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THE GREAT MOGUL

by

LOUIS TRACY

Author of "The Wings of the Morning" and
"The Pillar of Light"

Illustrations by J. C. Chase







New York
Edward J. Clode
156 Fifth Avenue
1905

Copyright, 1905
By Edward J. Clode

The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass.




[Illustration: As it entered the gate the bar crashed across its knees.]




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                            PAGE

 As it entered the gate the bar crashed
 across its knees                                _Frontispiece_

 In a minute or less they were free                          83

 And that is the manner in which Nur Mahal,
 on her wedding night, came back to the
 Garden of Heart's Delight                                  135

 "If we go to Burdwán, are you content to
 remain there?"                                             207

 "Out of my path, swine!"                                   284

 Instantly the man was put to the test                      294




_The Great Mogul_




CHAPTER I

     "And is there care in Heaven?"
                    _Spenser's Faerie Queene._


"Allah remembers us not. It is the divine decree. We can but die with
His praises on our lips; perchance He may greet us at the gates of
Paradise!"

Overwhelmed with misery, the man drooped his head. The stout staff he
held fell to his feet. He lifted his hands to hide the anguish of eye
and lip, and the grief that mastered him caused long pent-up tears to
well forth.

His resigned words, uttered in the poetic tongue of Khorassan, might
have been a polished verse of Sa'adi were they not the outpouring of
a despairing heart. The woman raised her burning eyes from the infant
clinging to her exhausted breast.

"Father of my loved ones," she said, "let you and the two boys travel
on with the cow. If you reach succor, return for me and my daughter.
If not, it is the will of God, and who can gainsay it?"

The man stooped to pick up his staff. But his great powers of
endurance, suddenly enfeebled by the ordeal thrust upon him, yielded
utterly, and he sank helpless by the side of his wife.

"Nay, Mihr-ul-nisa, sun among women, I shall not leave thee," he cried
passionately. "We are fated to die; then be it so. I swear by the
Prophet naught save death shall part us, and that not for many hours."

So, to the mother, uselessly nursing her latest born, was left the woful
task of pronouncing the doom of those she held dear. For a little while
there was silence. The pitiless sun, rising over distant hills of purple
and amber, gave promise that this day of late July would witness no
relief of tortured earth by the long-deferred monsoon. All nature was
still. The air had the hush of the grave. The greenery of trees and
shrubs was blighted. The bare plain, the rocks, the boulder-strewed bed
of the parched river, each alike wore the dust-white shroud of death.
Far-off mountains shimmered in glorious tints which promised fertile
glades and sparkling rivulets. But the promise was a lie, the lie of the
mirage, of unfulfilled hope.

These two, with their offspring, had journeyed from the glistening
slopes on the northwest, now smiling with the colors of the rainbow
under the first kiss of the sun. They knew that the arid ravines and
bleak passes behind were even less hospitable than the lowlands in
front. Knowledge of what was past had murdered hope for the future. They
had almost ceased to struggle. True children of the East, they were
yielding to Kismet. Already a watchful vulture, skilled ghoul of desert
obsequies, was describing great circles in the molten sky.

The evils of the way were typical of their by-gone lives. Beginning in
pleasant places, they were driven into the wilderness. The Persian and
his wife, Usbeg Tartars of Teherán, nobly born and nurtured, were now
poverty-stricken and persecuted because one of the warring divisions
of Islam had risen to power in Ispahán. "It shall come to pass," said
Mahomet, "that my people shall be divided into three-and-seventy sects,
all of which, save only one, shall have their portion in the fire!"
Clearly, these wanderers found solace in the beliefs held by some of
the condemned seventy-two.

Striving to escape from a land of narrow-minded bigots to the realm of
the Great Mogul, the King of Kings, the renowned Emperor of India--whom
his contemporaries, fascinated by his gifts and dazzled by his
magnificence, had styled Akbar "the Great"--the forlorn couple, young in
years, endowed with remarkable physical charms and high intelligence,
blessed with two fine boys and the shapely infant now hugged by the
frantic mother, had been betrayed not alone by man but by nature
herself.

At this season, the great plain between Herát and Kandahár should be
all-sufficing to the needs of travelers. Watered by a noble river, the
Helmund, and traversed by innumerable streams, it was reputed the Garden
of Afghanistán. Pent in the bosom of earth, all manner of herbs and
fruits and wholesome seeds were ready to burst forth with utmost
prodigality when the rain-clouds gathered on the hills and discharged
their gracious showers over a soil athirst. But Allah, in His exceeding
wisdom, had seen fit to withhold the fertilizing monsoon, and the few
resources of the exiles had yielded to the strain. First their small
flock of goats, then their camel, had fallen or been slain. There was
left the cow, whose daily store of milk dwindled under the lack of food.

The patient animal, lean as the kine of the seven years of famine in
Joseph's dream, was yet fit to walk and carry the two boys, whose sturdy
limbs had shrunk and weakened until they could no longer be trusted to
toddle alone even on the level ground. She stood now, regarding her
companions in suffering with her big violet eyes and almost contentedly
chewing some wizened herbage gathered by the man overnight. Strange to
say, it was on the capabilities of the cow that rested the final issue
of life and death for one if not all. The cow had carried and sustained
the woman before and after the birth of the child. Last and most valued
of their possessions, she had become the arbiter of their fate.

The Persian, Mirza Ali Beg was his name, was assured that if they could
march a few more days they would reach the cultivated region dominated
by the city of Kandahár. There, even in this period of want, the
boundless charity of the East would save them from death by starvation.
But the infant was exhausting her mother. She demanded the whole meager
supply of the life-giving milk of the cow, and in Mirza Ali Beg's
tortured soul the husband wrought with the father.

That four might have a chance of living one should die! Such was the
dreadful edict he put forth tremblingly at last. And now, when the woman
saw the strong man in a palsy at her feet, her love for him vanquished
even the all-powerful instinct of maternity. She fiercely thrust the
child into his arms and murmured:--

"I yield, my husband. Take her, in God's name, and do with her as
seemeth best. Not for myself, but for thee and for our sons, do I
consent."

Thinking himself stronger and sterner than he was, Mirza Ali Beg rose to
his feet. But his heart was as lead and his hands shook as he fondled
the warm and almost plump body of the infant. Here was a man indeed
distraught. Between husband and wife, who shall say which had the more
grievous burden?

With a frenzied prayer to the Almighty for help, he wrapped a linen
cloth over the infant's face, placed the struggling little form among
the roots of a tall tree, and left it there. Bidding the two boys,
dark-eyed youngsters aged three and five, to cling tightly to the
pillion on the cow's back, he took the halter and the staff in his right
hand, passed his left arm around the emaciated frame of his wife, and,
in this wise, the small cavalcade resumed its journey.

Ever and anon the plaint of the abandoned infant reached their ears. The
two children, without special reason, began to cry. The mother, always
turning her head, wept with increasing violence. Even the poor cow,
wanting food and water, lowed her distress.

The man, striving to compress his tremulous lips, strode forward,
staring into vacancy. He dared not look behind. He knew that the feeble
cries of the baby girl would ring in his ears until they were closed to
all mortal sounds. He took no note of the rough caravan track they
followed, marked as it was by the ashes of camp fires and the whitened
bones of pack animals. With all the force of a masterful nature he tried
to stagger on, and on, until the tragedy was irrevocable.

But the woman, when they reached a point where the road curved round a
huge rock, realized that the next onward step would shut out forever
from her eyes the sight of that tiny bundle lying in the roots of the
tree. So she choked back her sobs, swept away her tears, gave one last
look at her infant, gasped a word of fond endearment, and fell fainting
in the dust.

Amidst the many troubles and anxieties of that four months' pilgrimage
she had never fainted before. Though she was a Persian lady of utmost
refinement and great accomplishments, she came of a hardy race, and her
final collapse imbued her husband with a stoicism hitherto lacking in
his despair.

"This, then, is the end," said he. "Be it so. I can strive against
destiny no further."

Tenderly he lifted his wife to a place where sand offered a softer couch
than the rocks on which she lay.

"I must bring the infant," he muttered aloud. "The touch of its hands
will revive her. Then I shall kill poor Deri (the cow), and we can feast
on her in the hope that some may pass this way. Walk, with three to
carry, we cannot."

This was indeed the counsel of desperation. The cow, living, provided
their sole link with the outer world. Dead, she maintained them a little
while. Soon the scanty meat she would yield would become uneatable and
they were lost beyond saving. Nevertheless, once the resolve was taken a
load was lifted from the man's breast. Bidding the elder boy hold Deri's
halter, he strode back towards the infant with eager haste.

As he drew near he thought he saw something black and glistening amidst
the soiled linen which enwrapped the little one. After another stride he
stood still. A fresh tribulation awaited him. Many times girdling the
child's limbs and body was a hideous snake, a monster whose powerful
coils could break the tiny bones as if they were straws.

The flat and ugly head was raised to look at him. The beady black eyes
seemed to emit sparks of venemous fire, and the forked tongue was
darting in and out of the fanged mouth as though the reptile was
anticipating the feast in store.

Mirza Ali Beg was no coward, but this new frenzy almost overcame him.
There was a chance, a slight one, that the serpent had not yet crushed
the life out of its prey. Using words which were no prayer, the father
uplifted the tough staff which he still carried. He rushed forward. The
snake elevated its head to take stock of this unexpected enemy, but the
stick dealt it a furious blow on the tail.

Instantly uncoiling itself, either to fight or escape, as seemed most
expedient, it received another blow which hurled it, with dislocated
vertebræ, far into the dust.

The man, with a great cry of joy, saw that the child was stretching
her limbs, now that the tight clutch of its terrible assailant was
withdrawn. He caught her up into his arms and, weak as he was, ran
back to his wife.

"Here is one who will restore the blood to thy cheeks, Mihr-ul-nisa,"
he cried. And truly the mother stirred again with the first satisfied
chuckle of the infant as it sought her breast.

The husband, heedless what befell for the hour, obtained from the cow
such slight store of milk as she possessed. He gave some to the two
boys, the greater portion to the baby, and was refuting his wife's
remonstrance that he had taken none himself as he pressed the remainder
on her, when the noise of a commotion at a distance caused them to look
in wonderment along the road they had recently traversed in such sorrow.

There, gathered around some object, were a number of men, some mounted
on Arab horses or riding camels, others on foot; behind this nearer
group they could distinguish a long _kafila_ of loaded beasts with armed
attendants.

"God be praised!" cried Mihr-ul-nisa, "we are saved!"

This was the caravan of a rich merchant, faring from Persia or Bokhara
to the court of the Great Mogul. The undulating plain, no less than
their own anguish of mind, had prevented the Persian and his wife from
noting the glittering spear points of the warrior merchant's retainers
as they rode forward in the morning sun. Surely such a host would spare
a little food and water for the starving family, and forage for Deri,
the cow!

"But what are they looking at?" cried the woman, of whom hope had made a
fresh being.

"They have found the snake."

"What snake?"

"It is matterless. As I returned for the child, when you fell in a
swoon, I met a snake and killed it."

A startled look came into her eyes.

"_Khodah hai_!"[A] she murmured; "it would have attacked my baby!"

[Footnote A: "There is indeed a God!"]

Two men, mounted on Turkoman horses, were now spurring towards them.
Mirza Ali Beg advanced a few paces to meet them.

One, an elderly man of grave appearance and richly attired, reined in
his horse at a little distance and cried to his companion:--

"By the tomb of Mahomet, Sher Khan, 'tis he of my dream!"

The other, a handsome and soldierly youth, came nearer and questioned
Ali Beg, mostly concerning the disabled and dying snake, found and
beaten into pulp by the foremost men of the caravan.

The Mirza told his tale with dignified eloquence; he ended with a
pathetic request for help for his exhausted wife and family.

This was forthcoming quickly, and, while he himself was refreshed with
good milk, and dates, and cakes of pounded wheat, Malik Masúd, the elder
of the two horsemen and leader of the train, told how he dreamt the
previous night that during a wayside halt under a big tree he was
attacked by a poisonous snake, which was vanquishing him until a
stranger came to his aid.

The snake lying in the path of the _kafila_ was the exact counterpart of
that seen in his disturbing vision, but his amazement was complete when
he recognized in Ali Beg the stranger who had saved him.

So, in due course, Mihr-ul-nisa, with her baby girl, was mounted on a
camel, and her husband and two sons on another, and Deri, the cow,
before joining the train, was regaled with a copious draught of water
and an ample measure of grain.

Thus it came to pass that Mirza Ali Beg and his family were convoyed
through Kandahár and Kábul in comfort and safety. They rode through the
gaunt jaws of the Khaibar Pass, and emerged, after many days, into the
great plain of the Punjáb, verdant with an abundant though deferred
harvest.

And no one imagined, least of all the baby girl herself, that the infant
crowing happily in the arms of Mihr-ul-nisa was destined to become a
beautiful, gracious and world-renowned princess, whose name and
love-story should endure through many a century.

       *       *       *       *       *

In that same month of July, 1588, on the nineteenth day of the month, to
be exact, the blazoned sails of the Spanish Armada were sighted off the
Lizard. Sixty-five great war galleons, eight fleet galleasses, fifty-six
armed merchantmen and twenty pinnaces swept along the Channel in gallant
show. Spread out in a gigantic crescent, the Spanish ships were likened
by anxious watchers to a great bird of prey with outstretched wings. But
Lord Howard of Effingham led out of Plymouth a band of adventurers who
had hunted that bird many a time. Drake, Hawkins, Frobisher and the
rest--they feared no Spaniard who sailed the seas.

