“If we go to Burdwán are you content to abide there?”“If we go to Burdwán are you content to abide there?”
“Bide you here, Roger,” he muttered shortly. “Keepthings as they are until I return. I go to seek Nur Mahal.”
A cloaked woman, who had passed silently between the line of soldiers on the road, and who heard each word of the dialogue, evidently guessed what Walter said, though he used English to Sainton. She darted forward now and clasped his arm. Even before she spoke he knew who it was, for the mere touch of her fingers thrilled him.
“I am here!” she whispered. “Let us draw apart. I have that to say which is best said now. One of us two must answer that man, and we gain naught by delay.”
By the roadside grew a field of millet, the sparse crop of some poor ryot in the village who cared little for kings or courts. He would grin with amaze if told that his small holding formed the council-chamber in which was settled the affairs of a nation. Yet it was so in very truth, for Nur Mahal led Mowbray into the midst of the standing crop until they were out of earshot of the others.
Then she turned towards him, and there was a rapture in her face which was bewildering, though the way in which she still clung to his arm caused the warm blood to tingle in his veins.
“Tell me,” she murmured softly; “if we go to Burdwán, are you content to abide there?”
“A man that hath friends must show himself friendly; and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.”Prov.xviii. 24.
“A man that hath friends must show himself friendly; and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.”Prov.xviii. 24.
That man would be a fool who pretended to misunderstand her. She would have said more, but words failed. Her labored breath betrayed her, and the light that kindles only in a woman’s eyes leaped out at him. He seemed to be wandering in a maze with a siren as guide. What magic spell surrounded him? Why had the arrival of Jahangir’s messenger forced this tacit avowal from the lips of the proudest woman in India?
If she defied the Emperor and continued the journey to Burdwán, it must be as the promised wife of Walter Mowbray, an alien in race, and one who professed a hostile faith. Never was stranger compact dreamed of. They knew little of each other, beyond the acquaintance arising from an enforced companionship of five days. They scarce had a thought in common. They were bred and reared under social conditions as wide asunder as the poles. Nature, indeed, careless of arbitrary restrictions, had fashioned them in superb comparison, for never were man and woman better mated physically than these two. But the law which parts the East from the West divided them, and,although Nur Mahal would have scorned the unseen barrier, Mowbray drew back. Assuredly, there is no knowing what his answer would have been had not another face risen before his entranced vision, and a despairing voice cried bitterly in his ears: “Oh, Ann, they have taken him!”
Yes, though far from Spanish halberds and London Tower, here was lifelong bondage chaining him with a glamour more enduring than fetters of iron. It says much for the charms of Eleanor Roe that the memory of her anguish when last their eyes met on the Thames-side quay rescued her lover now from the imminent embrace of a most potent rival.
It was no time for measured phrase. His heart rose in pity as he took Nur Mahal in his arms for an instant.
“Sweet lady,” he said, “were I not pledged to one whom I hold dear as my very soul I would abide with you in Burdwán, and my sword should defend you while my hand could use it. But no man can gainsay his fate. He can only keep his conscience clean and leave the rest to God. I came to India hoping to earn a fortune wherewith I could return to my own land and claim my love. I have failed, yet my purpose will endure until I succeed or die.”
He felt the shrinking form he held shake with a sob, and he would have striven to comfort her with some faltering prediction of future happiness had she not raised her beautiful face in wild appeal.
“I have not humbled myself in vain,” she fiercely cried. “You must not deem me unworthy because Ihave departed from the path ordained for my sex. I am no timid maid who nurses her woes in secret. It may be that I am incapable of feeling that which other women call love. Never was man more deserving of true and faithful wife than Sher Afghán. Yet I hated him. You are one whom I could trust and honor. Had the fates willed it we should have gone far together. Now I yield to my destiny. Go! It is ended. If I never see your face again, at least think well of me, and strive to forget that, in a moment of folly, I sacrificed my self-respect for your sake.”
And now she struggled to free herself, but, because of his true regard for her, he would not suffer her to leave him in such self-condemning mood.
“Nay, fair lady,” he murmured, “we do not part thus. I have misjudged you in the past; be it mine now to make amends. You were wedded against your will, yet who shall hold you guilty of your husband’s death? Be assured that none in all this land shall shield your high repute as I and my honest comrade, Sainton. Lead us to your State, and if Sher Afghán’s followers prove faithful to his widow’s cause, Jahangir may wreck his throne in seeking to injure you.”
Again she lifted her wondrous face to his, and tears were glistening in her eyes. Yet, in the dim light of the open field he fancied he saw a piteous smile dimple her cheeks.
“Spare me your vows,” she said. “Keep them for her whose love is so strong that it binds you beyond the seas. And now, let us return.”
She looked up at him so wistfully that he yielded to impulse and kissed her. Perchance her heart fluttered with the thought that she had won, after all. But Mowbray was adamant in his faith, and his was the kiss of pity, not of passion.
“I shall never know peace again,” he cried, “until you are well content that I am pledged to another, and even wish her well of a poor bargain.”
“Then you are doomed to a life of misery, for that shall never be,” she retorted.
“Say not so, Princess. Your name alone was chosen with wondrous wisdom. It marks out one who has but to seek a throne to obtain it.”
“Ah, is that your secret thought? Strange, indeed that it should pair with mine!”
She wrenched herself free from his embrace, and ran a little way back through the millet. Then she stopped, and there was the wonted imperious ring in her voice as she cried:—
“A moment ago you undertook to defend me from my enemies. Swear, then, that you will obey my wishes!”
“In all things which concern your welfare—”
“Fear not, Mowbray-sahib. I offer myself twice to no man.”
Her quick transition from melting femininity to stern dominance surprised him as greatly as aught that had gone before. It relieved him, too. Who could deny the truth of Nur Mahal’s estimate of herself, that she was not like unto other women?
“I swear!” he said, wondering what new madness possessed her.
“’Tis well,” she answered. “I shall soon put your fealty to the test.”
Without another word, she passed to the road, where Sainton’s giant figure towered among the group of men and horses. Her quick eyes discovered Jahangir’s messenger, and she addressed him as if he were a servant of lowest rank.
“Ibrahim!” she cried, “did thy master, the Emperor, give thee thy charge in writing?”
The Chief Eunuch bowed obsequiously.
