several men of Yamada had accompanied Tyrtaios to the holding. I did not doubt, however, but what his counsel would be forthcoming in private. He was sensitive to, and well aware of, the difficulties attending his speech. Those accustomed to his infirmity scarcely noticed it. If one were within a few feet of him it was not hard to make out his words, once one had become accustomed to the lightness and articulation. The first times I had heard Lord Okimoto, in Shipcamp, Lord Nishida had been of great help, almost acting as an interpreter. Since that time there had been little difficulty in the matter. Tyrtaios, who had served as mercenary liaison to Lord Okimoto, and a guard, on the ship and in the holding, prior to his desertion, similarly, understood him without difficulty. Years ago Lord Okimoto, in serving his shogun, Lord Temmu, his cousin, had sustained a knife wound in his throat. This had impaired, or, perhaps better, changed, his natural speech. He seldom spoke loudly, but I supposed it would be possible for him to do so, if he should wish. In any event, Lord Okimoto, like many of the high Pani, of family and station, seldom raised his voice. This is, I suppose, a matter of seemliness, of decorum. Lower Pani, peasants, fishermen, Ashigaru, and such, seldom share such a reservation, unless speaking to those of a higher station. Amongst the Pani, rank, distance, and hierarchy tend to be strictly observed. One listens with care, of course, to high Pani, as softly spoken as they may be, for an expression, a measured word, a slight difference in an intonation contour, and such, may be quite as meaningful in their case as a shout or scowl might be in the case of another. To be sure, as always, much depends on the individual. I have encountered vulgar aristocrats and aristocratic peasants.
Lord Temmu then, politely, nodded to his left, where, cross-legged, reposed lean Lord Nishida.
If the shogun were to speak at all, in a situation of this sort, he would be likely to speak later, after others had spoken. And, of course, his word, should he wish to utter it, aside from possible formalities, ritual phrases and such, would be, in effect, the last word, the final word. He was shogun.
“We attend the words of noble Tyrtaios,” said Lord Nishida, “words spoken on behalf of his lord, noble Yamada, claimant to the islands.”
Tyrtaios bowed, slightly, warily.
“It is interesting,” said Lord Nishida, “that the great lord would send noble Tyrtaios, who served us well in Brundisium, and in the forests, and who accompanied us on the great ship, and who stood at our side in the holding, as an emissary to our court.”
“It is not without thought, Lord,” said Tyrtaios. “Lord Yamada knows the affection I bear toward my former fellows, and my desire for their well-being. He thought then that I, most of all, and surely more than others, might convey his lenient appeal and gracious offer. I served you diligently, hardily, and well. I withdrew from your service only under the most powerful of moral incentives, my recognition of the righteousness of the cause of Lord Yamada, Shogun of the Islands. Rather than form a party to conspiracy and rebellion I then chose, as an honorable man, at great personal risk, and with profound sorrow at parting from my friends, to abandon your misguided secession from right and truth.”
“The moral integrity and courage of the noble Tyrtaios cannot be but commended,” said Lord Nishida.
How a happy a coincidence, I thought, when the dictates of right and the prescriptions of prudence coincide so nicely.
“But it is our humble suspicion,” said Lord Nishida, “that the noble Tyrtaios may labor unwittingly, certainly through no fault of his own, under certain misapprehensions. Lord Yamada is not Shogun of the Islands though he may pronounce himself such. He may claim the islands; we may claim the yellow moon; the moon is not concerned. Too, Lord Yamada is not our lord. Lord Temmu is our
Lord Temmu then, politely, nodded to his left, where, cross-legged, reposed lean Lord Nishida.
If the shogun were to speak at all, in a situation of this sort, he would be likely to speak later, after others had spoken. And, of course, his word, should he wish to utter it, aside from possible formalities, ritual phrases and such, would be, in effect, the last word, the final word. He was shogun.
“We attend the words of noble Tyrtaios,” said Lord Nishida, “words spoken on behalf of his lord, noble Yamada, claimant to the islands.”
Tyrtaios bowed, slightly, warily.
“It is interesting,” said Lord Nishida, “that the great lord would send noble Tyrtaios, who served us well in Brundisium, and in the forests, and who accompanied us on the great ship, and who stood at our side in the holding, as an emissary to our court.”
“It is not without thought, Lord,” said Tyrtaios. “Lord Yamada knows the affection I bear toward my former fellows, and my desire for their well-being. He thought then that I, most of all, and surely more than others, might convey his lenient appeal and gracious offer. I served you diligently, hardily, and well. I withdrew from your service only under the most powerful of moral incentives, my recognition of the righteousness of the cause of Lord Yamada, Shogun of the Islands. Rather than form a party to conspiracy and rebellion I then chose, as an honorable man, at great personal risk, and with profound sorrow at parting from my friends, to abandon your misguided secession from right and truth.”
“The moral integrity and courage of the noble Tyrtaios cannot be but commended,” said Lord Nishida.
How a happy a coincidence, I thought, when the dictates of right and the prescriptions of prudence coincide so nicely.
“But it is our humble suspicion,” said Lord Nishida, “that the noble Tyrtaios may labor unwittingly, certainly through no fault of his own, under certain misapprehensions. Lord Yamada is not Shogun of the Islands though he may pronounce himself such. He may claim the islands; we may claim the yellow moon; the moon is not concerned. Too, Lord Yamada is not our lord. Lord Temmu is our
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