Their little vessels, well handled, could sail two miles to the
Spaniards' one, and fire twice as many shots gun for gun. "One by one,"
said they, "we plucked the Don's feathers." Ship after ship was sunk,
captured, or driven on shore. A whole week the cannon roared from
Plymouth Sound to Calais, and there the last great fight took place in
which the Duke of Medina Sidonia yielded himself to agonized foreboding,
and Drake rightly believed that the Spanish grandee "would ere long wish
himself at St. Mary Port among his orange trees."

During one of the many fierce duels between the ponderous galleons and
the hawk-like British ships, the _Resolution_, hastily manned at Deal by
volunteers who rode from London, hung on to and finally captured the
_San José_.

It was no easy victory, for the Spaniards could acquit themselves as
men when seamanship and gunnery gave place to swords and pikes. Three
times did the assailants swarm up the lofty poop of the _San José_
before they made good their footing.

At last, the Spaniards gave way before the ardent onslaught led by a
gallant gentleman from Wensleydale in the North, Sir Robert Mowbray, to
wit, who, had he lived, was marked out for certain preferment at court.

Unhappily, in the moment of victory, a young, pale-faced monk, an
ascetic and visionary, maddened by the success of his country's
hereditary foe, sprang from the nook in which he lurked and struck
Mowbray a heavy blow with the large brass crucifix he carried.

The Englishman had doffed his hat and was courteously saluting the
Spanish captain, who was in the act of yielding up his sword. One
outstretched arm of the image of mercy penetrated his skull, and he
fell dead at the feet of his captive.

At once the conflict broke out anew. Nothing could restrain the crew
of the _Resolution_ when they noted the dastardly murder of their
chivalrous leader. The galleon became a slaughter-house. The monk,
frenzied as a beast in the shambles, sprang overboard and was carried
past another ship, the _Vera Cruz_, which rescued him. This vessel was
one of the few storm-wracked and fever-laden survivors of the Armada
which reached Corunna.

The Englishmen learnt from wounded Spaniards that the fanatical
ecclesiastic was a certain Fra Geronimo from the great Jesuit seminary
at Toledo. They remembered the name so that they might curse it. They
cried in their rage because Fra Geronimo had escaped them.

A black snake in the plain of Herát, a glittering crucifix on board the
_San José_ in the Channel off Gravelines--these were queer links,
savoring of necromancy, whereby the lives of gallant men and fair women
should be bound indissolubly. Yet it was so, as those who follow this
strange and true history shall learn, for many a blow was struck and
many a heart ached because Nur Mahal lived and Sir Robert Mowbray died
in that wonderful month of July, 1588.




CHAPTER II

     "Up then rose the 'prentices all,
     Living in London, both proper and tall."
                    _Old Song._


Sir Thomas Cave, of Stanford in Northamptonshire, a worthy Knight who
held his wisdom of greater repute at court than did his royal Master,
was led by the glamour of a fine summer's afternoon in the year 1608 to
fulfil a long-deferred promise to his daughter.

At Spring Gardens, removed but a short space from the King's Palace of
Whitehall, that eccentric monarch, James I., had established a
menagerie. Here could be seen certain mangy specimens of the wonderful
beasts which bulked large in the lore of the period, and Mistress Anna
Cave, with her fair cousin, Mistress Eleanor Roe, had teased Sir Thomas
until he consented to take them thither on the first occasion, of fair
seeming as to the weather, when the King would be pleased to dispense
with his attendance.

The girls, than whom there were not two prettier maidens in all England,
soon tired of evil-smelling and snarling animals, which in no wise came
up to the wonderful creatures of their imagination, eked out by weird
wood-cuts in the books they read.

They found the charming garden, with its beds of flowers and
strawberries, its hedges of red and black currants, roses and
gooseberries, and its golden plum-trees lining the brick walls facing
west and south, far more to their liking.

Nor was it wholly unsuited to their age and condition that their eyes
wandered from the cages of furtive wolves and uneasy bears to the smooth
walks tenanted by a coterie of court ladies with their attendant
gallants. Anna Cave, eighteen, yet looking older by reason of her tall
stature and graceful carriage, Eleanor Roe, a year younger, a sweet
girl, at once timid in manner and joyous in disposition, found much to
cavil at in the Spanish fashions then prevalent in high circles. Born
and bred in decorous and God-fearing households, they were not a little
shocked by the way in which the great dames of the period dressed and
comported themselves. Yet, with all their youthful disapproval there
mingled a spice of curiosity, and Nellie, the shy one, often nudged her
more sedate companion to take note of a specially ornate farthingale or
a Spanish mantilla of exquisite design.

Now, despite the reverence in which the stout Sir Thomas held the King,
he did not approve of some of the King's associates. Especially was he
unwilling that the bold eyes of any of the young adventurers and
profligates who clustered under the banner of Rochester should survey
the charms of his daughter and niece. Therefore, when the girls would
have him walk with them in the wake of Lady Essex, then at the height of
her notorious fame, he peremptorily vetoed their design.

"If you are aweary of the kennels," he said, "we will stroll in our own
garden. It is fair as this, and the scent of the flowers therein is not
aped by the cosmetics of the women."

"Nay, but, uncle," pouted Eleanor, disappointed that the style of the
much talked-of Countess should be no more than glimpsed in passing, "we
have seen neither lion, nor tiger, nor humpbacked camel. Surely the
King's collection is not so meager that one may find as many wild beasts
at any May-day fair in Islington?"

"Lions, tigers, and the rest, Got wot! What doth a girl like thee want
with such fearsome cattle?"

"'Tis only a few days since I heard one declaiming a passage in Master
Shakespeare's play of 'Macbeth,' and he said:

          What men dare, I dare:
     Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
     The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger;
     Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
     Shall never tremble.

Now, save a very harmless-looking bear, neither Ann nor I have seen
these things, so we know not why they should be held so terrible."

During this recital the knight's red face became wider and wider with
surprise.

"Marry, Heaven forfend!" he cried, "what goings on there be behind my
back! Anna, can you, too, spout verse as glibly?"

"Indeed, father, Nellie and I know whole plays by heart. Yet we would
not indulge in this innocent pastime if we thought it angered you."

Sir Thomas was as wax in his daughter's hands. Secretly, he feared her
greater intellectual powers. He believed that girls' brains were better
suited to housewifely cares than to the study of poetry, yet some twinge
of doubt bade him keep the opinion pent in his own portly breast.

"Nay, then, if it pleases you and wiles away dull hours, I will not
hinder you. But our sweet Nellie should not betray her gifts in public.
Folk hereabouts have rabbits' ears and magpies' tongues. I fear me there
are neither lions nor horned pigs to hand. They are costly toys, and
'tis whispered that his gracious Majesty obtaineth less credit abroad
than among his liege subjects. Further, my bonny girls, I have asked a
certain youth, George Beeston by name, to sup with us to-night, and it
behooves you--What, Anna, has it come to that? You shrug at the mere
mention of him! And he a proper youth--not one of these graceless
rascals who yelp at Carr's heels!"

Again was Sir Thomas becoming choleric and red-faced, and the girls'
excursion promised to end in speedy dudgeon had not a messenger, wearing
the Palace livery, approached and doffed his cap, bowing low as he
halted.

"Happily one said your worship was in the gardens," he said. "I am
bidden to tell you that the King awaits your honor in his closet. The
matter is of utmost urgency."

Now, this announcement had the precise effect on its recipient
calculated by those who sent it. Sir Thomas, inflated with importance,
was rendered almost incoherent. Never before had he received such a
royal message. All considerations must bow to it. He bustled the girls
into a litter in which they could be carried to his brother's house in
the city without soiling their shoes or being exposed to the gaze of the
throng in the Fleet or Ludgate. He himself hurried off to Whitehall,
there to be kept in a fume of impatience for a good hour or more, while
the King disputed with a Scottish divine as to the exact pronunciation
of the Latin tongue. Admitted at last to the presence, he found that the
urgency of his summons touched no greater matter than the cleansing of
the Fleet ditch, a fruitful source of dispute between the monarch and
the city in those days.

Sir Thomas had wit enough to promise that the King's wishes should be
made known to the Common Council, and sense enough to wonder why he was
called in such hot haste to attend a trivial thing.

It was a time when men sought hidden motives for aught that savored of
the uncommon; the knight, borrowing a palfrey from a merchant of his
acquaintance, rode homeward along the Strand revolving the puzzle in his
mind. Long before he reached Temple Bar he was wiser if not happier.

Soon after Anna Cave and the sprightly Eleanor entered their litter to
be carried swiftly through the Strand, two young men approached Temple
Bar from the east. Their distinctive garments showed that while one was
of gentle birth the other was a yeoman; that they were not master and
man could be seen at a glance, as they conversed one with the other with
easy familiarity, and repaid with ready good-humor the chaff which they
received from the cheeky apprentices who solicited custom in the busy
street.

Indeed, the appearance of the yeoman was well calculated to stir tongues
less nimble than those of the pert salesmen of Fleet Street. Gigantic in
height and width, his broad, ruddy face beaming with the delight
afforded by the evidently novel sights of London, his immense size was
accentuated by a coat of tough brown leather and high riding-boots of
the same material which almost met the skirts of the coat. Tight-fitting
trousers of gray homespun matched the color of his broad-brimmed felt
hat, in which a gay plume of cock's feathers was clasped by a big brooch
of dull gold. The precious metal served to enclose a peculiar ornament,
in the shape of a headless fossil snake, curled in a circle as in life
and polished until it shone like granite.

Though his coat was girt by a sword-belt he carried no weapons of steel,
apparently depending for protection, if such a giant required its aid,
on a long and heavy ashplant. In other hands it would be a cumbrous
stake; to him it served as a mere wand.

His immense size, aided by a somewhat unusual garb in well-dressed
London, absolutely eclipsed, in the public eye, the handsome and
stalwart youth who, in richer but studiously simple attire, strode by
his side.

The apprentices, fearless in their numbers and unfettered in impudence,
plied him with saucy cries.

"What d'ye lack, Master Samson? Here be two suits for the price of one,
for one man's clothes would never fit thee."

"Come hither, mountain! I'll sell thee a town clock that shall serve
thee as watch."

"Hi, master! Let me show thee a trencher worthy of thy stomach."

The last speaker held forth a salver of such ample circumference that
the two young men were fain to laugh.

"I' faith, friend," said the giant, with utmost good-humor, "we are more
needing meat than dishes. Nevertheless, you have ta'en my measure
rightly."

His North-country accent proclaimed him a Yorkshire dalesman, and the
White Rose was popular just then in Fleet Street.

"If that be so," said the sturdy silversmith's assistant who had hailed
him, "you must hie to Smithfield, where they shall roast you a bullock."

"Come wi' me, then. Mayhap they need a puppy for the spit."

The answer turned the laugh against the apprentice. He bravely
endeavored to rally.

"I cry your honor's pardon," he said. "I looked not for brains where
there was so much beef."

"Therein you further showed your observation. Ofttimes the cockloft is
empty in those whom nature hath built many stories high."

Again the buoyant spirits of the Colossus won him the suffrages of the
crowd. Clearly, he had an even temper in his great frame of bone and
sinew, for the easy play of his limbs showed that, big as he was, he
held no superfluous flesh, while the heat of the day left him unmoved,
notwithstanding his heavy garments.

But his companion caught him by the arm.

"Come, Roger," he said quietly. "We must find our kinsman's house. There
is still much to be done ere night falls."

The crowd made way for them. They passed westward through Temple Bar,
which was not the frowning stone arch of later days, but a strong
palisade, with posts and chains, capable of being closed during a
tumult, or when darkness made it difficult to keep watch and ward in the
city.

The Strand, which they entered, was an open road, with the mansions and
gardens of great noblemen on the left, or south side. Each walled
enclosure was separate from its neighbor, the alleys between leading to
the water stairs, where passengers so minded took boat to Southwark or
Lambeth.

On the north were other houses, some pretentious, but more closely
packed together, and, on this hand, Drury Lane and St. Martin's Lane
were already becoming thoroughfares of note.

One of these houses, not far removed from the Church of St.
Mary-le-Strand, thrust the high wall of its garden so far into the road
that it narrowed the passage between it and Somerset House. Here, a
group of young gallants had gathered, and some soldiers, of swarthy
visage and foreign attire, were loitering in the vicinity.

"This, if my memory serves, should be the house of Gondomar, the Spanish
Ambassador," said Walter Mowbray, the elder and more authoritative of
the pair.

"Gondomar! Another name for Old Nick! The devil should keep his proper
name in all countries, as he keeps his nature in all places."

"Hush, Roger, or we shall have a brawl on our hands. I am no lover of
Spaniards, you know full well, yet we must pass Gondomar's men without
unseemly taunt. The King loves not to hear of naked blades."

Thus admonished, his wonted grin of good-humor returned to Roger
Sainton's face, and, as the swaggering youngsters in the road were
paying some heed to a covered litter rapidly approaching from the west,
the friends essayed to pass them by taking the pavement close under the
wall of the Ambassador's garden.

As luck would have it, a sort of signal seemed to be given for a row to
start. Swords were whipped out, men ran forward, and there was a sudden
clash of steel.

A laughing fop, for his sins, turned to seek some one with whom to pick
a quarrel; he chanced to find himself face to face with Mowbray, Roger
being a little in front and at one side.

"I'll have the wall of you, sirrah," cried the stranger, frowning
offensively.

Walter stepped back, and his right hand crossed to his sword hilt, so
evident was the design of the other to insult him.

But Sainton laughed. He caught the would-be bully by the belt.

"Yea, and take the house, too, if the landlord be willing, my pretty
buck," he growled pleasantly, whereon he heaved the swaggerer bodily
over the wall, and they heard the crash of his body into the window of a
summer house.

