When the Lady Aya was some sixteen years old her father the _daimyo_ came home victorious from a foray, and she went with her maidens to meet him in the gate. She was dressed in her bravest, and as became her rank.
“My lord and father,” she said, “sweet is your honourable return.”
“Child, how you have grown!” her father said, astonished. “How old are you, Aya?”
“By all the gods, you are become a little great young lady, and I thought you were a baby and brought you home a doll for a home-coming gift.”
He laughed, but presently afterwards grew grave, and in deep thought he went into the castle.
Soon after this he began to look about him, to find a fitting husband for his daughter.
“Best it should be done now,” he said, “for a wonder has come to pass, and I am at peace with every _daimyo_ in the land--and it will not last.”
The Lord of Ako, in Harima, had three tall sons, fine young men and warriors all.
“The eldest is over old,” said the Lord of Omi. “The youngest is a boy--but what of the middle brother? It seems to me that the middle brother should do well. They say that second thoughts are best,” said the Lord of Omi.
So after messengers had come and gone, the Lady Aya was betrothed to the young Lord of Ako, and there was great rejoicing in all the country-side, for all the man and the maiden had never set eyes on one another.
The Lady Aya was very glad when she saw the presents that came from her bridegroom’s house. She sat with the seamstress of the castle and fingered the soft stuffs of her fine new robes. For the rest, she played with her maidens the live-long day, or took her broidery frame, plying the needle and long silken thread. It was the month of May, and very often they took the air in a garden gallery, where Aya and her maids laughed together, and sometimes they spoke of the young Lord of Ako and how brave and beautiful he was, how skilful in art and in war, and how rich. When evening came they slipped down the gallery steps and into the garden, where they went hither and thither, hand in hand, to enjoy the cool air and the sweet scent of the flowers.
One night the Lady Aya walked in the garden according to her wont. The moon rose, round and silver.
“Ah me,” sighed one of the maidens, “the moon is a love-lorn lady. Look how pale and wan she goes, and even now she will hide her eyes with her long sleeve of cloud.”