“Knowing your repute for exceeding discernment,” he said, “I even asked the Emperor of the World[J]to honor me with his written command. I carry it with me.”
“Follow me to the village. There we can procure a light.”
Whatever purpose she had in mind she gave no sign of her intent until she had perused the script which Ibrahim handed to her. Mowbray, watching her mobile features as she broke the seal of the Emperor’s parchment, whilst one of her women held a lantern, saw only an expression of fixed resolve, her set lips and thoughtful eyes revealing a determination to carry out in the best way the course upon which she had already decided.
She read Jahangir’s letter twice before she spoke, and, even then, there was an odd restraint in hermanner when she addressed Mowbray and Sainton, who, with the Chief Eunuch, had accompanied her in silence.
“Jahangir told his envoy the chief part of that which he has written. Ibrahim’s message is exact in so far as it touches your affairs. I will fulfil the Emperor’s behests in all save one slight matter. You must not return to Agra. The Ganges lies a short march ahead, and, now that I have Jahangir’s written promise to pay you, there is no reason why I should not discharge his obligations.”
“I have brought no great store of money,” put in Ibrahim nervously.
“Said I aught to thee?” she blazed out at him. “It will be thy turn to speak when the Emperor demands a witness.”
“Do you revert to a proposal which we have once refused?” asked Walter, with Saxon doggedness frowning in his face.
“I revert to your promise given me quarter of an hour ago.”
“I swore to obey you, but—”
“Obey then, without question. Since you force me to it, I command you to accept my jewels in payment of the Emperor’s debt. A lakh and a half, is it not? If you are not cheated, they are worth as much. Further, I advise you to retain a score of my men until you reach Calcutta. They will follow you, I doubt not, but, to make certain of their allegiance, I shall promise them a good reward if they return bearing me a letterfrom you. They cannot deceive me, as I shall have your signature on the receipt for the money.”
“In truth, Princess, ’tis easy to see that you are the daughter of the High Treasurer,” broke in Roger suddenly. Nur Mahal’s tense expression relaxed for an instant; nevertheless, Walter, vexed that he should be forced into a settlement exceedingly repulsive to his feelings, asked gloomily:—
“What other of the Emperor’s requests do you carry out?”
“I go back to the Garden of Heart’s Delight. You spoke just now of fortunate names. Is it not happily entitled?”
The quiet scorn of the question revealed to him an utter hopelessness which was so greatly at variance with her confident mien during their flight that not even the scene which took place in the field of millet served to explain it wholly to his puzzled brain. In the presence of the rabbit-eared Chief Eunuch it was not advisable to say too much, but he could not forbear a comment.
“I have heard you describe a woman’s mind as a lake,” he said. “Will you forgive me if I liken it to a whirlpool, in which thoughts flowing in one direction at one moment, fly in the opposite way the next.”
She laughed lightly, though the joy had gone from her mirth.
“You still would have me go to Burdwán?” she cried.
“Yes; and I care not who hears.”
“Nor do I, for the Emperor bids me return, and Iam dutiful. Who could deny the wish of so benignant a prince?”
“Burdwán without a husband is not to your liking, perchance. It would be dry meat, anyhow, as the fellow said after coursing a hare and losing it,” said Roger, who, for a cause best known to himself, attempted to deprive the undercurrent of their speech of its vinegar.
“Spare us such ill-timed jokes,” growled Mowbray angrily in English, but Roger only answered:—
“Gad! if the quip run not with thy humor, leg it after the hare again.”
Walter realized that his level-headed comrade appreciated the situation sanely, and was, indeed, advising him how to act. Yet he was torn by a thousand conflicting emotions. That field of millet had been to him a bed of nettles. He was still smarting from the sting of recollection. If Nur Mahal offered herself twice to no man, assuredly she was a woman whom few men would refuse at the first asking. And to what purpose had he thrust her away? For all he knew to the contrary, Nellie Roe might be married these two years. He had conversed with that sprightly maid during half a day. He had kissed her once. He had seen her fall fainting into the arms of Anna Cave, as any girl might have done who witnessed the arrest of a young cavalier for whom she felt a passing regard and whose ill fortunes were incurred in her behalf. Frail bonds, these, to hold in leash a warm-blooded youth!
His adventurous soul spurred him on to follow thecareer which Nur Mahal offered him. In those days, when the world was young, a stout heart and a ready sword were a man’s chief credentials. In no land did they lead to the Paradise of happy chance more readily than in India, where the golden fruit of the pagoda tree was ever ripe for him who dared to shake a laden branch. And yet, and yet—a lover’s kiss in an English garden withheld him from the glamour of it all.
It was fortunate, perhaps, in that hour of fiercest temptation, that Nur Mahal was too proud to stoop again to conquer. There were not wanting signs to her quick intelligence that Mowbray was fighting with beasts at Ephesus. Yet she disdained, by word or look, to join the contest, and it may be that her Eastern brain conceived a more subtle way of achieving her object. She brought forth the little box of cedar wood and handed it to Walter.
“Take heed, Ibrahim,” she said, “that I have given the sahiba diamonds to the value of a lakh and a half. You shall prepare a full quittance for the Emperor, and Mowbray-sahib shall sign it. Be speedy!”
She gave Walter a quick look from those wonderful eyes of hers.
“Whilst Ibrahim inscribes the receipt,” she continued, “you should choose your attendants.”
“At this hour?”
“Why not? When an Emperor is urgent the night becomes day. I begin the march back to Agra forthwith.”
Even the wearied Chief Eunuch would have protested,but she did not deign to heed his stammering words. It took Ibrahim some time to write all Jahangir’s titles on the parchment which set forth Nur Mahal’s settlement of Akbar’s debt. When the last flourish was drawn, and Mowbray had appended his name to the script, with Roger’s cross as agreeing to the same, the masterful lady herself was equipped for the road.
She sought no private leave-taking of the man whom, an hour earlier, she was willing to espouse. Before them all, she curtsied most gracefully to the two Englishmen.
“Farewell, sahiba,” she said. “May Allah prosper you!”
And with that she was gone. Ere they were fully resolved that this was, indeed, the end, they heard the hoof-beats of her retreating cavalcade. Soon they knew, from the distant commotion, that the Emperor’s troopers were withdrawing to their last camping-place.