Those who stood near were rendered aghast by this feat of strength; they
had never seen its like. Young Lord Dereham was no light weight, and his
lordship's wriggling carcass had described sufficient parabola to clear
coping-stones set ten feet above the pavement.

The incident passed unheeded by the greater mob in the roadway. For no
reason whatever a crowd of struggling men surged around the litter.
Mowbray, clutching his undrawn sword, planted his back against the wall
from which the discomfited aristocrat would have ousted him; he called
to Sainton:--

"Stand by, Roger! There is some treason afoot!"

The words had scarce left his mouth when a Spanish halberdier felled the
two nearest litter-bearers, and a shriek of dismay came from behind the
drawn curtains as the conveyance dropped to the ground.

Another rush, also preconcerted, enabled some of the well-dressed
rascals to possess themselves of the litter-poles. The gates of
Gondomar's garden were suddenly opened, and a move was made to carry the
litter thither.

At that instant Eleanor Roe, thrusting aside the curtains, showed her
beautiful face, now distraught with fear, and cried aloud for help.

"Be not alarmed, fair one," said one of her new escort, scarcely veiling
his bold stare of admiration by an assumption of good manners. "We have
saved you from some roistering knaves, and shall give you a pleasant
refuge until the trouble be quelled."

"Where are my father's serving-men?" demanded another voice, and Anna
looked forth, though anger rather than fear marked her expression.

"Prone in the dust, miladi," answered the cavalier.

Both girls saw that they were being taken towards Gondomar's house.

"I pray you convey us to Temple Bar," cried Anna, an alarmed look now
sending shadows across her dark eyes. "'Tis but a step, and there our
names shall warrant us bearers in plenty."

"You are much too pretty to trust to such varlets," said the spokesman
of the party, and, before another word of protest could be uttered, the
litter was hustled within the gates, which were closed at once.

Now, both Mowbray and his huge companion were assured that the whole
business was a trick. The only sufferers from the riot were the
unfortunate litter-bearers and the nobleman who was pitched over the
wall. All the rest was make-believe, save the unpleasing fact that two
young and beautiful girls were left helpless in the hands of a number of
unprincipled libertines such as followed the lead set by Carr, the
Scottish page, and maintained, in later years, by "Steenie" and "Baby
Charles" in a lewd and dissolute court.

But Mowbray was a comparative stranger in London, and Sainton had never
before set eyes on the capital. Common prudence suggested that they
should not raise a clamor at the gates of Gondomar, whose great
influence with the erratic King was widely known and justly dreaded.

Yet, when did prudence ever withstand the pleading of a pretty face?
Mowbray's blood was boiling, and it needed but little to rouse him to
action. The impetus was soon forthcoming.

The noise of the disturbance brought people running from Temple Bar.
Others hurried up from the direction of Charing Cross. Then, as now,
Londoners dearly loved a street row.

Again, by well-planned strategy, the soldiers and some of the exquisites
mingled with the crowd and gave lying assurances that the rogues who
fought had run off towards the Convent Garden. Roger recognized the
silversmith's apprentice among the gapers.

"Here, lad," he said, beckoning him, "ask yon fellow holding a kerchief
to his broken head who were the ladies he carried in the litter."

The man, thus appealed to, gathered his wits sufficiently to answer, and
the honored names of Cave and Roe acted as sparks on tinder. Forthwith,
a number of city youths gathered round Mowbray and Sainton to hear their
version of the fray.

As soon as they knew that the girls had been taken into Gondomar's
house, all the race hatred and religious bigotry of the time flamed
forth in ungovernable fury.

"'Prentices! 'Prentices! Clubs! Clubs!" rang out the yell, and the
war-cry of the guilds quickly reached to the city barrier, whence a
torrent of youths poured headlong into the Strand.

"We'll have 'em out, if all the ambassadors in St. James's barred the
way," shouted the valiant silversmith, who contrived to keep very close
to Roger in the press, and, when reinforcements arrived, a decided move
was made towards the garden gate.

And now, indeed, a real fight was imminent. Seeing their ruse foiled,
Gondomar's adherents banded together for the defense. The citizens were
determined to rescue the daughters of two men respected of all honest
burgesses, but, if more numerous, they were not properly armed to attack
swordsmen and halberdiers. Hence, blood would be spilt in plenty before
they won the gate, had not Roger pulled back Walter Mowbray, who headed
the attack.

"Leave 'em to me," he said. "I'll side 'em!"

With that he leaped forward into the space cleared by the halberdiers,
and made play with his staff. A steel helmet was cracked like a
potsherd, three unarmored gallants dropped beneath one blow, and two
halberds were broken across as if they had been pipe-stems abhorred by
the King.

Before this raging giant, with the tremendous sweep of his long arms
and six-foot staff, ordinary swords and ceremonial battle-axes were of
no avail. He mowed down his adversaries as a scythe cuts grass, and a
few lightning circles described by the ashplant, cleared the way to the
gate.

The door was really a wide postern, sunk in the wall, built of stout oak
and studded with iron rivets. Without a moment's pause, Sainton leaned
against it. There was a sound of rending wood-work, and the structure
was torn from its hinges.

Mowbray parried a vengeful thrust made at his friend by a fallen
Spaniard, and jammed the hilt of his sword into the man's face. Roger,
bending his head, entered the garden. Behind him came Walter, and the
exulting mob poured in at their heels.

The garden was empty. Leading to the house was a flight of broad steps;
at the open door of the mansion stood a tall, grim-looking, clean-shaven
priest, a Spaniard, of the ascetic type, a man of dignified appearance,
in whose face decision and strength of character set their seal.

At his elbow Mowbray saw the young nobleman who had addressed the girls.
He ran forward, fearing lest Roger should open the argument with his
cudgel.

"Hold!" cried the ecclesiastic, in good English. "What want ye here in
this unbridled fashion?"

"We seek two ladies, daughters of Sir Thomas Cave and Master Robert Roe,
who were brought hither forcibly but a few minutes back."

"They are not here."

"That is a black lie, black as your own gown," put in Roger Sainton.

The priest's sallow face flushed. He was of high rank, and not used to
being spoken to so curtly. Mowbray, already cooler now swords had given
place to words, restrained Roger by a look and a hand on his arm.

"My friend is blunt of speech," he explained. "He only means that you
are mistaken. It will avoid riot and bloodshed if the ladies are given
over forthwith to the safe conduct of those who are acquainted with
their parents."

"Who are you who can venture to speak on behalf of an ignorant and
unmannerly gathering which dares to violate the sanctuary of an
Embassy?" was the vehement response.

"My name is Walter Mowbray," was the calm answer. "There is no violation
of sanctuary intended. We are here to rescue two ladies inveigled into
this house by unworthy device. Either they come out or we come in."

"Aye, shaven-pate, 'tis ill disputing with him who commands an army,"
cried Roger.

The cleric, on whom Mowbray's reply seemed to have an extraordinary
effect, shot glances at both which would have slain them if looks could
kill. But the impatient mob was shouting for active measures: it would
have asked no greater fun than the sack of Gondomar's residence;
moreover, the majority of the Spaniards and their allies were routed in
the street.

So the priest swallowed his wrath and muttered something in a low tone
to the silken-clad person by his side. Then he faced Mowbray again.

"When I said there were no ladies here, I meant that none had been
conveyed hither forcibly. Two young ladies were sheltered by his
Excellency's retinue, it is true. If they choose they are at liberty to
accompany you, and I shall now acquaint them therewith."

A hoarse laugh from the crowd showed that the sophistry did not pass
unheeded. Nevertheless, Mowbray's counsel of moderation swayed the mob
into quiescence, and, a minute later, Anna Cave and Eleanor Roe, pale
and trembling, hardly knowing what was toward, were carried in their
litter to the city by an excited but good-tempered escort.




CHAPTER III

         "The attempt, and not the deed,
     Confounds us."
                    _Shakespeare_, "Macbeth."


Anna's father, jogging along comfortably on the borrowed cob, overtook
the rearmost of the rabble near St. Dunstan's. Anger made him red, and
alarm made him white, when he heard the disjointed tales of those who
sought to enlighten him.

That the daughter and niece of one who held high place in his native
county, and whose brother in the city was loaded with civic dignities,
should be waylaid in the Strand by a number of young profligates aping
Rochester's license, was not to be endured. Therefore, Sir Thomas
flushed like a turkey, and his right hand, long unaccustomed to more
serious weapon than a carving-knife, tightened on the reins in a way
that surprised his placid steed.

But it was an equally serious thing that certain youthful hot-heads,
led by "a pair of Yorkshire gallants, one of whom was like unto Gog
himself," should have stormed the house of the Spanish Ambassador in
order to rescue the two girls. The royal prerogative, already in grave
dispute, was sadly abused by this disorder, and Gondomar was well
fitted, by diplomatic skill and political acumen, to make the most of
the incident. When Sir Thomas thought of the way in which James, with
his dagger-proof doublet unfastened and his points tied awry, would
stamp up and down his council-chamber in maundering rage, the color fled
from his ruddy cheeks and left him pallid, with drawn under lip.

Nevertheless, when he reached the house of Alderman Cave, situate on the
north side of Draper's Garden, his natural dread of the King's wrath
soon yielded to indignation. He found there not only Anna and Eleanor,
but Walter Mowbray and Roger Sainton, with a concourse of friends and
neighbors drawn together by news of the outrage.

The old knight's vanity was not proof against the knowledge of the peril
from which the girls were saved. He swore roundly that he had been
separated from them by a trick, and admitted that the King did not want
him at all. With tears in his eyes he thanked the two young men for
their timely aid.

"You will be the son of Sir Walter Mowbray who fell in the great
sea-fight against the Spanish Armada?" he cried, seizing Walter's hand
effusively.

"Yes. I scarce remember my father. I was but five years old when he
died. Yet my mother taught me to regard all Spaniards as false men, so I
scrupled the less to take part against Gondomar."

"Mercy-a-gad, she might justly have given thee sterner counsel. Thy
father was a brave and proper man. I knew him well. Were there more of
the like to-day these graceless rogues would not treat as courtezans
the daughters of honest folk. And thy friend, if he be not Goliath come
to life, how is he known?"

"Let me present to your worship Master Roger Sainton, of Wensleydale, in
Yorkshire."

"Ecod, he is well named. I warrant him sain (wholesome) and I trow he
weigheth nearest a ton of any man breathing."

Roger, seldom at a loss for a repartee, waited until the laugh raised by
Sir Thomas's jest had passed.

"'Tis an empty tun at this moment, your Honor," said he, glancing
plainly at the row of shining tankards which graced a sideboard.

"Where are those lasses?" shouted the knight, glad of the diversion
afforded by the claims of hospitality. "Zounds! Here be their defenders
athirst and not a flagon on the table."

In truth, Anna and Eleanor, flurried out of their self-possession by the
turmoil of the past hour, had escaped to their apartments, whence they
sent the excuse that they were engaged in exchanging their out-of-door
dresses and cloaks for raiment more suited to the house.

There were servants in plenty, however, to bring wine enough for a
regiment, and certain city magnates, arriving about this time, were
emphatic in their advice that Mowbray and Sainton should not attempt
to traverse the Strand a second time that day in their search for the
residence of the North-country nobleman whom Walter meant to visit.

"A bonny tale will have reached his Majesty ere this," ran their
comment. "Were the pair of you to be haled before him after Gondomar had
poisoned his mind you were like to lose your right hands within the hour
for brawling in the streets."

"Neither Roger nor I broke the peace," protested Mowbray.

"They say that one of you nearly broke Lord Dereham's neck," put in a
city sheriff, "and that will be held a grave crime when recited to his
Majesty by his crony, Carr (Rochester). No, no, my lads, bide ye in the
city until such time as inquiry shall be made with due circumspection.
The King hath a good heart and a sound understanding, and I'll wager my
chain of office he shall not be pleased to hear that his name was used
to decoy my worthy gossip, Sir Thomas Cave, from the company of his
daughter and niece."

This shrewd comment was greeted with solemn nods and winks. The timely
arrival of Alderman Cave, with the intelligence that Gondomar, summoned
from play at Beaujeu's, had ridden furiously to Whitehall, determined
Mowbray to accept the safe custody offered to him.

Gradually the assemblage dispersed. A man was sent to the Swan Inn, by
Holborn Bridge, where the travelers' nags and pack-horses were stabled.
Hence, ere supper was served, Walter wore garments of livelier hue, and
Roger was able to discard his heavy riding coat and long boots for a
sober suit of homespun.

The girls were discreetly reserved as to their adventure. True, they
said that no incivility was offered them. For all they could tell to
the contrary the Marquis of Bath and Sir Harry Revel, who made their
names known to them, had really saved them from an affray of rowdies.

"I would I had been there," vowed young George Beeston, who seemed to
resent the part played in the affair by Mowbray and his gigantic friend.

"A yard measure is of little avail when swords are drawn," cried Anna,
tartly. The hit was, perhaps, unworthy of her wonted good nature, for
Beeston belonged to the Linen-drapers' Company.

He reddened, but made no reply, and Sir Thomas took up the cudgels in
his behalf:--

"When George weds thee, Ann, thou wilt find that a linen-draper of the
city is better able to safeguard his wife than any mongrel popinjay who
flaunts it at Whitehall."

"I am in no mind to wed anyone, father," said she, "nor do I seek other
protection than yours."

"Nay, lass, I am getting old. Be not vexed with young Master Beeston
because he guessed not of your peril."

"I would brave a hundred swords to serve you," stammered George. Better
had he remained silent. No girl likes love-making in public. Anna
seemingly paid no heed to his bashful words, but her eyes sparkled with
some glint of annoyance.

