In the meantime Ieyasu had concluded it wise to listen to the proposals of Nobukatsu, his nearest neighbor at the west and the eldest living son of Nobunaga: pretender to the father’s estates and brother to Nobutaka, a recently defeated ally of Shibata.

This young man’s prospects had been effectively shattered, in consequence of the fall of the latter and the removal of Ishida, his supporter, to Mino; still he searched everywhere in the hope of finding some daimyo minded and able to espouse his cause against the now only too patently determined usurper, Hideyoshi. Ieyasu based small reliance upon any strength or power to be gained by as doubtful an arrangement, but wanted more some plausible excuse for the making of so unequal a stand; as had been prematurely forced.

Nobukatsu was generally looked upon as the rightful successor to his father’s rank and place, hence any friendship shown to him should in one way or another develop some greater claim to popularity. It had also come to be considered by neighboring daimyos as little less than heroic even to dare attempt any sort of armed defense against the up-to-that-time invincible Hideyoshi. All these reasons were wholly patent to Ieyasu—young, able, and perhaps ambitious. True he had not given any especial thought to the future, save only the immediate relations growing out of an endowed situation, and—Yodogima. Love, with all its soothingly absorbent benefactions, remained uppermost in his mind: was the goad that directly spurred him to undreamed energies and unlikely undertakings, would risk his life and fortune for the pleasures of a single, transcendent joy.

Yet underneath this younger development there may have lurked the ecstacy of a sub-conscious determination to loom large in the more sordid events then subtlely approaching. Ieyasu bore the blood of the Minamoto; those giants of old, whose daring alone had curbed and clipped the Taira: with such a prestige, and so potent a cross, the temporarily humbled prince of Mikawa, Ieyasu, may have inwardly harbored, without any apparent conviction or consciousness, the possibilities of a posterity acknowledging none other for father than Ieyasu and for mother Yodogima.

And along with forced opportunity came the determination. Nobukatsu once in his power would also serve a ready means of compromise, in case of necessity. The two armies were therefore consolidated, and Ieyasu commanding assumed adroitly the defensive.

Never for a moment underestimating Ieyasu’s strength of purpose and force of character, Hideyoshi made no less careful preparations, nor lost any time in hurling his combined strength against him. Hidenaga, his half-brother, forthwith recalled from Tamba, was placed at the head, outranking both Kuroda, the Shintoist, and Takiyama, the Christian, respectively at the head of the two main divisions of the army and between whom vital differences had arisen; one of the reasons ostensibly for the introduction of a new leader and centralized authority—not, in fact, because Hideyoshi himself at all times and in every instance assumed absolute control and personal direction: also anticipating as punctiliously the possibilities of defeat, he would have someone upon whose shoulders to shift the blame and the odium, hence the second reason, for calling in Hidenaga, at this particular time.

“Do not, under any circumstances, allow some temporary success to induce you to follow up the enemy,” enjoined Hideyoshi, against his departing generals, as they marched off to war Ieyasu into submission, or death—perhaps, in truth, if possible, the latter.

For the first time in his life, Hideyoshi remained behind. No doubt he, too, had, in his way, conceived the idea of a direct line, based also upon the progeny of none other than Yodogima—and himself. To do this he should not only crush Ieyasu in the East, but must insure Yodogima against the dangers of intrigue at home.

He could trust Oyea; she had never failed him when treated fairly, and he believed her by this time fully cognizant of the motive and utterly disdainful of the effect that any such laudable undertaking might wreak upon their sole relations; amicably settled, hence reasonably sure of lasting countenance.

It was Esyo more than any other who caused him uneasiness. True he had read the correspondence and listened to her declarations without so much as a doubt about the consequences or a suggestion that could in any manner enlighten her, but what effect would these, to him seemingly childish hazards have upon Yodogima, a sister; and how would she demean herself in the face of overburdening contingencies, looming in all directions?

Without doubting in the least Hidenaga’s ability or faithfulness, he would have personally gone to the front, immediately and without reserve: yet not alone Yodogima’s safety held him back; he must know more of the natural workings of her heart, assure himself first that some hope of reciprocal regard might bless his innermost desire, for Hideyoshi would not risk the breaking of an unalterable law: would rather attune expediency to the demands of necessity, so threw himself headlong into the merciless throes of a self-willed, if far fetched, coquetry.