Mowbray, a prey to thoughts which he could ill control, stood with Sainton a little apart from the cluster of mud huts adjoining their bivouac. Roger, sympathizing with the stress of his comrade’s reflections, gazed at the stars and softly whistled a few bars of an air popular in the North:
“O, do ye ken Elsie Marley, honey—The wife that sells the barley, honey?For Elsie Marley’s grown so fine,She wëan’t get up to feed the swine.”
“O, do ye ken Elsie Marley, honey—The wife that sells the barley, honey?For Elsie Marley’s grown so fine,She wëan’t get up to feed the swine.”
But Jai Singh, who had elected to go with them to Calcutta, did not scruple to break in on his new master’s reverie. To him, no matter what the comedy played by his mistress, one woman more or less in the world was of little import.
“Do we, too, march to-night, sahib?” he asked, when he discovered Mowbray on the outskirts of the hamlet.
“No,” was the curt reply.
“Then, sahib, if Khuda permits it, let us sleep. Three times in one month have we passed restless nights in this accursed village.”
“Ha! Why are these poor dwellings more hateful than any others passed on the road?”
“I know not, sahib, unless it be a meeting-place of evil spirits. When the Maharani came this way to Burdwán she wept all night and refused to be comforted. When she returned she wept again, for it was here we rested after regaining the great road. To-night, when I saw her smiling whilst she conversed with your Lordships, I thought the spell was broken. Yet, by the beard of Mànu, now she is gone—and for what?—to indulge the fancy of a king who murdered that good man, Sher Afghán.”
“It may be that the local fiends are unfriendly to her and not to thee, Jai Singh. Sleep in peace. We march betimes in the morning.”
He knew full well that ambition was the sprite which plagued Nur Mahal. It had tortured many before her, nor would it cease to vex mankind long after her restless soul was stilled eternally.
“In truth,” said Roger, as they walked slowly after Jai Singh, “I am resolved now that your lucky star shines over these hovels, lad. Had you tried to shoe yon filly she would have requited you by kicking you into the smithy fire.”
“My soul, that would be the proper lot of an indifferent smith,” said Mowbray, with a queer bitterness in his voice, for weak human nature is so made up of contradictions that he missed Nur Mahal sorely now that he had seen the last of her.
“Ecod, if that is your way of thinking, why didn’t you give her a hearty hug when she led you forth into the field of chick-peas? Women will oft yield to a squeeze when they cry ‘Pshaw’ to a sigh. My mother told me—”
“I pray to the saints, if ever we see England again, thy mother may tell thee when to hold thy tongue,” cried Walter wrathfully, whereat Roger whistled another bar of “Elsie Marley,” and winked portentously at a gnarled and wizened village head-man, who cowered in his blanket close to their fire. The old fellow wondered dully what all these comings and goings of great folk betokened, but the giant’s humor pleased him greatly. It was propitious to be thus noticed by a lord of the earth.
Thenceforth, their days and nights provided an uneventful record of quiet travel. They reached Allahabad next day, and the localKotwalwas minded to give them some trouble. He was cowed instantly when Walter exhibited Akbar’s order to the Treasurer, whichhe had forgotten to hand to Ibrahim with the receipt. Nevertheless, being now well versed in the ways of Indian officials, he marveled at the man’s hectoring manners, since this city, situated at the confluence of the Ganges and the Jumna, was one of the chief resting-places for merchants passing between the Mogul capital and the Hughli delta. Even at that date the Bay of Bengal was becoming noted as the site of important trading stations. It was passing strange that the civil head of Allahabad should be so impolitic.
No restrictions were placed on his movements, however, and the incident scarce demanded further thought. Indeed, theKotwaldeigned to help him by ordering his men to belabor the curious crowds which hampered progress through the bazaar, for the fame of Sainton’s stature spread like wild-fire, and numbers of mild-eyed Hindus came to gaze at him.
Here, they were able to test the value of Nur Mahal’s gift. Deeming it wise to replenish their small stock of ready money, eked out as it was by a sum which she had entrusted to Jai Singh for the expenses of the escort, they sold four small diamonds in the bazaar. The gems brought a thousand rupees, after some bargaining, so it was evident, even to non-experts, that the two hundred stones in the little cedar cabinet, some being very large and pure, must be worth even more than the price estimated.
With the money thus obtained they purchased three roomy, flat-bottomed boats, spacious enough to house the whole party, man and horse. Assured that therewould be no difficulty in securing food and fodder on the long river voyage they did not burthen their craft with a bulk of stores. Nevertheless, their preparations, though simple, consumed several days, for, to the native of India,Kal(to-morrow) is as precious a word as Mañana to the Spaniard.
At last, after a weary delay, towards which Mowbray strongly suspected theKotwalcontributed indirectly, the huge, osier-woven sails of their buggalows were hoisted, and the unwieldy caravels lumbered slowly down stream. Owing to the ever-changing channel, the numerous sand-banks, the occasional barriers of half sunken trees and other débris, they could only move during the hours of daylight. At night they tied up near some village, where young goats, eggs, poultry, milk, and grain were obtainable. At times, the people were so poor that even these primary commodities ran short, but, on the whole, they fared well. A week’s quiet voyaging did wonders for their horses. The hardy country-breds became sleek and fat. When taken ashore for exercise they would plunge and caper for sheer liveliness. One evening, after they had passed Benares, some such ebullition on the part of the powerful stallion which carried Sainton during the march from Agra caused his master to growl:—
“It seems a daft thing to me, Walter, to ferry these ill-mannered brutes so far. They are in good condition now. Why not sell them at the next big town, and let Jai Singh purchase others for his return up country?”
“I have been thinking of that same plan,” agreed hisfriend. “Let us consult Jai Singh, and hear what he says.”
But the shrewd old Rajput opposed the suggestion. He pleaded that no such cattle could be bought in Lower Bengal, and that they themselves would be glad of good mounts when they quitted the river to ride into Calcutta. The argument prevailed, though his real intent was to sell the animals as soon as their backs were turned and procure wretched tats for himself and his comrades, thereby netting a very handsome profit.
In life, it is ever the trivial things that count. A straw would have swayed them to barter the horses at Dinapore. Had they done so this history would have changed its course.
It was their custom to pass through populous places without stopping. Seen from the banks, they attracted little attention, which suited their purpose better than to leave behind them a trial of surmise and gossip. The dull villagers they encountered had no ideas beyond the state of the crops and the prospect of an early monsoon. Hence, they slipped quietly, if slowly, over a very long stretch of their journey to the sea without any important event breaking the monotony of peaceful nights and restful days.