Roger Sainton, ever more ready to laugh than to quarrel, smoothed over
the family tiff by breaking out into a diatribe on the virtues of the
knight's Brown Devon ale. Mowbray, too, seeing how the land lay,
offered more attention to Mistress Eleanor Roe than to her stately
cousin.

Herein he only followed his secret inclination. The girl's shy blue
eyes and laughing lips formed a combination difficult to resist, if
resistance were thought of. She was dressed in simple white. Her hair,
plaited in the Dutch style, was tied with a bow of blue riband, nor was
her gown too long to hide the neat shoes of saffron-colored leather
which adorned her pretty feet.

She wore no ornaments, and her attire was altogether less expensive
than that of Anna Cave. His own experiences had given Mowbray a clear
knowledge of domestic values. Judging by appearances, he thought that
the house of Roe was not so well endowed with wealth as the house of
Cave. He did not find the drawback amiss. He was young enough, and
sufficiently romantic in disposition, to discover ample endowment in
Eleanor's piquant face and bright, if somewhat timid, wit.

Anna, who looked preoccupied, quickly upset an arrangement which
threatened to leave her and Beeston to entertain each other.

It was not yet dark when the supper was ended. Anna, rising suddenly
when a waiting-man produced a dust-covered flagon of Alicant, assumed
an animated air.

"I see you sip your wine rather than drink it, Master Mowbray," she
cried. "Will you not join Nellie and me in the garden, and leave to
these graver gentlemen the worship of Bacchus?"

"Aye," growled George Beeston, spurred into a display of spirit, "though
Venus may be coy the god of wine never refuses his smile."

"Take an old man's advice, George," said Sir Thomas confidentially, "and
never seek to woo a girl with a glum face."

"Better still," said Roger, reaching for the flagon, "wait until she
woos thee. Gad, a woman plagues a man sufficiently after he is wed that
his heart should ache before the knot is tied."

"If your heart ached, Master Sainton, its size would render the ailment
of much consequence," said Eleanor.

"Mayhap 'tis like an August mushroom, which, when overgrown, hath the
consistency of hide," he answered, and his jolly laugh caused even young
Beeston to smile.

"Roger and I were bred together," said Mowbray, as he walked with the
two girls into the small public garden which faced the house. "I vow he
never cared for woman other than his mother."

"Belike it is the fashion in Wensleydale," was Anna's comment.

"Nay, Mistress Cave, such fashion will not commend itself anywhere.
Certes, I have observed that it does not prevail in London."

This with a glance at Eleanor, but the retort told Anna that although
Mowbray came from the shires his wits were not dull.

As his hostess, however, she curbed the inclination to make some one
suffer vicariously for poor George Beeston.

"May I make bold to ask if you seek advancement at court?" she inquired
civilly.

"Yes, if it help one at court to wish to fight for his Majesty. That is
my desire. After much entreaty, my mother allowed me to travel hither,
in the hope that my distant kinsman, the Earl of Beverley, might procure
me the captaincy of a troop of horse. As for Roger, his mother was my
mother's foster-sister, so the worthy dame sent her son to take care of
me."

"What will the good ladies say when they hear that you had not been in
London an hour ere you stormed Gondomar's house to succor a couple of
silly wenches?" put in Eleanor.

"My mother will remember that my father lamed two men who sought to stop
their wedding, but Mistress Sainton will clap her hands and cry, 'Mercy
o' me! what manner o' fules be those Spaniards that they didna run when
they set eyes on my Roger? They mun be daft!'"

His ready reproduction of the Yorkshire dialect brought a laugh to their
lips; it aided Eleanor in no small degree to hide the blush which
mantled her fair cheeks when Walter so aptly turned the tables on her.

But Anna, if restrained in her own behalf, thought that this young
spark's wooing of her friend should be curbed.

"There was purpose in your father's prowess," she said. "Sir Harry Revel
told me he wished us no indignity, so, perchance, you erred in your
boldness, though, indeed, I do not cavil at it."

"Sir Harry Revel lied. When I meet the fop I shall tell him so."

"Nay, nay. You take me too seriously. I pray you forget my banter. It
would ill requite your service were careless words of mine to provoke
another encounter."

"For my part, I plead with you on behalf of the Marquis of Bath. He is
but a goose, though he carries the feathers of a peacock," added Nellie.

In their talk they passed along the north side of the garden. Here, a
number of trees gave grateful shade in the daytime. A wall beyond, with
foliage peeping over it, showed that another smaller enclosure,
belonging to some civic dignitary, occupied one of the few open spaces
remaining within the city defenses.

At this moment, though darkness had not yet fallen, the gloom cast by
the trees rendered persons near at hand indistinct. Their voices must
have given warning of their coming, for a tall cavalier, wrapped in a
cloak, suddenly stepped from behind a broad-beamed elm.

"Anna!" he said, "and Nellie! But whom else have we here?"

The girls started, and Mowbray would have resented the newcomer's manner
had not Eleanor cried:--

"My brother!"

Anna, too, quickly intervened.

"This is Master Walter Mowbray," she said, "and his breeding, no less
than the help he rendered so freely to-day, warrants more courteous
greeting from Sir Thomas Roe."

The stranger, a young man of dignified appearance, made such amends for
the abruptness of his challenge that Mowbray wondered how it happened
that so elegant and polished a gentleman should have startled two ladies
with a peremptory challenge.

Soon this bewilderment passed. They strolled on in company, and they had
not been discoursing five minutes before he discovered that Sir Thomas
Roe was favored of Anna if young Beeston was favored of her father.

A certain reluctance on their part to return to the more open part of
the garden did not escape him, and, although there was no actual pairing
off, he found little difficulty in addressing his conversation
exclusively to the bewitching Eleanor.

In the half light of evening she was fairy-like, a living dream of
beauty, a coy sprite, who laughed, and teased, and tantalized by her
aloof propinquity. It was strange, too, that a youngster who could hold
his own so fairly in an encounter of wits with Anna should be suddenly
overtaken by one-syllable bashfulness when left alone with Eleanor. Yet,
if Master Mowbray's confusion were inexplicable, what subtle craft can
dissipate the mystery of Nellie Roe's change of manner? From being shy,
she became pert. She seemed to pass with a bound from demure girlhood to
delightful womanhood. When Walter strove to rally her with an apt retort
she overwhelmed him with a dozen. Her eyes met his and looked him out
of face. It might be that the presence of her brother gave her
confidence, that the sweet gloaming of a summer's eve enchanted her,
that the day's adventures flashed a new and wondrous picture into the
undimmed mirror of her mind. Whatever the cause, Mowbray was vanquished
utterly, and, being of soldierly stock, he recognized his defeat.

There came to him, in that magic garden, the first dazzling vision of
love. Never before had he met a maid to whom his heart sang out the glad
tidings that here was his mate. Somehow, the wondrous discovery, though
it thrilled his very soul, sobered his thoughts. And then, with quick
alternation of mood, he found his tongue again, and behold, Mistress Roe
must fain listen, with many a sigh and sympathetic murmur, whilst he
poured forth his day-dreams of founding anew the fortunes of his house.

Ah, those summer nights, when hearts are virginal: they are old as
Paradise, young as yester eve!

Unhappily, true love does not always find a rose-strewn path. Absorbed
though they were in their talk, and ever drawing nearer until a rounded
arm touched by chance was now pressed with reassuring confidence, they
could not help seeing, when they met Anna and Sir Thomas Roe in a little
open space, that the lady had been crying.

Indeed, she herself made no secret of it, but bravely carried off the
situation by vowing that old friends should never say "Good-by."

"Here is your brother, Nell, come to tell us that he sails forthwith
for some far-off land he calls Guiana," she cried, striving to laugh in
order to hide the nervous break in her voice. "Not content with that, he
must need add that he hopes to discover the limits of that wild river of
the Amazons, as if there were greater fortunes for men of intelligence
in savage countries than in our own good city."

"Can it be true that you leave us so soon?" cried Eleanor, disengaging
her arm from Mowbray's hand in quick alarm.

"It is, indeed, but a matter of hours," he said lightly. "I did but
break in on your after-supper stroll to ask your fair gossip for some
token which should cheer my drooping spirits by kind remembrance when
England shall have sunk below the line."

"A most reasonable request," put in Walter. "Had I another such keepsake
from a lady whom I honor most highly I would seek the further privilege
of going with you on your travels."

"Lack-a-day! at this rate we shall lose every youth of our
acquaintance," said Anna, who found in excited speech the safest outlet
for her emotions. "Yet, lest it be said that I would restrain young
gentlemen of spirit who would fain wander abroad, I have here a memento
of myself which Sir Thomas Roe shall carry as a talisman against all
barbarians."

She took from beneath a ruff of lace on her breast a small oval object
which was fastened by a tiny gold chain around her neck. Even in the dim
light they could see it was a miniature.

"It is the work of that excellent painter, Master Isaac Olliver," she
added hastily, "and, from what I know of his skill, I vow his brush was
worthy of a better subject."

"Anna, it is your own portrait!" cried Roe.

"Indeed, would any woman give you the picture of another?"

"Not unless she wished me well and gave me yours."

"Have you also sat to this Master Olliver?" whispered Mowbray to
Eleanor.

"'Tis clear you come from the country, sir. His repute is such that to
procure one of his miniatures would cost me my dress for a year or
more."

"Then he has not seen you, or, being an artist, he would beseech you to
inspire his pencil."

Already they were alone again, for Roe and his lady might reasonably be
expected to say something in privacy concerning that painting, and there
is no telling what topic Walter would have pursued with Eleanor, his
dumbness having passed away wholly, had not the noise of some one
running hastily in their direction along the gravel path drawn the four
together with the men in front.

It was now nearly dark, and they knew not, until he was upon them, that
the individual in such urgency was George Beeston.

"Master Mowbray!" he called out, "Master Mowbray, an you be in the
company, I pray you answer."

"Here I am. Is aught amiss?"

"But there is another, yet I left your good friend Sainton at the door?"

"We are accompanied by Sir Thomas Roe, with whom you are acquainted,"
intervened Anna, in the clear, cold accents which were but too familiar
in Beeston's ears.

"Ah!"

The little word meant a good deal, but the young man was too
single-minded to seek a quarrel with a rival at that moment. Gulping
back the bitter exclamation which rose to his lips, he said quietly:--

"I am glad it is none other. Here be ill news to hand. The King has sent
officers demanding the instant rendition of two strangers, one Mowbray
by name and the other a maniac of monstrous growth, who committed grave
default to-day without the confines of the city. The requisition is made
in proper form, under his Majesty's sign manual. The sheriff cannot
withstand it. He hath sent a privy warning, and he comes hither with
some pomp quick on the heels of his messenger."

"Then the King's orders must be obeyed. What sayeth Sir Thomas Cave?"
said Mowbray.

"His worship is greatly perturbed. He fears that Gondomar has poisoned
the King's mind. You had best consult with him instantly."

"The sheriff did not give warning without motive," said Sir Thomas Roe.
"He conveyed a hint that those he sought had better be absent.
Unhappily, Sir Thomas Cave would not be pleased by my presence in his
house, or I would accompany you. Nevertheless, I advise you to avoid
arrest."

"Tell us, brother dear, how this can be accomplished."

There was a tremulous anxiety in Eleanor Roe's question that sent a
thrill of joy through one listener at least. Unnoticed in the darkness,
Walter sought and pressed her hand.

Again Roe's natural air of domination made itself felt. Even Beeston,
who would gladly have run him through the body, found himself waiting
for his sage counsel.

"Return, all of you, to the dwelling," said Roe. "Let Master Mowbray
bring his friend hither, and I shall conduct them both to a place of
safety. None need know of my presence here. If Master Beeston desires an
explanation thereof I shall accord it fittingly hereafter."

"For my part I shall be equally ready to receive it, when these
Yorkshire gentlemen are provided for," said Beeston.

"Then these polite rejoinders are needless," cried Anna softly, "for Sir
Thomas Roe sails forthwith for the Spanish main. Come! No more idle
words. Our feet are more needed than our tongues."

They raced away together, Walter thinking no harm in helping Nellie by
catching hold of her slender wrist.

They found Sir Thomas Cave's house in some disorder of frightened
domestics. The knight himself was raging at the garden door.

"A nice thing," he roared at the girls, "gadding about among the bushes
and gilliflowers when men's lives are at stake. Here be arquebusiers by
the score come from Whitehall--"

"Where is Sainton?" demanded Mowbray, wishful to cut short any
discussion that threatened to waste time.

"Gone to don his suit of leather. He says he has no mind to see his
mother's good homespun cut by steel bodkins. Gad! he is a proper man.
But this is a bad business, Master Mowbray. I pray you demand fair
trial, yet anger not the King by repartee. He is fair enough when the
harpies about him leave him to his pleasure. I have some little favor at
court. It shall be exerted to the utmost, and backed by my last penny if
need be. Never shall it be said that I left my daughter's protectors to
languish in gaol, maimed for life, without striving with all my power--"

"Never fash yourself about us, most excellent host," roared Sainton,
appearing behind the distressed old gentleman. "Friend Mowbray and I can
win our way out of London as we won our way into it. Methinks 'tis a
place that has little liking for honest men, saving those who, like your
worship, are forced to bide in it."

Seizing the cue thus unconsciously given by Roger, Walter said
hurriedly:--

"We bid you Godspeed, my worthy friend, and hope some day to see you
again. Farewell, Mistress Anna. Come, Roger. I think I hear the clank of
steel in the distance."

"My soul, whither will you hie yourselves at this hour?" gasped Sir
Thomas.

"We can strive to avoid arrest, and that is a point gained. Forgive me!
Lights are dangerous."

