did not hope to see you again."

"I knew that victory was impossible," said Nagato, "and I was busy preparing means for your escape when your final effort should fail. You are the sole offshoot of your race; you are vanquished now; but later your dynasty may flourish."

"Is it really in your power to save us?" said the Shogun.

"Yes, master," said Iwakura. "A boat awaits you on the shores of the Yedogawa; it is manned by Raiden, a brave sailor, whose loyalty I know. He will take you out to sea. There a large junk, belonging to the Prince of Satsuma, lies at anchor ready to receive you. As soon as you embark in her she will set sail for the Island of Kiu-Shiu. The lord of Satsuma, the most powerful prince of your kingdom, the most faithful of your subjects, will open his province and his castle to you; there you may live happily with the wife of your choice until the day of vengeance dawns."

"I recognize your untiring devotion," said the Shogun, his eyes dim with tears. "But how can I leave the castle, – how pass through the frenzied hordes which surround it, – without being massacred?"

"You will leave as I entered," said the Prince, "undisturbed by any one. If you will follow me to my palace," he added, bowing low to the two princesses, "I will show you the road that you must take to quit the fortress."

"Prince," said Yodogimi, "your generosity fills me with confusion; I, who have so often striven to injure you, now see how unjust and blind I was. Tell me that you pardon my past errors, or I cannot submit to be saved by you."

"I have nothing to forgive, Princess," said Nagato; "it is I who am guilty of the boundless misfortune to have displeased you."

"Come, let us begone," said the Shogun, "you can explain yourselves later."

They left the hall; Loo walked before.

In the outer court of the palace the insignia of Taiko-Sama still burned, forming a mass of smouldering coals. As he passed them, Fide-Yori turned away his head. They reached the Prince of Nagato's dwelling, and entered his chamber. The trap-door leading to the subterranean path by which the brave Sado was wont to gain admittance to the palace was open.

"This is the way," said he; "it leads to a fisherman's hut on the banks of the Yedogawa. There Raiden awaits you with the boat. Go; Loo will guide you through this underground road."

"What!" cried Fide-Yori, "will you not go with us?"

"No, master, I remain here; I have work yet to do."

"Are you mad? To linger in this palace, which will soon be entirely overrun! What have you yet to do? You will be unable to escape."

"Do not be anxious about me," said Iwakura, with a strange smile; "I shall escape, I promise you."

"Iwakura!" cried the Shogun, gazing at his friend in alarm, "you mean to die! I understand you; but I will not accept safety at such a price. I am master still, am I not? Very well; I command you to follow me."

"My beloved lord," said Nagato, in a firm voice, "if it be true that I have served you loyally, do not refuse me the first favor that I ask, – do not order me to leave this palace."

"I do not order, friend, I conjure you not to rob me of a companion such as you; I entreat you to fly with us."

"I join my supplications to those of my son," said Yodogimi; "do not send us forth with sorrow in our hearts."

"Illustrious Prince," said Omiti, in her sweet, shy tones, "it is the first time I have ever spoken to you; but I too would venture to entreat you not to persist in your cruel resolution."

Loo fell upon his knees. "Master!" he cried; but he could say no more, and burst into tears.

"I recommend this boy to you," said Nagato.

"Then you are deaf to our prayers?" said the Shogun. "Can nothing that we say move you?"

"If she were lost to you," said the Prince, turning to Omiti, "could you consent to live? Oh, cannot you, to whom I have confided the dread secret of my life, understand how painful my existence is? Do you not see the joy that sparkles in my eyes, now that I approach the end of my sufferings? Had I been unable to serve you, I should long since have ended the torment of life. You are not victorious, as I would wish to see you; but I behold you in some safe retreat, full of flowers, joy, and love. You will be happy, if not powerful; you need me no longer. I am free; I can die."

"Ah, cruel friend!" said Fide-Yori, "I see that your resolve is irrevocable."

"Make haste!" said the Prince; "you have delayed too long. Reach the shore; Raiden will conceal you under the sail in the bottom of the boat; then he will take the oars. Loo will hold the helm."

"No, no!" shrieked the boy, clinging fast to his master's dress, "I cannot go; I will die with you."

"Obedience is a good servant's first duty, Loo," said the Prince, gently. "I command you henceforth to obey the master of us both, and to serve him unto death."

Loo flung himself, sobbing, down the dark stairs of the underground passage. The two women followed him; then the Shogun descended in his turn.

"Farewell! farewell! my friend, my brother! noblest, best, most faithful of my subjects!" he exclaimed, his tears flowing fast.

"Farewell, illustrious friend!" said the Prince; "may your happiness last as long as your life!"

He then closed the trap-door. At last he was alone. Then he returned to the courtyard of the palace; and taking a burning brand from the still smouldering brazier, set fire to all the princely pavilions and to Fide-Yori's palace, going through every room. Then he reached the goldfish tower, and kindled a conflagration on every floor. At the top he flung away his brand, and leaned upon the red lacquer railing of the platform, which was surmounted by a broad roof turned up at the corners and supported by four substantial pillars.

The Prince gazed towards the sea. The little boat was already at the mouth of the Yedogawa. Alone upon the water, it seemed to attract the attention of the victorious soldiers encamped upon the beach; but Raiden the fisher cast his net, and the reassured soldiers allowed the boat to pass. In the offing the Prince of Satsuma's junk formed a tiny dark spot against the purple of the setting sun. The atmosphere was incomparably clear; the sea seemed like a huge turquoise.

The shouts of the soldiers were heard around the castle.

"Fide-Yori has set fire to the palace; he will perish in the flames," they yelled.

Those who were still within the shelter of the third courtyard opened the doors and rushed out; they surrendered. Besides, the battle had ceased; the Usurper was at the gate of the fortress. The spectators knelt as he passed; he was greeted with cheers, and proclaimed the sole and legitimate Shogun. This was on the second day of the sixth moon of the first year of Nengo-Gen-Va.15

From the summit of the tower the Prince of Nagato saw the litter in which Hieyas lay; he heard the triumphant clamor which hailed him.

"Glory and royal power are nothing in comparison with happy love," he murmured, turning back to look at the boat which held his friends.

It was out at sea now, out of reach of the soldiers; the sail was set, and the boat skimmed swiftly over the waves.

"They are safe," said the Prince.

Then he turned his eyes in another direction, towards Kioto and Naikou. He saw the beginning of the road that leads to the sacred city, which he had travelled so often; he saw the coast outlined against the azure sea, and stretching away till it was lost in the distance, towards the province where the ancient temple of Ten-Sio-Dai-Tsin stands. He seemed longing to distinguish, across the distance, the form of her whom he was never to see again.

The sun disappeared; the glare of the conflagration began to overpower the light of day. The palace of the Shogun, at the foot of the tower, was a vast furnace, which, seen from above, appeared like a lake of fire tossed by a tempest. The flames surged and seethed, and reared lofty crests, like waves in a storm. Now and then a cloud of red smoke passed before the Prince's eyes, obscuring the horizon. The entire tower was burning; a fearful roar, mingled with a continual crackling sound, filled its walls. The topmost platform, however, was not yet kindled, but already the floor cracked and shook. A jet of flame leaped up and touched the edge of the roof.