The pranks which fortune had played them in the past might have warned them that this idyllic existence could not continue. But the fickle jade gave them no portent. Little did they realize that stern times were come again when one evening, whilst strolling ashoreon a high bank and idly watching the Rajputs watering the horses, a man, black as a negro, but dressed in semi-European costume, suddenly appeared from a clump of trees crowning the promontory carved from the land by a bend of the stream at that point.
Half running, half staggering, he made towards them. As he came nearer, they perceived that he was in desperate plight. His garments were blood-stained; his gait and aspect told of abject fear; his eyes glistened like those of a hunted fawn; and, sinister token, his hands were weighted with heavy gyves of a fashion usually intended for the legs of prisoners.
“Gad!” cried Roger, staring at the apparition, “this chuck minds me of that image of Satan who greeted us on board Sir Thomas Roe’s ship. Yet, an he be the devil himself, some one hath bound him!”
The poor wretch reached them, fell panting at their feet, and gasped in Portuguese:—
“Save me! Save me, for the love of God, if ye are Christians!”
Their long voyage with Captain Garcia had taught them sufficient of thelingua francaof the high seas at that period to understand his frantic appeal. Walter stooped and patted his shoulder encouragingly. He found it hard to arrange a sentence in the man’s language, but he managed to say:—
“Have no fear. We are English.”
Then it occurred to him that one who wandered in such fashion through the wilds of India must surely know Hindustani, so he continued:—
“There are none here to harm you. Why are you chained? Of whom are you so afraid?”
The man, a Portuguese half-caste, who, like many of his class, more resembled an African than an Indian, save in respect to his smooth, blue-black hair, seemed to be too dazed to do other than pour out trembling demands for succor. Roger, thinking deeds served better than words, to reassure him, lifted the heavy links which connected the fetters on his wrists.
“Mayhap,” he said, “if thy hands are freed thy tongue may loosen itself.”
With that, he tore apart the rivets binding the chain to the bracelets. Two mighty tugs, and the chain lay on the ground. But this exhibition of strength merely stupefied the captive. Surprise made him dumb. It was not until they led him to the boats and gave him some food, which he ate ravenously, that they were able to extract an intelligible story from him.
With many a vow to the Mother of Mercy and all the chief saints in the calendar, the fugitive, a youth of twenty, who said his name was Antonio da Silva, told them how Abdul Aziz, a fanatical Musalman of high position in Bengal, had treacherously attacked the Portuguese colony at Hughli. There was a fight, in which many were killed, but the multitude of assailants, no less than the wholly unexpected nature of the assault, sufficed to carry the town by storm. After looting the stores, Abdul Aziz paraded the survivors, offered degrading terms to those of both sexes who would become Mahomedans, and, when only threemen and one woman yielded, out of some two hundred prisoners, despatched the whole company, strongly guarded, to the northern capital.
Hearing this story, which so curiously bore out the accuracy of Nur Mahal’s information, the two Englishmen looked at each other.
“Now we know why she bade us take the river,” said Roger. “Had we gone by road we had encountered these unfortunates.”
“We are much beholden to her,” said Mowbray. “But how and when did you contrive to escape?” he went on, filling Antonio’s empty plate again.
“Yesterday, at the close of a weary march—”
“Yesterday! Is the convoy so close, then?”
Da Silva pointed to the west.
“The party is not more than five miles distant over there,” he said. “It chanced last night that there was some confusion owing to the advance guard having gone beyond the agreed camping-ground. We prisoners were hurried back in the dark. Passing through a wood, and scarce able to walk owing to fatigue and the weight of my fetters, I stumbled over a rock and fell into a hollow. I lay there, expecting to be roused with a lance-thrust, but careless what fate awaited me. Mater Misericordia! the black dogs heeded me not. When I discovered that I had not been missed, hope gave me new strength. I rose, and went rapidly along the road in front, thinking that search would not be made far in that direction, whereas any attempt to reach the south road would lead to my capture. Atdawn, utterly spent though I was, I turned into the cultivated land, knowing that in time I should gain the river’s bank. I kept on until the presence of villagers caused me to hide in the tope of trees whence I first saw you. I dared not reveal myself to the natives, because they would conduct me back to the column, being fearful lest the soldiers should pillage them for concealing me. So I lay close all day, without so much as a drink of water, until the good God sent your lordships towards my hiding-place. Then I felt that I was safe.”
There was a spice of humor in the tragedy of his story. He called Indian Mahomedans “black,” and alluded to the inhabitants of Upper Bengal as “natives” with all the assurance of the whitest white who ever entered the country. But the Englishmen were more concerned in the character of his news than in his way of imparting it. While such a gang as the swashbucklers of Abdul Aziz infested the neighborhood, it behooved them to keep watch and ward until the marauders were far removed. Moreover, the magnitude of the affair was alarming. If the Hughli district were overrun, the other stations at Calcutta and lower down the river would be difficult of access. Da Silva, in reply to further questions, said that the sacking of the Portuguese colony took place nearly a month since, so Jahangir must have despatched his murderous order soon after he came to the throne. Were his couriers carrying a similar mandate to the west coast? Would the Christian posts at Surat, Ahmedabad and Bombay also be given to the flames?
Certainly, here was a dilemma. Yet their only course, precarious though it might be, was to guard against sudden attack, keep to the river, and endeavor at all hazards to reach the sea.
Ere night fell, Jai Singh and a sowar made an extensive reconnaissance on horseback beyond the perimeter of the village. They returned, to report that many fires were lit in the locality described by the half-caste.
By this time, da Silva’s confidence was somewhat restored, and he bethought himself of the miserable lot of his fellow captives.
“Ah!” he sighed, “what would I not give to help them. Think of that gracious lady, the Countess di Cabota, being subjected to such indignities! Though she looks young enough, she is very stout, and she suffers greatly from the vagaries of the mule on which she is strapped. And then, the good priests! I can see them now, patiently enduring contumely and insult, and answering each blow with a prayer.”
“A Countess!” said Mowbray. “How came a lady of rank to be in an Indian station?”