He seized a lantern held by a serving-man and blew out the flame.
Instantly he clasped Eleanor Roe around the waist and kissed her on the
lips. She was so taken by surprise that she resisted not at all, even
lifting her pretty face, in sheer wonderment, it might be.

"Good-by, sweetheart," he whispered. "I shall see you again, if all the
King's men made a cordon about you."

Then Roger and he vanished among the trees, while a loud knocking
disturbed the quietude of the night in the street which adjoined the
gardens.




CHAPTER IV

     "The Philistines be upon thee, Samson."
                    _Judges_ xvi. 9.


For the first time in his life Mowbray felt the tremor of a woman's
kiss. Naturally, in an age when kissing was regarded, save by husbands
and jealous lovers, as a mere expression of esteem, his lips had met
those of many a pretty girl during a village revel or when the chestnuts
exploded on the hearth of an All Hallow's Eve. Yet there was an
irresistible impulse, a silent avowal, in the manner of his leave-taking
of Eleanor Roe that caused the blood to tingle in his veins with the
rapture of a new delight. For a few paces he trod on air.

Big Roger, recking little of these lover-like raptures, brought him back
to earth with a question:--

"Had we not better seek the open streets than scramble through these
uncertain trees, friend Walter?"

"Forgive me. I should have told you that one awaits us here."

"Marry! Is the refuge planned already?"

"I know not. Hist, now, a moment, and we shall soon be wiser."

They stood in silence for a few seconds. They heard the clash of
accouterments and the champing of bits from the cavalcade halted
outside Alderman Cave's door.

"I' faith," growled Roger, "his most gracious Majesty hath sent an army
to apprehend us. Yet, if you be not misled, he bids fair to be no better
off than Waltham's calf, which ran nine miles to suck a bull and came
home athirst."

"I pray you cease. Sir Thomas! Sir Thomas Roe!"

At the call a figure advanced from amidst the trees.

"Grant me your pardon, Master Mowbray," came the polite response. "I was
not prepared to encounter a son of Anak in your company. I had grave
design to climb the wall speedily when I saw your giant comrade dimly
outlined. It will be a matter of no small difficulty to pilot him
unobserved through the city."

"Show me the North Road and I'll make my own gait," said Roger.

"Nay, that is not my intent. I was, in foolish parlance, thinking aloud.
Difficulties exist only that resolute men may surmount them. I do not
decry your length of limb, good sir. Rather would I avail myself of it.
Behind these bushes there is a wall of such proportions that your height
alone will enable us to scale it without noise. Now, Master Mowbray, up
on your friend's shoulders. I will follow suit. Between the two of us we
shall hoist him after."

Roe's cool demeanor inspired them with confidence. Though it was now so
dark, owing to storm-clouds having banked up from the west, that they
had to grope their path through the undergrowth, they obeyed his
directions. All three were seated astride a ten-foot wall without much
delay.

That they had not acted an instant too soon was evident from the fact
that already armed men carrying torches were spreading fan-wise across
Draper's Garden from the Caves's house, and they heard a loud voice
bellowing from the private doorway:--

"I call on all liege men and true to secure the arrest of two
malefactors who have but now escaped from this dwelling."

Mowbray found himself wondering why the hue and cry had been raised so
promptly. Some one must have indicated the exact place where he and
Roger had disappeared. But Roe dropped from the wall on the other side
and whispered up to them:--

"Follow! It is soft earth."

"Hold by the wall," he murmured when they stood by his side. "It leads
to a wicket."

Walking in Indian file they quickly passed into a narrow court. Thence,
threading many a dark alley and tortuous by-street, stopping always at
main thoroughfares until their guide signaled that the way was clear,
they crossed the city towards the river. Roe knew London better than the
watch. Seemingly, he could find the track blindfold, and Walter guessed
that the cavalier often used this device in order to encounter Anna Cave
unseen by others. It was passing strange that Nellie should be an inmate
of a house where her brother was so unwelcome. However, this was no
hour to push inquiries. He was now utterly lost as to locality, and he
awaited, with some curiosity, the outcome of this nocturnal wandering
through the most ancient part of London.

At last, the close air of the alleys gave place to a fresher draft, and
his quick ear caught the plash of water.

"Guard your steps here," said Roe. "The stairs are not of the best, but
they will bear your weight if you proceed with caution."

He appeared to vanish through a trap-door in a small jetty. Down in the
impenetrable darkness they heard him say:--

"I have flint and steel, yet, if you give me your hand, I can dispense
with a light."

Thus, with exact directions, he seated them safely in a boat, and,
controlling the craft by retaining touch with the beams of the wharf,
after gliding through the gloom for a few yards he was able to ply a
pair of oars in the stream. Neither of the others had been on the Thames
at night--Roger had not even seen the river before--and so, when the
oarsman vigorously impelled the wherry straight into what looked like a
row of tall houses, with lights in some of the upper windows, the
North-country youths thought for sure they would collide violently with
the foundations. They were minded to cry a warning, but seeing that Roe
glanced frequently over his shoulder they refrained.

Thus, they shot under one of the many arches of London Bridge, covered
then throughout its length by tall buildings, and, once they were
speeding in mid-stream of the open river, they saw a forest of masts
rising dimly in front.

Ere long, Sir Thomas Roe, who exercised sailor-like skill in the
management of his oars, picked out one of the innumerable company of
ships and lay to under the vessel's quarter.

"_Defiance_ ahoy!" he cried softly.

"Aye, aye," replied a voice, and a rope ladder fell into the boat.
Whilst Roe held it his companions clambered aloft, gaining the deck of a
fair-sized merchantman where watch was kept by a number of sailors.

It chanced that Sainton mounted first, and a lantern flashed into his
eyes. As he became visible, by feet at a time, for he stood nearly seven
feet high, the man holding the light fell back in amazed fear.

"Avaunt thee!" he roared. "Up pikes to repel boarders! Here be the devil
himself come to murther us!"

"Peace, fellow," said Roger, "when Old Nick visits thee he shall not
need to come in the guise of an honest man. Yet, I warrant thee, Sir
Thomas Roe shall play the devil when he comes aboard if thou makest such
a row without better cause."

Mowbray's appearance, with Roe close on his heels, quelled the
excitement of the watch. A few sharp words recalled them to their
duties. The ladder was hoisted in and the boat secured with a painter,
whilst Roe led the newcomers to the after cabin, where, over a flagon of
wine, he sought their better acquaintance.

Mowbray gave him a detailed account of all that had taken place, and
Roe's finely-chiseled face flushed deeply when he heard the true extent
of the outrage planned by the band of young gallants.

"I have no wish to defend Gondomar," he said slowly, seeming to compel
reason to master rage. "He has brought the Inquisition to England. He
carries our worthy King in his pocket. Yet I would fain believe that he
is too wary and prudent to countenance such doings at the very gates of
the city, which he fears alone in all England."

"To be just, I believe he was not present. Nevertheless, word came to
Sir Thomas Cave that when tidings of the affair reached him, he rose
instantly from play at Beaujeu's and hastened to Whitehall to demand our
arrest."

"Ah, it is a bad business. I am much bounden to you. You know that one
of these girls is my youngest sister. The other I prize dearer than life
itself. Yet, unless you and Master Sainton agree to sail with me on this
ship to the Amazons I fear that naught can save you from the King's
wrath. I am powerless, being in ill repute at court. The city is strong,
but unwilling, as yet, to openly defy the thieves and adulterers who
pander to James's vanities and stop his ears to the representations of
God-fearing men. This cannot endure. Our people are long-suffering but
mighty in their wrath. If Elizabeth ruled with a strong hand she ever
strove to advance the honor of England and to safeguard the liberties of
her subjects. Now our flag is trailed in the mud. We are treated with
contumely abroad and our protests at home are stifled by the Star
Chamber. It must end. It shall end. Monarchy itself shall rot ere
England perishes!"

These were dangerous words. They lost none of their tremendous import
when uttered by a man of such statesman-like qualities that Anthony à
Wood wrote of him long afterwards: "Those who knew him well have said
that there was nothing wanting in him towards the accomplishment of a
scholar, gentleman, or courtier."

It was inevitable that the opinion of such an one should weigh deeply
with young Mowbray, and impress even the less critical brains of Roger
Sainton. Roe's appearance, no less than his impassioned outburst, would
have won the credence of any well-bred youths in the Kingdom. In face,
in figure, and indeed in many of his attributes, he resembled that
gallant and high-minded adventurer of an earlier generation, Sir Walter
Raleigh, who was now a close prisoner in the Tower. He had the bright,
penetrating eyes, the long, aquiline nose, firm mouth, and well-molded
chin which bespeak good birth and high intelligence. A mass of brown
hair waved over a lofty forehead and fell in ringlets on his neck. He
wore the mustaches and Vandyke tuft of beard affected by gentlemen of
the period, and the natural gravity of his expression could be wholly
dispelled, when occasion warranted, by a smile of rare humor.

But he was in no smiling mood just then. He leaned his head on his hand
and sighed wearily. Mowbray, notwithstanding his own desperate though
wholly unmerited plight, now presented to his eyes in all its sinister
significance, could not help marveling how it came about that the leader
of an expedition to the Spanish Main, which could scarce be undertaken
without royal sanction, should avow himself so helpless in that very
circle, while it was still more strange that Roe's position and
attainments did not render him a favored suitor in the Cave household.

Moreover, the King had knighted him, and Nellie Roe had said, during
their walk in the garden, that her brother was a great friend of Prince
Henry, and declared laughingly that Anna should think herself highly
flattered, for the gossip ran that Princess Elizabeth was much attached
to "Honest Tom," as she called him.

Roe's disturbed reflections and Mowbray's bewilderment alike were put an
end to by Roger.

"Ecod!" he cried, thumping the stout table screwed to the floor of the
cabin and making the tankards dance under the blow, "Walter and I can
ask no better fate than to voyage with you to the Indies. We are in
quest of fortune, and folk say that the Spaniards have gold for the
taking. Here's to you, Sir Thomas Roe, and here's to all of us! May we
never want nowt, none of us!"

He drained his own tankard and caused a gleam of amusement to flicker on
Roe's face.

"Had you lost your right hand for brawling, Master Sainton," he said,
"you would now lose the left if the King heard your sentiments. Harry a
Spaniard, i' faith! That is rankest heresy nowadays. Yet there is no
telling what may befall when we set our course west by south of the
Canaries. And now, let me see to your comfort for the night."

He called a young negro from the depths of the ship; the sudden
appearance of the boy's shining black face in the cabin caused Roger
Sainton to start so violently that Roe and Mowbray laughed, while the
negro himself displayed all his teeth in a huge grin. Mowbray, during an
earlier visit to London, had seen many a dark-skinned man; it was
becoming the fashion to have one or more of these ebony-hued servitors
in each household with any pretensions to grandeur. But Roger had never
before set eyes on the like, and the apparition was unexpected.

"Gad," said he, reaching for the flagon again, "no wonder the sailor-man
thought he saw the devil! 'Tis clear he fancied that this worthy had
fallen overboard."

He stood up, to follow Roe, whereupon the negro's astonishment was even
greater than Roger's, for the cock's feathers in the Yorkshireman's hat
swept the ceiling of the cabin, and his belt was nearly on a level with
the other's chin.

"Where him one dam big fighting-man lie, sir?" said the black to Roe.
"Dere am no bunk in the ship will hold him half."

Indeed, this was a minor difficulty which had not been foreseen. In his
own cabin, which Roe intended to place temporarily at their service,
there were two bunks, but each was a full twelve inches too short for
Sainton. They were stoutly built, too, of solid oak and abutting on
strong lockers. The only way in which one of them could be made to serve
his needs was to cut away the partition, and it was now a very late hour
to seek the services of the ship's carpenter.

"If that is the only drawback, it is solved most readily," said Roger,
and, with his clenched fist, guarded only by a leather glove, he smashed
a strong oaken panel out of its dovetailed joints.

The negro's eyes nearly fell out with amazement, and, indeed, Sir Thomas
Roe was not prepared for this simple yet very unusual feat of sheer
strength.

"That blow would have felled an ox," he cried, and Mowbray told him how
Roger once, in the market square of Richmond, had, for a wager, brought
down an old bull with a straight punch between the eyes.

Now, the negro not only saw and heard, but he talked of these things to
the watch, and they, in their turn, related them to others of the ship's
company in the early morning. It chanced that a half-caste Spanish cook,
hired because he knew the speech of the natives of Guiana, was among the
auditory, and he stole to the cabin wherein the two Englishmen lay
sleeping soundly. Mere idle curiosity impelled him to gaze at the man
who could perform such prodigies, and, having gaped sufficiently, he
went ashore for a farewell carouse with certain cronies in Alsatia.

Not the great men of the world, but their petty myrmidons, are oft the
mainspring of the events which shape the destinies not alone of
individuals but of nations. Even Pedro, the half-caste, might have
dispensed with the day's drinking bout had his cup been fashioned of the
magic crystal which enables credulous people to see future events in its
shadowy mirror! Assuredly, some of the sights therein would have sated
his desire for stimulant.

Mowbray and Sainton were aroused by an unusual movement. At first they
hardly knew where they were, and it was passing strange that the floor
should heave and the walls creak.

Mowbray sprang from his bunk quickly and looked through the open door to
see if it were possible that the ship had cast off from her moorings
during the night. The frowning battlements of the Tower, dimly visible
through a pelting rain, showed that his first surmise was incorrect. The
_Defiance_ was anchored securely enough, but a high wind had lashed the
river into turbulence, and the storm which threatened over night had
burst with fury over London.

Roger, too, awoke.

"Gad," he cried, "I dreamt I was being hanged as a cutpurse, and I felt
the branch of an oak-tree swaying as I swung in the wind."