“I am interested to know more of your good self, and of your delights and aspirations, Yodogima,” avowed Hideyoshi, frankly, and almost pathetically, as the two met, accidentally—it may have been intentionally—while strolling in the gardens, outside the castle buildings, and overlooking the broad, transparent waters of lake Biwa, in the distance.

Yodogima’s heart fairly stopped, then beat ragingly, though her face and manner indicated no perceptible change or concern. She only looked the farther over an unbroken surface, save now and then a ripple that yellowed and ruffled in the mellowed sun’s rays of a cloudlessly departing mid-summer day.

“You, too, seem bewitched of a prospect that always gladdens, never denies me. Let us go there, you and I, where we may have the world to ourselves, leaving the castle, with its bickerings and battles and their equations, away and behind.”

Nearly crying out, the now fast discerning princess, almost overcome with eagerness, held fast hold upon the face-chords; yet no longer vainly shying, permitted a somewhat closer approach than before—if none the less dignified or becoming, at that.

For the first time, though slight the occasion, Hideyoshi’s heart bounded with relief. The exactions of war or the involutions of deceit no longer commanded first attention; the faintest relaxation of a hard-held and safely-guarded privilege had transfixed his whole energy, wrought a new being; though the destiny of a nation and the trend of government, henceforth and always, might evolve therefrom.

“You shall not condescend to answer by word, however pleasing that might be; goddesses have only to will it thus or that, and mere man must break his neck to do it so. Shall we go?”

“Toward Hiyeisan?” queried Yodogima, innocently, yet significantly.

“No; in the opposite direction; across the lake. I know a temple there, close down at the water’s edge, better rid of a kind and more select about its visitations, where we can drink deeply and no mortal shall question. Hence, Yodogima?”

“On one condition—but will not to-morrow do; I cannot make answer so soon?” promised she, thoughtful to gain as much time as possible; having measured accurately the probabilities of Hidenaga’s advance.

“Granted, my lady: what is it?”

“The condition is that my sister Esyo accompany us—Jokoin nor Oyea would be either serviceable or agreeable, as I believe, considering the purpose that you have in mind and the rebellion that pours from my heart. In as much, I have to ask you and you to grant only this: that you heed nor hold me any other or for more.”

“What? Have you not heard of the hostilities?”

“Yes; my sister told me about it.”

“Esyo?”

“Yes.”

“And—you have confidence in her?”

The answer already on her lips, did not escape him, though Yodogima hesitated; she had read him in time to save herself—surmised that he knew more than she would express or deny—and cogitating a happier conclusion endeavored to leave him standing as near the brink of certainty as it had been his pleasure to assume.

“You would have me disown a sister?”

“I would know you better.”

“Then judge me with less compassion and more of wit; I take the responsibility—”

“Not of war?”

“No; but of its cause and consequence.”

“I admire you all the more for that, though you leave me without a peg to stand on. Nor shall I surrender one whit the ground I’ve gained, no less an opinion formed. Take the whole family along, if you like: their gadding, a virtue stands you none the less in hand; to-morrow Hideyoshi shall know—”

“How it is to be tricked.”

“Ha, ha—you think me easily done.”

They sat upon the beach, in the afternoon of the following day, Hideyoshi listening with rising anticipation and Yodogima straining every wit she had, prolonging and intensifying the illusion. She did not know that Esyo had deliberately, if falsely, precipitated the conflict, nor was she aware of Hideyoshi’s perusal of her own correspondence with Ieyasu—all of it, excepting only the last letter, in which she had advised him to make peace at any price, save honor. Yet she was conscious that a conflict raged, was perhaps at that moment fighting to the death, between two unequal forces, in which no quarter should be asked or given, and that her own lover was desperately pitted in that struggle against the very man who held her captive, grovelled at her feet a weakling and a beggar.

“Why should I not surrender, if needs be, this frail body of mine to save him?” again and again rose in her mind, as often to be discarded and smothered as a thing utterly impossible.

“No; I’ll yet win for him by subtler means an equal chance; and when I’ve done that—a woman cannot do less: should do no more.”

A heron stalked by, disdaining a small crab that backed and snapped among the slime-washed rocks: Hideyoshi strained his eyes, meditating momentarily the legend of a bygone day.

“A Heike?” queried he, half aloud, rising to examine more closely the supposed Taira symbol.

Yodogima’s throat filled, and failed of utterance.

“It’s only a common sort,” observed he, returning with the obstreperous little thing clinging tightly to the stick’s end.

