The horrors of war crowded in and around: also its exigencies. Self-preservation enforced some kind of participation: the same elemental voice bade her keep hands off. A fight to the death, perhaps the victor stamping his imprint indelibly and unalterably, awaited her: Yodogima sniffed the enamour of contest, of powers gained and a will unhampered, and the gods could not have swerved her in the test a Taira, of ages gone, had fought for the pleasure.

“I will rule, and men shall bow to a force subtler, fiercer, and mightier than any man has got,” shouted she, at her shadow, in the open, at Ozaka, and the echo, from the hills at Sawayama, as well of Yedo, burst back upon her their hitherto unchallenged answer.

“It is false,” cried she, this time, and the reply then pleased her; it sounded more like the voice of a man.

But she must not thus hurl defiance in his ears; had she not been taught for centuries that woman’s strength lay in meekness, arose from humbleness, grew with submission, abided the household, and sweltered with servility?

“Ha, ha—fie on them!” laughed she now, ashamed of her own foolish recollections, so feeble-minded and asinine withal. “I’ll invoke his tactics, but with a turn he little comprehends.”

Both of these men, Ishida and Ieyasu, must be got rid of. How to do it, were a problem. Ishida, it seemed imperative, should be attended first; his force had grown the stronger, and with Ieyasu out of the way he himself would stand little in awe of her alone, concerned not at all, as he was, about scruples or the bushido. Still more, if needs use it Yodogima reckoned her hold upon the heart of Ieyasu, whereas Ishida in authority had been a colder, altogether listless lover.

The clash of arms already sounded from distant Aidzu, where Uyesuga, Ishida’s main ally, had purposely inaugurated a ruse to entice the enemy as far from the capital as possible. Ieyasu fell into the trap; went there pell mell, deploying but a small contingent to guard the gates at Fushima: took with him those captains of the old guard who had fairly joined themselves to him, leaving their wives and families behind, outside the ramparts at Ozaka. Ishida struck first at Fushima: it fell, and the next move encompassed the capture and imprisonment of these same wives and families left at Ozaka, believing that their ransom would insure to him the disaffection and rejoinder of some of Ieyasu’s leading generals and supporters. Esyo, however, had gone; but Yodogima, for good reasons, best known to herself, remained as silent as the tomb of Hideyoshi had become.

Grace of Tango, the wife of Hosokawa, now one of Ieyasu’s foremost leaders, served at once as a first and most likely victim. She, good Christian that she was, scorned the distinction, and extending her neck—as became a dutiful, loyal, loving wife—for the stroke of a servant (prearranged by the thoughtful husband, upon taking his leave), paid the penalty as became her station, regardless of feeling or profession. Made it possible for Ishida thus to blunder, and Yodogima to endear the whole Christian fraternity, of whatsoever camp or degree, by sympathizing with them in the loss of one so good and true at heart, if not of conviction. Nor did she stop at that alone, but secretly dispatching her own sister, Jokoin, the sooner to inform the hitherto somewhat wavering captains as she herself had better designed, incidentally informing them that no further bloodshed should take place in the vicinity of Ozaka, upon the whole induced them, one and all alike, to swear fresher, if more susceptible, allegiance to Ieyasu—for the sole purpose, if none other, of avenging the one death that had resulted so pathetically, yet none the less opportunely.

Two definite accomplishments Yodogima had wrought into the indiscretions of a foe—her seemingly most dangerous one, Ishida; she had weakened his position by uniting the men he had coveted the more certainly to Ieyasu, and gained the everlasting good will of all the Christians whatever the colors they bore.

Ishida now concentrated upon Sekigahara, anticipating the hot-headed return of Ieyasu and the sorely tried captains now in his advance. Mori remained behind at Ozaka, ostensibly to watch the remainder of those wives and families, finally fenced in and abandoned to a gentler fate than at first contemplated. Neither would he withdraw from the castle, save as directed or encouraged by Yodogima; her company had become, strangely to him, no less delectable than the inkling of her plans (that she let slip, occasionally) seemed inviting, or threateningly wholesome. Hideki had followed, sulkily, to the contemplated battlefield, though his conduct at Fushima might have signified, to one more observant or less pressed than Ishida, that Esyo or someone as anxious had called, not without success, and gone her way, elsewhere to reap the advantage.

Hideki, nevertheless, was assigned to an important post on the right. Shimadzu half-heartedly manned the left, Mori’s brother—knowingly, of course—maintained the advance (well off, at one side, however, and in such position easily to “slide” in any direction), while Konishi, master strategist and faithful adherent, bore the brunt, in the center, where Ieyasu must fight to pass.

And they came on, the veteran Ieyasu in the lead, a hundred thousand of them, with Hideyasu, his main reliance and intended successor, in the rear, commanding a reserve, something like half as strong.

But these failed to arrive, this flower in repose and the favorite of his father; Esyo had discreetly inveigled him into an encounter at one side, with Sanada, the fiery youth whom she had unknowingly and as witlessly inveigled into the taking of sides against her own father-in-law.

The battle thus began and raged, at Sekigahara, without the aid or prospect of Hideyasu. Ieyasu, angered at the failure of his trusted progeny, charged in person, took every risk of defeat, and Yodogima, threatened with the consequence, invoking a last resource, sent forthwith for Mori, saying:

“Advise your brother to hasten here; I can better serve him with Ieyasu than with Ishida.”

No further encouragement need she use, for these were not fighting men; Hideyoshi had previously taught them the greater potency of diplomacy. But Hideki!

“Jokoin?” commanded Yodogima.

“I am here, sister.”

“Can you reach Ieyasu?”

“Certainly,” replied she, as confident as in the days of Kamakiyama.

“Then tell Ieyasu to fire upon Hideki. He will inquire the reason, but you are to reply that Yodogima commands it.”

Jokoin did as bid, and Ieyasu pondered why; Esyo had advised him of a different understanding, but somehow he could not resist the lure of Yodogima. Time were precious, just now, too much so to waste it parleying with self, so the order was given: Hideki, stunned and driven, rallied his men and wheeling joined his would-be confederate, Ieyasu, and the battle was won.

None but Yodogima knew how it had been done or the disaffection brought about, but there was one who down in his heart bled at the failure of a son and would hearken only the savior of Sekigahara. Ishida routed and butchered, Ieyasu turned as hastily toward Ozaka.