"You will have many such visions if you mix Brown Devon and Alicant with
the wines of Burgundy in your midnight revels," said Walter, cheerfully.
To his ordered senses had come the memory of the garden and Nellie Roe's
kiss. He hailed the bad weather with glee. Men would be loth to stir
abroad, and, if Sir Thomas Roe's arrangements permitted, he could
foresee another meeting with Eleanor that evening.

"At times you talk but scurvy sense," grumbled Sainton, pulling on his
huge boots. "'Tis the lack of a pasty, washed down by any one of the
good liquors you name, that hath disordered my stomach and sent its
fasting vapors to my brain. By the cross of Osmotherly, I could eat the
haunch of a horse."

"Without there!" shouted Mowbray. "Where is the black summoned by Sir
Thomas Roe to wait on us?"

The negro came at the call. He told them that his master had gone ashore
at daybreak, with intent to return before noon, but that breakfast
awaited their lordships' pleasure in the cabin.

The hours passed all too slowly until Roe put in an appearance. He was
ferried to the ship in some state, in a boat with six rowers. He had
learnt that the city was scoured for them all night, and the rumor ran
that they had escaped towards Barnet, this canard having been put about
by some friendly disposed person.

"I cannot understand the rancor displayed in this matter," he said.
"King James must have been stirred most powerfully against you, yet it
is idle to think that you have earned the hatred of some court favorite
already. Perhaps Lord Dereham is seeking revenge for being thrown into
the glass-house, though, if rumor be true, his Lordship dwells in one,
being a perfect knave. In any event, you must not be seen, and I shall
warn my men to forget your very existence. We sail with to-morrow
morning's tide, and, if this wind holds, shall be clear of the Downs by
night."

Thinking this speech augured badly for his hopes, Mowbray said nothing
of his plan to visit Cave's house after dusk.

The sailors, under Roe's directions, began to warp the ship alongside a
wharf, where many bales of merchandise and barrels of flour, salt beef,
dried fish, preserved fruit for scurvy, wine, beer, and the mixed
collection of stores needed for a long voyage, were piled in readiness
to be placed in her hold.

Walter, and Roger especially, were warned to remain hidden in the after
cabin, where none save the ship's officers had business, and Roe felt
that he could trust his subordinates, if for no better reason than
self-interest, for two such recruits were valuable additions to the
ship's company.

Though the confinement was irksome it was so obviously necessary to
their safety that they made the best of it.

Walter found in a cupboard a ship-master's journal of a voyage to
Virginia, and entertained Roger with extracts therefrom, whilst the
latter, at times, stretched his huge limbs and hummed a verse or two of
that old song of Percy and Douglas, which, as Sir Philip Sydney used to
say, had the power to stir the heart as a trumpet.

The rain ceased with the decline of day. The monotonous clank of the
windlass and the cries of stevedores and sailors gave place to the swish
of water as the watch washed the deck. For convenience' sake, a supply
of fresh water being the last thing to be taken aboard next morning, the
vessel was tied up to the wharf. When the tide fell she was left high
and dry on the mud.

Roe was much occupied ashore with those city merchants who helped him in
his venture, but he undertook privily to warn Anna Cave as to the
whereabouts of the two young men to whom she was so greatly indebted,
and they might leave to her contriving the transfer of their baggage to
the ship at a late hour.

"You shall not see her again, then?" asked Walter, with a faint hope
that her lover would strain every nerve in that direction, when he might
accompany him.

"No," was the determined answer. "Such a course would be fraught with
risk to you. I might be seen and followed. Her father's serving-men,
coming hither by night, will pass unnoticed."

"Do not consider me in that respect, I pray you."

Roe shook his head and sighed.

"I am resolved," he said. "We may not meet until I return, if God wills
it. I told her as much last night. We said 'farewell'; let it rest at
that."

So Walter's heart sank into his boots, for the case between him and
Nellie rested on as doubtful a basis as that between Roe and Anna.

He sat down to indite a letter to his mother, which Sir Thomas would
entrust to one of his friends having affairs in the north. Roger could
not write, but he sent a loving message to Mistress Sainton, with many
quaint instructions as to the management of the garth and homestead.

"Tell her," quoth he, "that I be going across seas to reive the Dons,
and that I shall bring back to her a gold drinking-cup worthy of her
oldest brew."

"A man may catch larks if the heavens fall," commented Walter in
Rabelais's phrase.

"Or if he lime a twig he may e'en obtain a sparrow. My auld mother will
be pleased enough to see me if the cup be pewter. Write, man, and cheer
her. I'll warrant you have vexed Mistress Mowbray with a screed about
yon wench you were sparking in the garden last night."

Indeed, it was true. Walter bent to the table to hide a blush. His
letter dealt, in suspicious detail, with the charms and graces of Nellie
Roe.

At last the missive was addressed and sealed. It was nearly ten o'clock,
and London was quieting down for the night, when the two quitted their
cabin and walked to the larger saloon where Sir Thomas Roe, with Captain
Davis, the commander of the _Defiance_, was busy with many documents.

They talked there a little while. Suddenly they heard the watch hailed
by a boat alongside.

"What ship is that?"

"Who hails?"

"The King's officer."

Roe sprang to his feet and rushed out, for the cabin was in the poop,
and the door was level with the main deck. The others followed. In the
river, separated from the vessel by a few feet of mud, was an
eight-oared barge filled with soldiers.

"'Fore God!" he whispered to Mowbray, "they have found your retreat."

They turned towards the wharf. A company of halberdiers and arquebusiers
had surrounded it and already an officer was advancing towards the
gangway.

"Bid Sainton offer no resistance," said Roe, instantly. "At best, you
can demand fair hearing, and I will try what a bold front can do.
Remember, you are sworn volunteers for my mission to Guiana."

As well strive to stem the water then rushing up from the Nore towards
London Bridge as endeavor to withstand the King's warrant. The officer
was civil, but inflexible. Sorely against the grain, both Mowbray and
Sainton were manacled and led ashore.

"Tell me, at least, whither you take them," demanded Roe. "The King hath
been misled in this matter and my friends will seek prompt justice at
his Majesty's hands."

"My orders are to deliver them to the Tower," was the reply.

"Were you bidden come straight to this ship?"

There was no answer. The officer signified by a blunt gesture that he
obeyed orders, but could give no information.

Surrounded by armed men and torch-bearers the unlucky youths were about
to be marched off through the crowd of quay-side loiterers which had
gathered owing to the presence of the soldiers--Roe was bidding them be
of good cheer and all should yet go well with them--when an unexpected
diversion took place.

Standing somewhat aloof from the mob were several men carrying bags and
boxes. With them were two closely cloaked females, and this little
party, arriving late on the scene, were apparently anxious not to
attract attention. But the glare of the flambeaux fell on Roger's tall
form and revealed Mowbray by his side.

"Oh, Ann," wailed a despairing voice, "they have taken him."

Walter heard the cry, and so did Roe. They knew who it was that spoke.
Roe, with a parting pressure of Mowbray's shoulder, strode off to
comfort his sister, whilst Mowbray himself, though unable to use his
hands, hustled a halberdier out of the way and cried:--

"Farewell, Mistress Roe. Though the cordon of King's men be here, yet
have I seen you, and, God willing, I shall not part from you so speedily
when next we meet."

He knew that the girls, greatly daring, had slipped out with the men who
carried his goods and those of Sainton. Though his heart beat with
apprehension of an ignominious fate, yet it swelled with pride, too, at
the thought that Eleanor had come to see him.

The guard, seeming to dread an attempted rescue, gathered nearer to
their prisoners. A slight altercation took place between Roe and the
officer anent the disposition of the prisoners' effects. Finally, Sir
Thomas had his way, and their goods were handed over to the soldiers to
be taken with them.

Then, a sharp command was given, the front rank lowered their halberds,
the crowd gave way, and the party marched off towards the Tower.

Roger, by means of his great height, could see clear over the heads of
the escort.

"That lass must be mightily smitten with thee, Walter," he said gruffly.
"She would have fallen like a stone had not Mistress Cave caught her in
her arms."




CHAPTER V

     "This is the time--heaven's maiden sentinel
     Hath quitted her high watch--the lesser spangles
     Are paling one by one."


To understand aright the mixed feelings of anger and dread which filled
the minds of the prisoners as they marched through the narrow streets on
their way to the Tower, it is necessary to remember how the gross
corruption of the court of the first Stuart had inspired Englishmen with
a scandalized disbelief in the wisdom of their sovereign. The Tudors
reigned over a people who regarded even their mad temper with a half
idolatrous reverence. The great poet of the splendid epoch closed by the
reign of Elizabeth fittingly expressed the popular sentiment when he
spoke of "the divinity that doth hedge a King." But James, a slobbering
monstrosity, at once shallow and bombastic, claiming by day monarchical
privileges of the most despotic nature, and presiding by night over
drunken revels of the most outrageous license, had torn beyond repair
the imperial mantle with which a chivalrous nation had been proud to
clothe its ruler.

In the Puritan north especially was he regarded with fear and loathing.
Hence, Mowbray and Sainton, though prepared to face with a jest any odds
in defense of their honor or their country, could now only look forward
to an ignominious punishment, fraught with disablement if not with death
itself, because they had dared to cross the path of one of the King's
favorites. It was a dismal prospect for two high-spirited youths.

"We have brought our eggs to a bad market, I trow," muttered Sainton, as
the gates of the Tower clanged behind them and they halted in front of
the guardroom, whilst the leader of their escort was formally handing
them over to the captain of the guard.

"I fear me you were ill advised to throw in your lot with mine, Roger,"
was all that Walter could find to say.

"Nay, nay, lad, I meant no reproach. Sink or swim, we are tied by the
same band. Nevertheless, 'tis a pity I am parted from my staff and you
from your sword."

"Here, they would but speed our end."

"Like enough, yet some should go with us."

He looked about him with such an air that the halberdiers nearest to him
shrank away. Though fettered, he inspired terror. From a safer distance
they surveyed him with the admiration which soldiers know how to yield
to a redoubtable adversary.

The troops from Whitehall quickly gave place to a number of warders, and
the two were marched off, expecting no other lot for the hour than a
cold cell and a plank bed. They saw, to their surprise, that some of the
men carried their belongings. This trivial fact argued a certain degree
of consideration in their treatment, and their hopes rose high when
they were halted a second time near the Water Gate. Soon, the sentinel
stationed on the projecting bastion shouted a challenge, the chief
warder hurried to his side, and, after some parley, the gate was thrown
open to admit the identical boat which they had seen lying alongside the
_Defiance_. Moreover, in the light of the torches carried by those on
board, they now perceived that the soldiers and rowers were not King's
men but Spaniards.

The galley was brought close to the flight of steps leading down to the
dark water beneath the arch, and the prisoners were bidden go aboard.

Walter hung back. The slight hope which had cheered him was dispelled by
the sight of the Spanish uniforms.

"I demand fair trial by men of my own race," he cried. "Why should we be
handed over to our enemies?"

He was vouchsafed no answer. Sullenly, but without delay, the warders
hustled him and Roger towards the boat. They could offer no resistance.
Their wrists were manacled, and, as a further precaution, a heavy chain
bound their arms to their waists. It was more dignified to submit; they
and their packages were stowed in the center of the galley; the heavy
gates were swung open once more, and the boat shot out into the river.
For nearly three hours they were pulled down stream. They could make
nothing of the jargon of talk that went on around them. Evidently there
was some joke toward anent Roger's size, and one Spaniard prodded his
ribs lightly with the butt of his halberd, saying in broken English:--

"Roas' bif; good, eh?"

By reason of his bulk, Sainton seemed to be clumsy, though he was
endowed with the agility of a deer. Suddenly lifting a foot, he planted
it so violently in the pit of the Spaniard's stomach that the humorist
turned a somersault over a seat. His comrades laughed, but the man
himself was enraged. He regained his feet, lifted his halberd, and would
have brained Roger then and there had not another interposed his pike.

An officer interfered, and there was much furious gesticulation before
the discomfited joker lowered his weapon. He shot a vengeful glance at
Roger, however, and cried something which caused further merriment.

What he said was:--

"Would that I might be there when the fire is lit. You will frizzle like
a whole ox."

Fortunately, the Englishmen knew not what he meant. Yet they were not
long kept in ignorance of some part, at least, of the fate in store for
them. The galley at last drew up under the counter of a large ship of
foreign rig, lying in the tideway off Tilbury Hope. With considerable
difficulty, in their bound state, Mowbray and Roger were hoisted aboard,
and taken to a tiny cabin beneath the after deck.

Then there was a good deal of discussion, evidently induced by Roger's
proportions. Ultimately, a ship's carpenter drove a couple of heavy iron
staples into the deck. The big man eyed the preparations, and had it in
his mind to pass some comment to Walter. Luckily, his native shrewdness
stopped his tongue, else his spoken contempt for the holdfasts might
have led to the adoption of other means of securing him.

Two chains, each equipped with leg manacles, were fastened to the
staples, and the bolts were hammered again until the chains were
immovably riveted in the center. The prisoners were locked into the
leg-piece, and their remaining fetters were removed. These operations
occupied some time in accomplishments. They had been on board fully half
an hour before the halberdiers left them, and they did not know that a
tall man, heavily cloaked, who stood behind the screen of soldiers, was
furtively watching them throughout.

A sentry, with drawn sword, was stationed at the door when the others
departed. The shrouded stranger imperiously motioned him aside and
entered. He threw open his cloak. A tiny lantern swinging from the
ceiling lit up his sallow, thin face. The piercing black eyes, hawk-like
nose, and lips that met in a determined line, would have revealed his
identity had not his garments placed the matter beyond doubt. It was the
Jesuit whom they had encountered in the doorway of Gondomar's house.

