But Nene waved a dismissive hand. “No private bath tonight. We are not here as nobility. We are here as travellers seeking warmth and rest. I shall bathe with the other women when the hour is late.”
The inn was a modest, elegant ryokan nestled beside a rushing river. The owner, a stooped but sharp-eyed woman, bowed so deeply her forehead nearly touched the tatami. “Lady Nene, it is an honour beyond measure. The private bath has been prepared.” Hot Springs Pleasure Trip Nene Yoshitaka JAPANE...
The late autumn air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of burning cedar from the valley below. Nene, now in her later years and having taken the tonsure as a Buddhist nun, felt a rare flutter of youthful excitement. The great unifier of Japan, her late husband Hideyoshi, had been gone for many years, and the weight of the regent’s seat had passed to others. Today, however, was not for politics or duty. But Nene waved a dismissive hand
And as her palanquin began the slow journey back to Kyoto, she felt not the ache of age, but the quiet, flowing strength of the hot springs still moving within her, a secret pleasure for a journey's end. We are here as travellers seeking warmth and rest
Nene smiled, her face lined but serene. “Then it shall certainly help an old nun’s knees.”
It was for a kyūjitsu —a pleasure trip.
Later, as the moon climbed higher and the others retired, Nene remained. She floated on her back, looking up at the stars, the water lapping at her ears.