The Curse of Koshiu: A Chronicle of Old Japan — John Shaqi
The Curse of Koshiu: A Chronicle of Old JapanWingfield, Lewis
History
The Curse of Koshiu: A Chronicle of Old Japan
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Hojo family -- Fiction; Japan -- History -- Kamakura period, 1185-1333 -- Fiction
Nuptial pomp and ceremony over, bride and groom retired to their
castle, where, with the laudable intent of making other magnates
jealous, a series of sham fights and sumptuous jousts were
inaugurated, whose unaccustomed din confused the brain of the
chatelaine. For a space No-Kami appeared in his best light, for he was
subjugated by the beauty of his young wife, and unconsciously a little
afraid of her quiet high-bred demeanour. Bravely she strove to
interest herself in his pursuits; with unflagging patience watched the
retainers wrestling or riding at the ring; compelled herself to bestow
applause on bouts at quarter-staff which wearied her. And yet,
discipline herself as she would, the constant thud of stick on skull,
or blade on helm--the guttural shrieks and execrations--chilled her to
the marrow. There could be no sympathy 'twixt the sensitive and poetic
nature reared in the sacred groves, and these grim and savage
warriors. And, sharp to read faces, if ignorant of letters, they knew
it as well as she, for her virtues were strange riddles beyond their
comprehension. What they could be sure of was that their lady was
regrettably white and slender,--too soft and delicate for a hard world
of struggle, where the weak were deservedly mangled. Sorrowfully they
compared her with the late chatelaine, unhappily deceased, the lioness
Tomoyé, much (as is the usual practice) to the disadvantage of the
living one. There is nothing that such men hold in more withering
contempt than weakness. The chivalry of mediæval Europe was mostly
theory. Discontented, they did their liege lady a pathetic and
grudging service, ashamed of her as unsuited to her station.
One day as she sat listless, wondering at the emptiness of life,
No-Kami strode into her bower to claim admiration for a new and
wondrous sword, fresh from Sanjo's anvil. In his nervous grasp it
whizzed through the air with diabolic whistling sound, as he showed
exultantly how he meant to slash off the head with it of the Daimio of
Bizen, and other abominable rivals.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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