He regarded them in silence for a moment. Then he smiled, and the menace
of his humor was more terrible than many a man's rage.

"You are not so bold, now that a howling crowd is not at your backs," he
said, speaking English so correctly that it was clear he had dwelt many
years in the country.

"It may well be that your holiness is bolder seeing we are chained to
the floor," said Roger.

"Peace, fellow. I do not bandy words with your like. When you reach
Spain you shall have questions enough to answer. You," he continued,
fixing his sinister gaze on Walter, "you said your name was Mowbray, if
I heard aright?"

"Yes. What quarrel have I or any of my kin with Gondomar that my comrade
and I should be entrapped in this fashion?"

"Your name is familiar in my ears. Are you of the same house as one
Robert Mowbray, who fell on board the _San José_ on the day when St.
Michael and his heavenly cohorts turned their faces from Spain?"

"If you speak of the Armada," answered Walter coldly, "I am the son of
Sir Robert Mowbray, who was foully murdered on board that vessel by one
of your order. Nevertheless," he added, reflecting that such a reply was
not politic, "that is no reason why I should be subjected to outrage or
that you should lend your countenance to it. My friend and I, who have
done no wrong, nor harmed none, save in defense of two ladies beset by
roisterers, have been arrested on the King's warrant and apparently
handed over to the Spanish authorities because, forsooth, we pursued
certain rascals into the Ambassador's garden."

He paused, not that his grievance was exhausted but rather that the
extraordinary expression of mingled joy and hatred which convulsed the
Jesuit's face told him his protests were unheeded.

"_Domine! exaudisti supplicationem meam!_" murmured the ecclesiastic, "I
have waited twenty years, and in my heart I have questioned Thy wisdom.
Yet, fool that I was, I forgot that a thousand years in Thy sight are
but as yesterday when it is past."

The concluding words were in Spanish, but Walter had enough Latin to
understand his exclamation in that tongue. It bewildered him, yet he
strove to clear the mystery that enfolded his capture.

"I pray you," he said urgently, "listen to my recital of events as they
took place yesterday. When the truth is known it shall be seen that
neither Master Sainton nor I have broken the King's ordinance, or done
wrong to Count Gondomar."

"'Tis not the King of England, so-called, nor the minister of His Most
Catholic Majesty, to whom you shall render explanation. Words are
useless with those of your spawn, yet shall your neck bend and your back
creak ere many days have passed. Would that my sacred duty did not
retain me in this accursed land! Would that I might sail in this ship to
my own country! Yet I do commend you, Señor Mowbray, and that gross
Philistine who lies by your side, to my brethren of the Seminary of San
José at Toledo. They shall tend you in the manner that beseemeth the son
of him who sent the miraculous statue of our patron to lie deep beneath
the waves which protect this benighted England. _Gloria in excelsis!_
Spain is still able, by the Holy office, to revenge insults paid to her
saints. _Malefico! Malefico!_"

Turning to the sentry, the Jesuit uttered some order which plainly had
for its purport the jealous safeguarding of his prisoners. Then, with a
parting glance of utmost rancor, and some Latin words which rang like a
curse, he left them.

"I' faith," laughed Roger, quietly, "his holiness regards us with slight
favor, I fancy. The sound of your name, Walter, was unto him as a red
rag to an infuriated bull."

"I never set eyes on the madman before yester eve," said his astonished
companion.

"Gad! he swore at us in Latin, Spanish and English, and 'tis sure some
of the mud will stick. An auld wife of my acquaintance, who was nurse to
the Scroopes, and thus brought in touch with the Roman Church, so to
speak, did not exactly know whether priest or parson were best, so she
used to con her prayers in Latin and English. 'The Lord only kens which
is right,' she used to say. I have always noticed myself that the saints
in heaven cry 'Halleluiah,' which is Hebrew, but, as I'm a sinful man, I
cannot guess how it may be with maledictions."

The Spanish soldier growled some order, which Walter understood to mean
that they must not talk. He murmured the instruction to Roger.

"They mun gag me first," cried Sainton. "Say but the word, Walter, and
I'll draw these staples as the apothecary pulls out an offending tooth."

Here the sentry presented the point of his sword. His intent to use the
weapon was so unmistakable that Roger thought better of his resolve, and
curled up sulkily to seek such rest as was possible.

Hidden away in the ship's interior they knew nothing of what was passing
without. Some food was brought to them, and a sailor carried to the
cabin their own blankets and clothes on which they were able to stretch
their limbs with a certain degree of comfort.

They noticed that their guard was doubled soon after the Jesuit quitted
them. One of the men was changed each hour, and this additional measure
of precaution showed the determination of their captors to prevent the
least chance of their escape, if escape could be dreamed of, from a
vessel moored in the midst of a wide river, by men whose limbs were
loaded with heavy fetters.

With the sangfroid of their race they yielded to slumber. They knew not
how the hours sped, but they were very much surprised when an officer of
some rank, a man whom they had not seen previously, appeared in their
little cabin and gave an order which resulted in their iron anklets
being unlocked. He motioned to them to follow him. They obeyed, mounted
a steep ladder, and found themselves on deck.

The first breath of fresh air made them gasp. They had not realized how
foul was the atmosphere of their prison, poisoned as it was by the fumes
of the lamp, but the relief of the change was turned into momentary
stupefaction when they saw that the banks of the Thames had vanished,
while two distant blue strips on the horizon, north and south, marked
the far-off shores of Essex and Kent.

With all sails spread to catch a stiff breeze the ship was well on her
way to sea. The prisoners had scarce reached the deck before a change of
course to the southward showed that the vessel was already able to
weather the isle of Thanet and the treacherous Goodwin Sands. Roger's
amazement found vent in an imprecation, but Walter, whose lips were
tremulous with a weakness which few can blame, turned furiously to the
officer who had released them from their cell.

"Can it be true?" he cried, "that we have been deported from our country
without trial? What would you think, Señor, if your King permitted two
Spanish gentlemen to be torn from their friends and sent to a foreign
land to be punished for some fancied insult offered to the English
envoy?"

The outburst was useless. The Spaniard knew not what he said, but
Mowbray's passionate gestures told their own story, and the courtly Don
shrugged his shoulders sympathetically. He summoned a sailor, whom he
despatched for some one. A monk appeared, a middle-aged man of kindly
appearance. He was heavily bearded, and his slight frame was clothed in
the brown habit, with cords and sandals, of the Franciscan order.

The officer, who was really the ship's captain, made some statement to
the monk, whom he addressed as Fra Pietro, and the latter, in very
tolerable English, explained that the most excellent Señor, Don
Caravellada, was only obeying orders in carrying them to the Spanish
port of Cadiz. Arrived there, he would hand them over to certain
authorities, as instructed, but meanwhile, if they gave him no trouble
and comported themselves like English gentlemen, which he assumed them
to be, he would treat them in like fashion.

"To what authorities are we to be entrusted?" demanded Mowbray, who had
mastered the first choking throb of emotion, and was now resolved not to
indulge in useless protests.

A look of pain shot for an instant across Fra Pietro's eyes. But he
answered quietly:--

"Don Caravellada has not told me."

"Belike, then, friend, he only needs the asking," put in Roger.

The monk shook his head, and was obviously so distressed that Roger went
on:--

"Nay, if it be a secret, let it remain so, in heaven's name. Mayhap I
may request your barefooted reverence's good offices in another shape.
At what hour is breakfast served on board this hospitable vessel?"

Fra Pietro answered readily enough:--

"It awaits your pleasure. The Señor Capitan bids me offer you, in his
name, the best resources of the ship."

"Egad, let us eat first, after which all he has to do to get rid of us
is to place Master Mowbray and me in a small boat with oars. 'Twill
save us much bother and the ship much provender, for I am sharp set as a
keen saw."

Without reply, the monk led them to a cabin where plenty of cold meats,
bread, wine, and beer graced the table.

He sat down with them, crossed himself, and ate sparingly of some dry
crust, whilst Walter and Sainton tackled a prime joint.

Roger, pausing to take a drink, eyed askance the meager provender which
sufficed for Fra Pietro; he made bold to ask him why he fared so poorly.

"It is fast day, and, unfortunately, I forgot to tell the cook to boil
me some salted fish."

"Are there many such days in your calendar?" quoth Roger.

"Yes, at certain periods of the year."

"Gad, if that be so, you ought to follow the practice of a jolly old
priest I have heard of, who, having pork but no fish on a Friday,
baptized it in a water-butt saying, 'Down pig; up pike!' Then he feasted
right royally and without injury to his conscience."

The monk smiled. He was wise enough to see that the hearty giant
intended no offense.

"I do not need such sustenance as your bulk demands," he said. "I heard
the men speaking of your proportions, but, until I saw you with my own
eyes I could scarce credit that such a man lived."

"I take it you are not in league with our captors?" put in Walter,
anxious to gain some notion as to the extraordinary circumstances which
led up to his present position.

"I am but a poor Franciscan, availing myself of a passage to Lisbon."

"Do you know the Jesuit who visited us last night?"

"I did not see him."

"Perchance you may have heard of him. He appeared to hold a high place
in the household of Gondomar, the Spanish Ambassador."

Fra Pietro dropped his eyes and murmured:--

"I think he is Dom Geronimo, Grand Inquisitor of the Holy Office."

Mowbray pushed away his plate.

"Dom Geronimo!" he cried. "Your priestly titles are unfamiliar. Is he,
by any chance, one who was known in former years as Fra Geronimo, a
Jesuit from Toledo?"

"The same, I should believe. He is now a dignitary of much consequence."

"He is a foul murderer! He slew my father by a coward's blow, during the
great sea-fight off Dover. Oh, to think of it! Not yet two days since he
stood in front of my sword."

"I was minded to tap the bald spot on his skull with my staff and you
restrained me," growled Roger.

Mowbray's bitter exclamation seemed to horrify Fra Pietro. He placed his
hands over his ears.

"Madre de Dios!" he murmured, "speak not thus of the head of the Holy
Office. Did anyone else hear you your fate were sealed, and the Lord
knoweth your case is bad enough without adding further condemnation."

Sensible that the Franciscan could hardly be expected to agree with the
denunciation of his religious superior, Mowbray restrained the
tumultuous thoughts that coursed wildly through his brain. He bowed his
head between his hands and abandoned himself to sorrowful reflection. A
good deal that was hidden before now became clear.

It was not to be wondered at that Sir Thomas Roe should be puzzled by
the animosity displayed by an unknown clique in Whitehall against two
strange youths who happened to participate, as upholders of the law, in
a not very serious brawl. The expression of the Jesuit's face when he
heard Mowbray's name, the determined measures adopted by Gondomar to
capture those who had defeated the cleverly planned abduction of the two
girls, the remorseless hatred of Dom Geronimo's words when he visited
the captives overnight, all pointed to one conclusion. The Jesuit was,
indeed, the fanatic who killed Sir Robert Mowbray on board the _San
José_, and he was ready, after twenty years, to pursue the son with a
spleen as malevolent as that which inspired the assassin's blow that
struck down the father.

How crafty and subtle had been the means adopted to crush Roger and
himself! Were fair inquiry held, no charge could have lain against them.
So an unworthy monarch, already a dupe in the game of king-craft played
by Spain, had weakly consented to allow the royal warrant to become an
active instrument in the hands of an implacable bigot. Swift and sure
was Dom Geronimo's vengeance. They had the misfortune to cross his path
without the knowledge even of his identity, and now they were being
ferried to Spain for some dread purpose the mere suspicion of which
chilled the blood in Mowbray's veins.

And Nellie Roe! She, with her beautiful and imperious cousin, was left
in the city which harbored a hostile influence so venomous, so pitiless,
and yet so powerful. The suspicion that she, too, if only because a
Mowbray was her rescuer, might fall under the ban of the Jesuit, wrung a
cry of anguish from his lips. Hardly knowing what he did, and not
trusting himself to speak, he rushed on deck with the mad notion of
throwing himself overboard in a vain attempt to swim ashore. As he
emerged from the companionway a whiff of spray struck him in the face.
The slight shock restored his senses. A heavy sea was running, and the
coast was six miles distant. To spring over the bulwarks meant suicide.
Moreover, could he desert Roger? It was not to be thought of. Though
death might be a relief, he must stick to his loyal friend, no matter
what the ills in store.

Meanwhile, Roger, in his homely way, was telling Fra Pietro the story of
their adventures. The monk, who seemed to be of a very kind and
benignant disposition, said little. But he listened attentively. Later,
when Mowbray had steeled his heart to endurance, Fra Pietro spoke gently
to him, and, when the pair were stricken with sea-sickness, he tended
them like a skilled nurse.

And so the days passed until, with a favoring gale, they neared the
Portuguese coast, and the _Sparta_, for thus was the ship named, bore up
for Cape Finisterre and thence ran steadily, under the lee of the land,
down to the harbor of Lisbon. Fra Pietro, with whom they had contracted
a very real friendship, although his beliefs and opinions ran counter to
theirs on almost every topic they discussed, was greatly concerned when
the captain's edict went forth that during the vessel's stay in port the
two prisoners must be chained in their cabin.

Yet he sought and obtained permission to visit them, and twice he
brought them a goodly supply of fresh fruit and a flagon of the famed
wine of Oporto. The _Sparta_ was not tied to a wharf. She dropped anchor
well out in the harbor, and communication with the shore could only be
made by means of a boat.

Fra Pietro came to see his English friends for the last time. There were
always two sentries on duty at the cabin door now, so it was evident
that Señor Caravellada meant to discharge his trust with scrupulous
fidelity.