“They say she was jealous of her husband, who was a very handsome man, and when he was named Governor of the Portuguese possessions in the East Indies she insisted on coming with him. But he died of a fever, and she was about to go home when the attack took place.”
“Are there many women among the prisoners?”
“About forty, your lordship, but some are converts. Perhaps twenty, all told, are Europeans like myself.”
Walter repressed the temptation to laugh.
“It is a grave matter,” he said, “and Portugal should avenge it heavily. While the names are fresh in your mind tell me all you can remember. I shall set them down for the information of the first Portuguese official I encounter.”
The roll progressed until da Silva reached the ecclesiastics.
“First, let me think of the Franciscans. Who, that knew him, would not weep for good Fra Pietro!”
“Fra Pietro!”
There was many a “Brother Peter” in the Franciscan order, yet the words smote Mowbray’s ears with a sudden menace of disaster.
“Tell me of this Fra Pietro,” he said. “What manner of man is he?”
Da Silva, glib of tongue now, told of a monk who was sent to India nearly three years ago. It was rumored that he had been guilty of a breach of discipline, or had, in some manner, displeased the authorities at Lisbon, though what his error none knew, since there never was saint who walked the earth more humble and devout than Fra Pietro. Yes, Antonio was sure the excellent father spoke English, because he conversed, in their own language, with the sailors on board an English ship which once came up the Hughli river. Surely his lordship must have met Fra Pietro, seeing that he described the friar so accurately. He was, indeed, very thin and pallid, with large brown eyes that seemed to be ever contemplating the happiness of heaven!
Then Walter set aside his tablets and hastened to find Sainton, who was eating an extra heavy supper on the set principle that a good deal might happen ere breakfast.
“Roger,” he said, quietly, unconscious in his perplexity of the pain in his voice, “here is ill news.”
“Why, what ails thee, lad?” demanded the giant, suspending his assault on the haunch of a deer, though, to be sure, he had his mouth full.
“You remember Fra Pietro, who saved us from the Inquisition?”
“Remember him!” cried Roger. “I shall forget my own name first.”
Mowbray pointed to the dying light on the western horizon. Against the golden purple of the sky was silhouetted the indigo line of the great central plain of India.
“He is among those unhappy people,” he said. “Unless I err greatly he is there because he helped us to escape. Perchance he was banished because they feared to put him to death. Roger, what say you?”
“Say! What is there to say! Sit thee down, lad, and eat while we think. We mun have him out, whole and hearty, though every cut-throat between here and hell barred the way.”
“As if a wheel had been in the midst of a wheel.”Ezekielx. 10.
“As if a wheel had been in the midst of a wheel.”Ezekielx. 10.
Roger’s cheery optimism was an excellent thing in itself. Nevertheless, the best of good-will cannot withstand the logic of hard fact, and prolonged discussion of the means whereby Fra Pietro might be rescued revealed an undertaking bristling with difficulties. After extracting from da Silva all the material information he possessed, they considered a hundred varying expedients, rejecting one proposal after another until they almost despaired of hitting upon any scheme which offered even a remote chance of success.
They took Jai Singh into their confidence. Unless he and his Rajputs yielded willing help it was hard indeed to see what could be done. Two and twenty men, well mounted, might, if fortunate, achieve something: two men alone, with hundreds against them, were utterly powerless.
It was whilst Jai Singh was strenuously opposing Sainton’s suggestion of a direct attack that Walter, inspired by idle chance, hit upon a plan the very daring of which commended itself to them. To be sure, Roger long remained stubborn ere he would agree to it. At last he yielded. Admittedly, the project was a forlornhope, yet none other they could propound gave such promise of speedy realization, and nothing could shake their resolve that Fra Pietro must be saved.
The horses were quietly disembarked; by present payment, and promise of greater reward, a guide was obtained from the village; and the whole party, less da Silva and three trustworthy men, set off under the starlight to march across country by field paths. The three Rajputs who remained behind were charged to safeguard the boats and prevent any enterprising villager from carrying news to the distant column. Da Silva was left not only because he was paralyzed with fright at the bare thought of falling again into the hands of his captors, but also on account of the suspicion his presence in their company would arouse.
Before daybreak they reached the main road, a dust-laden track with slight pretense to the characteristics of a highway other than the occasional felling of trees and the cutting of an approach wherever the steep banks of a nullah offered a barrier to the passage of a caravan. If it had none of the virtues it held full measure of the vices inseparable from traffic. Though animals alone, camels for the most part, carried Indian merchandise over long distances, the ryots were wont to use heavy two-wheeled carts, drawn by oxen, and the numerous ruts left by these caused the so-called road to bear more semblance to a ploughed field than the land which was actually tilled, as the Indian plough merely scratches the ground and leaves no furrow.
The whole party halted at some distance from theroad itself. It was essential that the presence of a body of horse should not be discovered, so, at this point, Mowbray and Sainton bade each other farewell. Never before, during their many wanderings, had they separated in the course of any enterprise which threatened disaster or death.
Walter handed to his disconsolate friend the box of jewels.
“If things go awry,” he said, with a smile, “you will be the last to fall, Roger.”
“Aye, lad,” was the rueful response. “I am doubting now lest we ought not to hunt together.”
“Your heart says so, but your head warns you that we have chosen the better way. Good-by!”
“Good-by, Walter, and may the Lord be with you!”
Accompanied by a single Rajput trooper, a brave youth specially recommended by Jai Singh, Walter turned his horse’s head towards the road. The others, led by their guide, rode off into the jungle, where they were speedily lost to sight.
Soon the sun, dissipating the dawn-mist, disclosed a cloud of dust rising slowly from the track some two miles southwards. Walter advanced at a walking pace. He was dressed with unusual care. His long sword was slung from a handsome baldrick; Sher Afghán’s dagger shone in his belt; a cloak of quilted silk, trimmed with rich fur, hung from his shoulders. These accessories, together with his plumed hat, heavy riding boots, and attire of dark brown cloth, gave a distinguished appearance to one whose face and figure proclaimedhim a cavalier of high lineage. His attendant, too, had donned the state livery of his former master. The two were superbly mounted, and well calculated, by their style and bearing, to take by surprise the leader of a rabble host marching through a country where all was new to his eyes.