Reseating himself, the conversation for once began somewhat to lag. It was too soon yet to boat round shady points or tempt strange communications from the deep, so the two remained in the shade. Esyo studied with unconcern the deeper mysteries of early dragon-fly catching and the strange cupidity with which the stupid long-bodied creatures permitted themselves to be ensnared and haled to bay. Only Oyea clung to the old temple, near by, farther up the long, sloping incline; two lions carved in stone stood sentinel there, and these she contemplated in prayer to the good god who as earnestly watched over them. Yodogima leaned forward, and for the first time induced Hideyoshi to return her look without avoidance, asking him:

“Do you believe in these tales of old?” conscious more of the temple than of crabs.

“Perhaps—only, I might say, as occasion serves or convenience requires.”

“Did anybody ever deem them differently?”

Hideyoshi had neither the opportunity nor any inclination to answer; a courier dashed up, breathless and expectant, presenting him with a message from the front.

“Ha, ha—the fight is on,” chuckled he, clapping his hands and dancing about hilariously.

The intelligence roused added interest, as it only could, but Yodogima continued in the full command of her presence. She would have gladly surrendered her life for a moment’s encouragement to the man she loved, yet as circumstanced would not lose her hold upon him whom she loathed.

Hideyoshi approached closer: silence alone repulsed him, the wisdom she displayed made ready the pyre, and the dignity of her conduct set the torch that lighted within a conflagration that conserved no bounds. Only such as she could appease the appetite of a true god. He must have her, let the heavens fall.

“Tell them,” commanded he, “that Hideyoshi fights more fiercely, confronts a larger host, holds a vitaler purpose, augurs—is just now engaged at the battle of self. Go hence.”

The sun had set, and their little party, four in all, sat round a repast; spread and served with hands unsoiled, neither knowing an art nor upholding a truth other than as willed them.

Oyea looked her sole lord in the face; she saw no trace of chagrin or sorrow there; all her life had been devoted to the smoothing of his pillow, the making of a god, and to the serving of some purpose—just what, she had never stopped to consider. Yodogima sat near at hand, supremely reserved, withal grandly inviting. Hideyoshi, the husband, too, was there; and should Oyea be forgiven, perhaps, in that she conceived him a little more godly for the taste and the judgment of that selection? No other God condescended to answer. She believed him more than incarnate—

Another courier arrived, more anxious than the first.

Hideyoshi grinned, this time; saying, calmly, without any exultation:

“The enemy wavers, and is—”

Neither had this sentence been finished, when—Yodogima said not a word nor did she show any change of color, yet the blood seemed freezing in her veins—Hideyoshi threw down the message, exclaiming:

“Tell them they know not what they say; an enemy is never ‘defeated’ till captured, decapitated, and discredited. Go.”

Evening wore away, and none remained to render the night’s artfuller subtleties but Yodogomi and her now slaving protegÉ; servants and others less welcome, or more discerning, had found it convenient or expedient to busy themselves in more directions than one.

Esyo, paling at the significance of that last message, no longer bandied discretion or consulted verity in the making up of her mind just what she should or would do. Ieyasu had been deceived and a sister betrayed—what mattered; she would set things right, at the cost of double-dealing—another?

Still a third courier bounded into the open room in which they sat or lounged at will.

Hideyoshi grew apprehensive as he read; and gripping the message, snarled:

“Ieyasu retreats—”

Without concluding also this sentence or changing his attitude, the puzzled daimyo, still blindly unconscious of his own predicament, but bitterly alive to the probability of Hidenaga’s speedy annihilation, turned to Yodogima, shamefully betraying, as he had never done before, the inner hopelessness of a hotly contested, fiercely grinding will determination. Her head reeled—it seemed as if all were lost—but the body responded, revealing no trace of the terrible battle she fought: on higher grounds than he had conceived or Ieyasu felt—in consequence of dreaming, no less endangered by waiting. Forced and beaten, Hideyoshi could bear the suspense no longer.

“Is it possible—are you—in fact—a stoic? You appear to be unmoved—unresolved—yet—Ieyasu by retreating has won—has proven himself—to be—a greater man than—no, no; I understand; know how it is to be tricked’! Yodogima, I have no fine speech to make or promises to render; to you, Ieyasu owes it that he lives: an humbler admirer, only that he can better respect.—Stay, you, courier; Hideyoshi goes.”