“No, Woroto,--it was your own soul you saw shining in her eyes,” he replied.
He shook his head gently. “Who may penetrate the mysteries of the future? You may have loved her in some previous incarnation. As for me, I have given my life to the Son of Heaven, the holy Mikado.”
For an hour or more we loitered about within view of the great gate of Zozoji, waiting for the cortege of the Shogun’s daughter to march out on its return trip to the citadel. That the Princess would come back through the main entrance was evident from the fact that the _norimons_ of her ladies-in-waiting were stationed in the road at one side of the grand carved portal. Yoritomo stood beneath a camellia tree, seemingly lost in meditation, but I paced to and fro through the passing crowds, unable to restrain my impatience.
At last between the meshes of my hat brim I caught sight of the _samurai_ escort of the Princess issuing from the gateway. In their lead was the quick-tempered _hatamoto_ Yuki who had struck at me from the ferryboat at the passage of the Rokugu River. The bearers of the _norimons_ moved around, and as soon as the ladies-in-waiting had taken their seats, the cortege formed in line, with one of the _norimons_ before and the other behind the gold-lacquered palanquin of the Princess. We drew back behind a hedge of blooming privet.
Soon the cortege marched past us, at a slow and stately pace, though the absence of standards indicated to the public that the noble person escorted was travelling incognito and dispensed with the usual kneeling of the common folk along the road. I examined with intense interest the sturdy _norimon_ bearers and the score of proud _hatamotos_, or shogunate _samurais_, who made up Yuki’s company.
These gentlemen-soldiers seemed to me to be picked men, but they wore no armor and carried no other weapons than the customary sword and dirk. Though their petticoat-trousers were neatly tucked up above the knees in the tops of long silk stockings, freeing their legs for quick action, their arms and forebodies were encumbered with the peculiar gauze-winged ceremonial jackets and the long sleeves of their _haoris_.
“That guard looks more like dress parade than action,” I commented.