For Mowbray, as shall be seen, had prepared his measures judiciously. When he sighted the mounted vanguard of the convoy he clapped spurs to his horse, and, followed by his orderly, galloped towards them at a rapid pace. Pulling up within a few yards of the astonished soldiers, who were already consulting as to the identity and errand of this unlooked-for embassy, he shouted sternly:—
“Halt, in the Emperor’s name! Bring Abdul Aziz hither at once!”
He calculated that this assumption of authority would not be questioned, nor was he mistaken.
“It is not known to your honorable presence that Abdul Aziz remains at Hughli,” said one who was the captain of the guard.
Mowbray exhibited well-feigned surprise.
“If not Abdul Aziz—for which he may thank the Prophet—who commands you?”
“Nawab Fateh Mohammed, his nephew, your Excellence.”
“Pass the word to halt, then, and ride at speed to bring him hither.”
Fair Europeans, particularly Englishmen, were rarer than white blackbirds in India at that period. ThePortuguese invaders were, for the most part, so swarthy as to rival the brown skin of the natives. Never had the Musalman officer encountered a man of such mien and semblance, who, moreover, spoke the aristocratic language of the court in all its sonorous purity. Nevertheless, it was passing strange that the Emperor should choose such a messenger.
“Forgive me, your Honor,” he stammered, “but I must have some authority before I—”
“Does Jahangir need to speak twice by my mouth? Am I to exhibit the seal of the Conqueror of the World to the first who questions me?”
The officer simply could not withstand Mowbray’s grand air. He civilly asked the other to await his return, gave some orders to the guard, and vanished in the dust-cloud which enshrouded the remainder of the column. Walter saw that the troopers surrounded him as if by accident. He paid not the slightest attention to the maneuver, but took off his hat and fanned his face nonchalantly. Behind him, the Rajput sowar sat his horse like a carved statue. Scarce comprehending what enterprise was forward, knowing little save that he would surely swing from the nearest tree if he kept not a still tongue and obeyed orders, the native soldier took his cue from his master in the matter of disregarding the ring of steel which girt them both.
But Nawab Fateh Mohammed must have hurried, judging from the speed of his approach on a long-striding camel, which loomed out of the dust so suddenly that there was barely time to stop the lumberingbeast and avoid a collision. The nawab was a stout man, though young, and it was his ambition to make his way in life quickly. This laudable aim arose, however, from a base intent. The more wealth he amassed in a little time the more speedily could he gratify his ignoble passions. Such a person is usually hectoring towards his inferiors and servile to those above him. At present he was all of a twitter owing to the unexpected presence of a messenger from the Emperor, whilst his informant had not failed to apprise him of Mowbray’s imperative mien and the half-veiled menace of his words.
Luckily, Walter took the man’s measure at a glance. Here was one designed by nature to play the cowardly tyrant, and such a personality was far better suited to his purpose than a straightforward soldier, who would have obeyed his own chief’s instructions and cared not for consequences.
So thesoi-disantcourier of Jahangir saluted the nawab with dignity and said:—
“Be pleased to dismount and walk apart with me. His Majesty’s words are not for all ears.”
Fateh Mohammed, although nervous, felt slightly flattered. It was new to him to be addressed in that way. He glanced at the single Rajput trooper who held Mowbray’s horse, and saw forty of his own men within instant call, so he had no fear in his mind other than that instilled by the vague threats conveyed to him by the leader of the guard, who now stood near and watched the nawab for a signal.
He followed Walter willingly enough until they could not be overheard if they spoke in low tones.
“Information has reached the Emperor,” began Walter, “that Abdul Aziz, whilst carrying out the royal mandate to prevent the encroachments of Portuguese traders in Bengal, attacked and burnt the settlement at Hughli, killed many of the inhabitants, and despatched the survivors, numbering some hundreds, to the Imperial court at Agra.”
“The Shadow of Allah did indeed—”
“Better hear me first,” interposed Mowbray, with a serious smile. “It is most fortunate that Abdul Aziz himself does not march with the convoy; otherwise, my mission would be of a different nature. Of course, you have not heard of recent occurrences in the Emperor’s household?”
“No, but my uncle—”
“Even he could not be aware that the beautiful Nur Mahal, whose fascination for Jahangir is known to all India, would become a widow, and hence regain her ascendency at court. It is true. Her husband, Sher Afghán, is dead. She herself is Sultana by this time, and her first act has been to free all the European prisoners in Agra, Delhi, and other cities, whose bondage was the result of Jahangir’s earlier policy. Judge for yourself what she will say when she hears of the excesses committed by Abdul Aziz. The Emperor, knowing your uncle, dreaded the account of his actions, but he dreads much more the frown of Nur Mahal. Hence, I have been despatched with a double mission. HadAbdul Aziz been present in person I had no choice but to deal with him harshly. In his absence it is my more pleasant duty to bid you explain to the captives in your charge that a terrible mistake has been made. They must be treated with all courtesy and attention, and, indeed, brought to see, before they reach Agra, that it is the special design of the Emperor to recompense them in every way.”
“Then they are not to be set at liberty?” gasped Fateh Mohammed, who had been so carried away by Mowbray’s announcement that he quite forgot to ask for any verification of it.
“In a sense, yes. They are to be clothed, fed, and provided with means of conveyance in such manner as to show that they are the Emperor’s guests. But they must go to Agra. It could not be otherwise. They must be maintained fittingly until order is restored in Bengal, their ruined houses rebuilt, and means taken to insure their future safety. Thus only can Jahangir undo the evil deeds of Abdul Aziz.”
“This intelligence—”
“Finds you unprepared. What is more natural? But the downfall of one man oft opens the door of opportunity to another. The Emperor is free-handed. He rewards as fully as he punishes. Leave to me the pleasing task of informing him how quickly you fulfilled his behests to the last letter.”
“It shall be so, in very truth. Yet your lordship sees the difficulties that confront me.”
“I am bidden help you dispel them. I have moneyand fair words at command. Be sure that neither a mule nor a woman can resist such pleading. But let all clemency come through you in the Emperor’s name.”
Fateh Mohammed flushed deeply under his bronze skin. He pursed his lips and set his feet apart. A dazzling vista opened before his mind’s eye. He pictured Abdul Aziz, whose severe tenets he loathed in so far as they restrained his own gross desires, swinging from animtree, while a mourning nephew journeyed back in state to take up an assured position. Mowbray watched him narrowly. He saw the man’s vanity puffing him up like the frog in the fable, and he could scarce restrain a smile at the thought that, in all probability, this fantastic scheme would actually result in the way he had described. But it was necessary to strike while the iron glowed, so he continued impressively:—
“Above all things, keep your own counsel. You and I can be discreet. If others know your mind they have you at a disadvantage, for they can shape their conduct to further their own ends while skilfully defeating yours.”
