Nehachibana in a measure made good her threat, and as Tetsutaisho’s mother was devoted more to her own interests than to doubtful infants, and had always regarded Kinsan with suspicion, she, too, took particular pains to keep well out of the way. Tetsutaisho soon came to spending much of his time at army headquarters, at Ikamon’s, or at the council chamber. Takara’s sorrow for the loss of her child, which she had not been permitted to see since it was taken away from her, though in some degree mitigated—satisfactorily to everybody except Nehachibana—by Tetsutaisho’s devotion, during the little time he now spent at home, occupied her attention.

Thus affairs at home adjusted themselves, while at state the lordly general busied himself principally with getting Ikamon to scheme the banishment and deportation of the pious, harmless old poet and faithful servant, Michizane. The prime minister was finally induced to urge so severe a measure, more through his efforts to hush up every possible chance for a clash between the two rival factions over Takara’s strange and painful situation, than as a personal favour to his friend. The venerable sage had been her only confidant, as well as a possible adviser to the enemy; therefore Tetsutaisho not only desired to get rid of him, but Ikamon deemed it expedient to do so.

Nor had they long to wait the opportunity, for there was at that time some question as to whether in case of death there was a lawful successor to the shogun. While the matter was as yet of no real importance either to the shogunate or the party, it was seized upon and agitated by Ikamon for a double purpose. Had there been any real prospects of Iyesada’s losing hold on life there might have been occasion for the great ado which was being made about it; for the shogun to die without a lawful successor was considered the greatest misfortune that could befall the nation. The proper degree of interest having been aroused, and the shogun himself having taken on the desired state of susceptibility, it was urged upon his highness to call in the customary wise man without delay; and as Michizane had already become known for his premonitions, Ikamon had only to mention the poet’s name to induce his selection.

Michizane was sitting at his accustomed place musing the hours away when a messenger, escorted by two courtiers with large letters emblazoned upon their uniforms, approached and with much ceremony handed him a parchment roll. It was the shogun’s command, so Michizane trembled as he broke the seal and read from the long document, which unrolled from his hand. It was a great honour conferred, even more than he had dared ever to dream, and charity should pardon the rise of feeling which he then experienced.

A chair stood outside awaiting his pleasure, and also a regular cavalcade of guards, runners, carriers, and attendants was there, in silk and gold, ready to pay him attention. At first he said not a word; then glancing around and bowing low, signalled his “honourable informant” to await his “miserable preparation.”

After advising his mistress, and receiving her blessing—amid somewhat of misgivings—he marched down the line and took his place in the swaying palanquin. Without delay he was carried directly to the hall of state, where Ikamon met him and, escorting him to a private chamber held and coached him until the hour of his presentation had arrived. And while there, the very first thing impressed upon his mind was his indebtedness to Ikamon and to no other for the honour of his appointment. He needed no coaching as to the gravity of the situation; that was a thing to be understood.

“You are to tell the shogun, the supreme administrator of the divine mikado, the confidant of Ikamon, and the lover of his loyal subjects, that there is extreme danger of a failure of succession should his august highness refuse longer to sojourn without the pale of his reverend predecessors, and that it now becomes your painful duty to predict the immediate adoption of one Iyemochi, a member of the legion, and supporter of the cause.”

This is what Ikamon told the innocent Michizane to say, yet he knew it would so enrage the shogun that he would cause the seer forthwith to be consigned to harakiri or banishment for life. Ikamon had also anticipated its other effect upon the doubtful Iyesada, causing him to brood over the succession and finally to carry out the predicted measure in the hope of warding off an evil hand. The banishment of the poet would be a welcome thing because it was pleasing to his friend and war god, Tetsutaisho. The adoption of Iyemochi, a willing tool, would insure Ikamon’s complete domination of the shogunate upon Iyesada’s death, which he thought might be hastened if not occasioned.

Thus Ikamon planned and the proud, puffed-up scholar obeyed; and before the day had passed Michizane found his vanity gratified and himself condemned to banishment for the rest of his life. When night came he was lashed down with cords, and without a parting word carried far away, never to return.

The oracle had spoken and the bigoted, suspicious Iyesada had believed it the voice of Ema-O, and knowing of no safer commitment chose the Isle of Banishment. Nor did this alone satisfy his overwrought conscience, but immediately the thing was done he called Ikamon and upon his advice adopted forthwith the child successor, and proclaimed a universal rejoicing.

The new heir was hailed with acclamation, Ikamon praised for his cleverness, and Tetsutaisho applauded by his admiring friends; though new troubles dawned on every side. Takara’s eyes opened to her true situation, and her faithful adherents rallied to plan her deliverance. Tetsutaisho observed her growing indifference, but crediting it with no deeper meaning than personal apathy sought in his old way to revive the spark which so soon seemed all but dead. It was of no use, for Takara saw farther than he knew.