"You have no need to make oath, Hideyoshi," promised Yodogima, in answer to his further protestations; "my interests and your purpose within themselves make us but one. Command me." "Let some fitting entertainment be had; I have now an heir, peace is at home, and China, I am told, sends an envoy to crown me emperor; what greater joy could be?" To this proposal Yodogima made no protest, in fact encouraged its doing, yet knew full well the purport and surmised an eagerness on the part of every daimyo--invited or not--to seize any opportunity to test underhandedly his influence or lay discreetly some self-bettered plan. The taiko had whipped them into subjection and she herself borne him a recognized successor, but would the nation accept an authority incapable of enforcing itself? Could individual powers be transmitted in the absence of personal prowess? In fact, were they a nation as yet? If not, then what, required? These were some of the questions vitally confronting Yodogima at the very outset of her enlarged career, and she had answered each satisfactorily to herself: the husband's declining whimsicalities, presumably more tolerable than impressive to others--in view of their several intentions and universal unpreparedness--should be made to promote not only a devoted life's well earned vacation, but to attend as well the immediate requirements of those upon whose shoulders an unfinished work had certainly, if not rightfully, fallen. The taiko's frivolities, therefore, had been, likely, not only permitted but undertaken, and the completion of the Fushima castle was made the occasion: no captain would refuse, nor could any daimyo have been kept away except by force; the first longed to do the master any honor, and the others to avail themselves of what they designed making an occasion for the feathering of their own nests, no matter when or where the chance. Yodogima had not been thought of, only as a mother, by any, excepting possibly two--one a daimyo, the other a bakufu--had not been contemplated as inevitably standing over like the sun emerging behind a receding storm. "You must attend, as I direct," urged Ieyasu, to Esyo, who persisted in declining an invitation. "I shall not," replied she, deigning to proffer no excuse whatsoever. "Well," replied he, thoughtfully; "this is a dilemma; I cannot make you go consistently, but I shall resolve at least a plausible stay at home--you can have Hidetada, my son; perhaps a growing husband would suit you better than a declining suitor. Take him and welcome." "Oh, I am not so particular; an infant might perchance serve me as well as an older man served my sister. Then, on the other hand, there is nothing like agreeableness; Esyo is an obedient body, whatever else you or others may contemplate. Let's have done with it."