“The Emperor’s wishes shall be locked within my heart,” said the other in a tone of absolute confidence.
“’Tis well! I will accompany you to the prisoners—Jahangir’s guests—after despatching my attendant to summon my escort.”
“Your escort?”
“Surely you cannot imagine that the Emperor’s courier rode with only one sowar! You see he wearsthe livery of Sher Afghán, whose retinue is placed at my disposal by Jahangir’s own act.”
Fateh Mohammed little guessed how literally true this statement was. He knew naught of affairs at Agra, nor was he skilled in the new heraldic fashions then penetrating the East. But the assumption that he was an adept therein added the last drop to the cruse of oil which had been so judiciously administered to him.
Having ascertained when the escort might be expected, he gave orders that it was to be received with proper honor. As soon as the sowar had ridden away north,ventre à terre, the two grandees mounted and proceeded slowly through the ranks of the halted cavalcade.
Walter, chatting affably about the splendors of the court, counted two hundred fairly serviceable horsemen, and half as many armed guards of the baggage train. He estimated that a similar number would bring up the rear, so the futility of a surprise attack by night, which Roger had suggested, was now quite demonstrated. Even if a panic were created and the host broke up in disorder, what could be done next day, and every other day for weeks, by twenty men burthened with a host of helpless captives, for da Silva’s account made it certain that nearly all the Portuguese soldiers had fallen in the first fierce fight at Hughli. The whole country would be roused. Every Mahomedan would deem it a religious duty to slay the Giaours, and they would all perish miserably. Yes, his amazingly daring plan, nowthat the first barrier was passed, promised ultimate success, and his heart throbbed at the thought that two Englishmen, alone and almost unfriended in a powerful foreign land, should have adopted such a mad device and carried it triumphantly to the very gate of achievement.
For this was his scheme. He counted that, long ere this, Nur Mahal was firmly established as the despot of a despot. He was sure that a woman of cultured and artistic tastes would sway the shallow-minded King back from his retrogade policy with regard to other nations. Therefore, the instant Jai Singh heard that Fateh Mohammed had taken the pill so neatly prepared for him, the Rajput and a couple of men would ride at utmost speed to Agra and warn Nur Mahal as to the way in which Jahangir’s authority had been usurped. If she did not gainsay it, but promised to make smooth their path, all would be well. If aught untoward happened, Jai Singh was to collect as many of Sher Afghán’s retainers as were available, and ambuscade the caravan at some preconcerted place. They would endeavor to secure the escape of those able-bodied prisoners who could ride, the Europeans thereafter plunging recklessly into Central India with the hope of reaching Bombay. If not all, some could be saved.
These alternatives each depended on Walter’s primary success. If, however, Fateh Mohammed were suspicious or actively hostile—it was thought he would not dare do more than detain Mowbray until his pretended mission were justified or otherwise—then theonly course which remained open was a surprise attack at midnight, of which Mowbray would privily warn all whom he could trust in order to create a diversion. Here, obviously, lay the chief risk of failure. But Mowbray steadily believed in his theory that Nur Mahal would so mold Jahangir’s mind that Fateh Mohammed would be acclaimed as a most judicious person when he reached Agra, and, by consequence, that he himself and Sainton would have no difficulty in proceeding to the west coast by the direct overland route. At any rate, granted the less favorable outcome, they made sure of saving Fra Pietro, who, after all, most enlisted their sympathies.
And now the sowar was speeding to the agreed rendezvous to apprise Roger and Jai Singh that all had gone well thus far. No wonder Mowbray felt elated, and that his confident air left room in Fateh Mohammed’s brain for no shadow of suspicion. But his gaiety, subdued and decorous as became a person who ranked high in the trust of a king, was rudely dispelled by the first sight of the wo-begone prisoners. He first encountered a batch of men each chained securely after the manner in which da Silva was manacled, but now bound together by strips of cowhide, since, apparently, a few had escaped like the half-caste. They were haggard, foot-sore and in rags. Poor souls, they had taken advantage of the unexpected halt to lie down again in the dust. Such was their misery that they had lost all human interest. They looked at Walter and his companion with lack-luster eyes, like those on thepoint of death who retain some glimmer of consciousness yet have already quitted the living world.
Fateh Mohammed, giving a sidelong glance at Jahangir’s envoy, saw the stern frown in his face and began to explain.
“Abdul Aziz is a hard man,” he murmured. “He gave his orders and I could only obey.”
Mowbray stifled his rage. He must play his part to the end.
“Of course,” he said, “there were difficulties. This is no time to tell these unfortunates of the Emperor’s regret. Order them to be freed and given good food. Then let them rest all this day until horses and camels are procured for to-morrow’s march.”
The stout commander obeyed instantly, with such denunciations of his myrmidons and such appeals to the Prophet that his own men deemed him temporarily insane, while some among the unhappy prisoners lifted their heads to ascertain if they had heard aright.
The plight of the women was not so bad. None save the young and good looking had been brought from Hughli. They were supplied with mules and ponies, and were destined for the zenanas of such court favorites as might take a fancy to them. All the older women had been massacred in cold blood. There were girls who had lost their mothers, wives who had seen their husbands cut to pieces before their eyes. Over them, too, brooded a settled despair. Tears had long been dried. There remained only a haunting terror of the future.
Prominent among them, if only on account of the richness of her soiled garments, was the Countess di Cabota. Although she was, in Eastern eyes, bewitching by reason of her fair skin, large brown eyes, and exceedingly plump figure, she was undoubtedly over thirty years of age. Hence, she owed her life to that which many another woman risks her life to avoid, namely, a somewhat too pronounced development of a figure naturally inclined to solidity.
The unhappy lady—perhaps by subtle operation of the principlenoblesse oblige—retained some degree of vivacity. Her glance no sooner fell on Mowbray than she cried in Portuguese:—
“Mother of mercy! An Englishman of rank!”
Walter doffed his hat with ceremonious politeness.
“A friend, too, I trust, Countess,” he said. “You may believe that, from this moment, your sufferings have ended.”
“Misericordia! how can that be?”
“His excellency the Nawab Fateh Mohammed will explain better than it is possible for me to do.”
Thus impelled, his “Excellency” did, indeed, give the Countess and her companions a cheering message, which the half-caste women joyfully interpreted for those who did not follow the native words with complete understanding. Then, after many days, some broken hearts found relief again in tears.
At last, not venturing to search too eagerly, yet missing none he passed in this Via Dolorosa, Mowbray found the Franciscan. Utterly spent, unable to moveone foot before the other, Fra Pietro would have been dead a week gone had not some bullock-driver, whose crushed fingers he had dressed, lifted him into a grain cart and kept him there in defiance of repeated advice to throw the Giaour into the jungle and let him glut the jackals.
Nevertheless, the good monk, broken in body and exhausted for want of food suited to his condition, had not benefited greatly by the jolting repose thus given him. He was still exceedingly ill, and when Mowbray, who knew him instantly, could not refrain from leaping to the ground and bending over him, the parched blue-white lips were moving in fitful prayer:—
“De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine!... Dona me requiem æternam ... Ostende me, Domine, misericordiam tuam!”
“The Lord has heard thee, good friend, though happily thy days of eternal rest may be long deferred for the good of mankind,” murmured Walter to himself, for he dared not be too openly recognized by the Franciscan, lest Fateh Mohammed should be moved to ponder upon all that had taken place.
Yet something must be done, and quickly, too, if that flickering soul were to stay in its earthly tabernacle.
He turned to the nawab.
“Here is one who, I have good reason to believe, will be highly esteemed by the Sultana. He should be carried to a tent, given a little wine and milk, and receive the most careful attendance. If, indeed, his name be Fra Pietro, his life is of the utmost value to all concerned.”
At each moment Fateh Mohammed saw how essential it was to adopt prompt measures if he were to earn the good will of this masterful envoy. He bestirred himself now to such effect that when Roger and the remaining Rajputs, including the three left in the village (whence da Silva was advised to go down the river in one of the boats), marched into the camp, there was an air of liveliness among the Europeans long absent from their tortured existence, whilst Fra Pietro was sleeping peacefully on a couch of soft furs.
Sainton’s arrival created the customary stir. By none was he gazed on with greater interest than by the Countess di Cabota. She vowed, by all the saints, she had never seen such a man, and likened him to the terrible Archangel who defied the fiends when they would have assaulted heaven.
To Fateh Mohammed the sight of this unexampled specimen of humanity, joined to the appointments and smart appearance of Sher Afghán’s horsemen, gave the last proof, if further proof were needed, that Jahangir’s delegate was indeed a person to be treated with deference. He became dog-like in his servility, and transformed his train from a band of ruffianly jailers into a troupe of servitors, each and all being anxious to win the friendship of those whom formerly they goaded to madness or insensibility.
Mowbray’s word was law, his least wish was executed. Within three days, after fraternizing judiciously with others, he and Sainton were able to visit Fra Pietro. The meeting between them was joyful indeed. TheFranciscan, when he regained faculties bewildered by recognition of them, was moved to tears. To him, because he spoke English, they could talk without reserve, and his breath came fast with alarm when he learned what they had done for him.
“Nay, nay!” protested Roger, “fear not that we shall come to an ill end because we took a risk on your account. They tell me you are here owing to the timely aid you gave us, and, by that same token, our arch enemy, Dom Geronimo, is now laid by the heels at Agra. I know not who cast the net which gathered us all in this God-forgotten land, but, by the cross of Osmotherly, he hath hauled together some queer fish.”
“Have you met Dom Geronimo? Does he know of your presence in India?”
“Trust him for that. He hath the sight of a vulture where friend Mowbray is concerned.”
“I attribute to him some part of the bad fortune which has pursued us,” said Walter, and, the topic thus broached, he gave the Franciscan a full account of all occurrences since Roger and he first crossed the portals of Dilkusha.
The monk listened intently, only interposing a question at times when the changeful moods of Nur Mahal seemed to puzzle him. He was surprised to learn that the Jesuit had succeeded, even temporarily, in gaining the ear of Jahangir, for, as he said in his mild way:—
“Dom Geronimo is too zealous. It was his intemperate acts which unfitted him for the Holy Office inEurope, and he was despatched to India, a country which offered a more suitable field for one whose fiery ardor knew no bounds. Therefore, it is hard to see how such a man could win his way with the Emperor.”
When, after conversing until a late hour, Fra Pietro thoroughly understood the nature of their present undertaking, he again urged them to consider the danger they incurred.
“You have already done more than I thought possible for mortal man to achieve,” he said. “Why not, on some good pretext, ride on in front of the column and leave the success or failure of your scheme in the hands of Providence? If all goes well we shall be treated with the same consideration. Should there be aught amiss you will be far away on the road to the sea.”
“Where your life is at issue, we bide with you and you with us until the die is cast,” said Walter, firmly. Then they left him, carrying with them his blessing, and regained the spacious tent allotted to their use by the obsequious Fateh Mohammed. They slept soundly at night, and were not troubled by anxious forebodings. Jai Singh and his followers could not reach them on the return from Agra for at least ten more days at the best rate of traveling. Not until they had his budget could they decide definitely as to their future.
But these things are oft settled for men by a Power to whom the comings and goings of a Jai Singh are of little account. And it was so now, for, when Mowbray and Sainton awoke in the morning, they found their swords removed, their daggers withdrawn from thesheaths, and they saw twenty muskets leveled at them through the open door of the tent.
Behind the file of musketeers stood Fateh Mohammed, livid with rage, yet with a certain gratified malice sparkling in his eyes.
“Ohé,” he yelled, when Roger, missing his sword, gazed steadily at the phalanx without, “ohé, Elephant, thy tricks have led thee into thekheddah.[K]Stir hand or foot, resist those who will bind thee by so much as a refusal to submit thy limbs to the fetters, and thou shalt be pierced by a dozen balls.”
Walter, roused by the bellowing, raised himself on one arm. Instantly he realized that Fateh Mohammed had found out the ruse of which he was the dupe.
“Roger,” said he, quietly, “we have been betrayed!”
“Aye, lad, and by a woman, I fear. What sayest thou? Shall we die here or in Agra?”
“I care little. Have it which way you will.”