It is natural that the worthy monk, knowing full well the dreadful fate
that awaited the two youths at the end of the voyage, should be much
downcast during this farewell interview.

Yet there was a hesitancy in his manner that did not escape Walter's
eyes. He produced his basket of grapes and peaches and rich
pomegranates, while, this time, he carried three wicker-covered
flasks of wine.

Then he began to laugh nervously.

"In one of these flagons, that with the broken seal," he said, "the wine
is extraordinarily potent. It has the quality of sending a man into a
sound sleep if he imbibe even a small measure, yet it tastes like other
wine."

"Ah," exclaimed Roger, who had caught a hint from the close attention
paid by Mowbray to the monk's words, "that should be a fine liquor if a
man wanted to sleep but could not."

Fra Pietro held out a luscious bunch of grapes.

"Within a bowshot from this ship," he said, affecting a gaiety that
should hide the serious nature of his words, "there is a Portuguese
vessel, the _Sancta Trinidad_. She sails for the East Indies before
dawn. The captain, an honorable man, would give safe asylum to those who
were distressed, could they but reach his ship, and in this cluster of
grapes is a file. My friends, may God prosper you! Though you are not of
my faith I cannot but wish you well. I have striven hard ashore to help
you. I have pleaded with those in power, but my words have fallen on
deaf ears. Now you know the extent of my poor resources. _Dominus
vobiscum! In manus tuas, Domine, commendo juventes._"

Tears sprang into his eyes, he lifted his hands to heaven as he called
down a blessing on them, and the two bowed their heads before this good
and true man, in whom the spirit of Christian charity triumphed over
narrow conceptions of dogma.

His prayers seemed to abide with them. When night fell the men whose
duty it was to maintain the watch indulged in a carouse, as those who
had been ashore not only returned full of liquor but carried with them a
liberal supply of wine for their less fortunate comrades.

Hence, though Roger drugged two of the guard into torpor, no suspicion
was aroused when the relief came, but the sergeant, growling at the
drunkards, determined to take a turn himself on duty. Now this
circumstance, at first forbidding, turned out to be providential. Walter
had plied the file industriously on his shackles, but it was quite
certain that several hours of severe labor would be needed before he
could cut through his own and Roger's anklets. Sainton, with his great
strength, might have pulled the staples from the floor, but this would
be of little avail if they were compelled to swim to the ship described
by Fra Pietro. Moreover, their freedom of movement would be so hampered
that they might hardly hope to quit the vessel unperceived, even if a
boat were moored to the stern.

As a last resource they determined to adopt this expedient, but the
presence of the sergeant, in whose pouch rested the key of their leg
irons, gave a new direction to their thoughts.

In the most friendly way, Roger plied him with the doctored wine.
Feeling himself becoming drowsy the man would have staggered out. At
this, the very crisis of a desperate situation, Sainton gave a mighty
tug at his chain. The restraining staple came away, tearing with it
half a plank.

[Illustration: In a minute or less they were free.]

Startled almost into full consciousness the sergeant sprang towards him,
with sword half drawn. So there was no help for it but to assist the
action of the wine. Roger grabbed him by the neck and held him,
wriggling, until, to say the least, he was willing to lie very still.

In a minute, or less, they were free. They knew that the hour was long
past midnight. The dawn would soon be upon them and there was no time to
be lost.

Walter seized the sergeant's sword and Roger took the sentry's halberd.
They would fight for their lives now, even if they were compelled to
face the whole ship's company. But fortune still favored them. The watch
on deck were mustered forward, and the clinking of a can, together with
the manner of such speech as they overheard, told them that conviviality
was well established there. So they crept to the after part, Roger going
almost on all fours to hide his stature. Sure enough, a boat was moored
there. They climbed down into her, cast off, and a strong tide quickly
carried them away from the _Sparta_.

They looked about for the _Sancta Trinidad_, and guessed aright that a
fine brig, moored about a cable's length distant from the _Sparta_, must
be the vessel spoken of by Fra Pietro.

Rowing quietly towards her they hailed her by name and were answered.
They were hoisted aboard, and a stoutly built, black-bearded man, who
came at the cry of the watch, met them cordially:--

"Ah!" he cried, "Eenglish! One dam big fella! I haf wait you dis hour
an' fear you no come."

Instantly, though it meant the loss of a good anchor and length of rope,
the cable was slipped, a sail or two shaken out, and yards were squared.
The ship got some way on her and began to move. In the ghostly light the
_Sparta_ looked like a great bird asleep on the dim waste of waters.
Soon her outlines faded and were lost in the gloom. As the sails filled
and more canvas was spread the _Sancta Trinidad_ showed her mettle and
spurned the lively waves from her well tapered bows. The hills merged
into the low-lying clouds, the lights ashore became smaller and smaller
until they vanished altogether, the ship was well out to sea, and the
two youths were saved, they hoped, from the devildoms of Spain.

They went to seek the captain, who greeted them again in the most
friendly manner.

"No tank me," he said, smiling until his teeth gleamed. "You tank Fra
Pietro. Him good man. Him come my house an' nurse my son when him sick
wid plague. _Por Dios!_ I do anytink for Fra Pietro!"




CHAPTER VI

         "For her own person,
     It beggared all description."
                    _Shakespeare_, "Antony and Cleopatra."


The road from Delhi, as it neared Agra, wound through a suburb of walled
gardens. Between occasional gaps in the crumbling masonry, or when the
lofty gates happened to be left open, the passer-by caught glimpses of
green lawns bordered with flowers and shaded by leafy mango-trees.
Diving into a ravine scarred with dry water-courses, the road passed a
Hindu shrine and a Mahomedan tomb. On the opposing crest it cut a
cluster of hovels in twain; thence it ran by the side of a long, low
caravansary, and finally vanished, like a stream suddenly emboweled in
the earth, within the dark portals of the Delhi Gate of the chief Mogul
city.

Two Europeans, mounted on sturdy cobs of the famed Waziri breed, drew
rein at the entrance to the caravansary. One of them held up an
authoritative hand to the sumpter train which followed.

"Here we reach the end of a long journey, Roger," said he. "Agra lies
within the gate, the Palace stands beyond the bazaar, and this is the
rest-house spoken of by Rasul, our native friend at Delhi. The hour is
yet early to seek an audience of the Emperor. Let us refresh ourselves
here, make some needed change in our garments, and then hire a guide to
lead us to the house of Itimad-ud-Daula, for they say that he alone
possesseth Akbar's ear."

"That is another way of saying that he shall first possess himself of a
moiety of our goods. Well, be it so. 'Tis a strange land at the best.
Let us cram his maw, and mayhap he will tell us a more homely manner of
addressing him. It passeth my understanding how thou dost mouth this
lingo, Walter. Ecod, I can carry it off bravely with a Mahomed or a Ram
Charan, but when it comes to Iti--what d'ye call him?--my jaws clag and
my tongue falters in the path like a blind man's staff."

So saying, Roger Sainton swung himself off his steed, and straightway
the gapers gathered, for his height was not so apparent on horseback as
when he stood square on his feet.

But the servants tending the pack-animals were accustomed to this
exhibition of popular interest. They warned off the rabble with the
insolence every jack-in-office displays towards his inferiors.

"Away, illegitimate ones! Have ye not work?" cried one.

"Bapré! If ye stand not aside ye shall eat the end of my stick," shouted
another.

"Bring fire and singe their beards," growled a Mahomedan driver.

"Kick, brother, kick!" suggested a humorist, tickling a mule, whereupon
the long-eared one ducked his head and lifted his heels in approved
style, readily clearing a space, amidst the laughter and jeers of the
onlookers.

By this time, Mowbray and Sainton had entered the caravansary. It was a
substantial looking building externally, but its four walls merely
supported an interior veranda, split into sections, where merchants
could sleep if they chose, or cook their food and rest during the midday
hours. In the open square, which occupied nearly all the inner space,
was herded a motley collection of elephants, camels, bullocks, horses,
and asses,--while every conceivable sort of package of merchandise was
guarded by attendants of many Indian races. At first, it seemed that
there was no more room for man or beast, but the requisite amount of
shouting, and a lavish use of opprobrious epithets, couched in various
languages, secured a corner of the square for the friends' cavalcade and
a clear space of the veranda for their own convenience.

Three years of life in the East, not to mention the new experience of a
march of over a thousand miles up country, had accustomed them to such
surroundings.

Whilst they were washing and dressing their servants prepared an
excellent meal of kid and rice, which they tackled with a gusto that
showed appetites in no wise impaired by residence in Hindustan.

They had ridden ten miles that morning, and it is hard to conceive a
more exhilarating or healthful exercise than a march across the great
central plain of India during the early hours of a fine day in the cold
weather. The date was the first day of November, 1611, and, if the two
Yorkshire adventurers had changed somewhat since they sailed away from
Lisbon on board the _Sancta Trinidad_, the change was for the better.
Walter Mowbray had become more manly, more authoritative, less prone to
flash his sword at the first sign of a quarrel, whilst Roger, if he had
increased neither in height nor girth, had gained a certain air of
distinction that was not due wholly to his gigantic proportions.

Their intervening history may be told briefly. The _Sancta Trinidad_,
touching at the Canaries, might have passed them on to an English ship,
bound for Plymouth, which lay there waiting for the wind to change. But
worthy Captain Garcia had taken a great fancy to the pair of them. He
vowed that such fortunes were to be won speedily in the land of the
Great Mogul that they agreed to sail thither with him. They called at
Table Bay, were nearly lost in doubling the dreaded Cape of Good Hope,
were assailed by pirates off Madagascar, when Roger proved that a
capstan-bar, properly wielded, is worth a dozen swords, and finally
brought to in the harbor of Swally Road, at some little distance from
Surat on the Tapti River. Here, the worthy Garcia realized what his
friendship had forgotten. Englishmen were in small favor with his
grasping fellow-countrymen, and the two encountered many reverses, until
they fell in with an English factor, named Edwards, from Ahmedabad, who
asked them to join him in business.

Though they were wanting in experience of the ways of Indian merchants,
Edwards undertook to teach them, for he was greatly in need of those
whom he could trust implicitly. They learnt the Urdu language, Walter
thoroughly, and Roger with less success; they made the acquaintance of
Prince Jahangir, acting as Viceroy for his father, Akbar, in the west
country, and, ultimately, they and their partner put all their store to
the hazard in an ambitious expedition to the far-off capital.

It was their intent to meet the renowned Akbar at Delhi on his way south
from a summer spent in Kashmir. News of a rising in the Dekkàn, however,
had hurried the monarch's movements. They missed him at the ancient
capital of India, so, having learnt, among other things, the eastern
habit of patience, they marched by easy stages to Agra.

And now, refreshed and properly clothed in garments befitting their
position, they mounted fresh horses which had been led during the march.
Preceded by a _chuprassi_, or attendant, they advanced towards the gate.

"Make way there!" shouted the man, "stand aside, you basket-carriers!
Hi, you with the camel, pass on the left! Oh, you pig of a
bullock-driver, do you not see the sahibs?"

Thus, their advent heralded by much unnecessary bawling, they rode
through the center one of the three pointed arches of the gate.

Beyond lay the principal street of the narrow bazaar in which the Agra
merchants conducted their brisk trade. And what a brilliant spectacle
it offered in the glorious sunshine! Lofty houses, gay in tawdry colors
and picturesque in their dishevelment, looked down on a crowd as varied
as any on earth. Caste and color of every sort jostled in the roadway.
Women, erect and elegant, carrying earthen jars on their heads,
returning from riverside or well, moved with graceful carriage.
Merchants, coolies, sweetmeat sellers, and milk-venders rubbed shoulders
with swaggering Rajputs and stately Mahomedans. A Hindu pilgrim, laden
with sacred water from the distant Ganges, paused for a moment to buy a
handful of millet. A white-turbaned Sikh, attracted by the striped and
golden fruit of a melon-seller, tendered a small coin for a rosy slice
and stalked on, eating gravely and with dignity. Crawling snake-like in
the dust, a devotee wound his way to far-off Ajodhia, where Holy Ganga,
if ever he reached its banks, should lave his sins. Near him stood a
snow-white leper, thrusting fingerless stumps into the faces of the
passers-by, and gaining, by his raucous cries and revolting appearance,
a few cowries, or coin shells, from the few who did not remain utterly
indifferent to his appeals. An olive-skinned Brahmin, slender and
upright, bearing on his forehead the marks of his proud descent, and
carrying a brass vessel wherewith to draw the water for his morning
ablution, pulled his red cotton wrapper more closely around him as he
passed the leper. A young Pathan, fair-complexioned, eagle-nosed,
hawk-eyed, stalwart and stately as is the birthright of his mountain
race, pushed through the crowd with careless hauteur. The Sikh, the
Brahmin, the Pathan, were the born aristocrats of the mob.

To add to the seemingly inextricable confusion, pariah dogs prowled in
the gutter, bullock-carts crept along complainingly, stealthy footed
camels lurched through the crowd, palanquins, borne on the shoulders of
chanting carriers, passed swiftly amidst the vortex, and the two
travelers encountered at least one native carriage, painted green and
gold, and drawn by two white Dekkàni bullocks, conveying a party of
Hindu women to the temple of Mahadeo, God of Love.

The occupants were young and pretty, too, clad in silks and laden with
jewels, as could be readily seen by a peep through the folds of the
_chudda_, left carelessly open, and they laughed musically as they
caught sight of the Englishmen's eyes turned towards them.

"'Tis clear enough that Akbar is a strong ruler and a just one," said
Walter, his white teeth showing in a smile at the merry party of girls.

"Such is his repute," answered Roger.

"Repute may belie a man. Here is ample proof. In a Mahomedan city I find
Hindus in excess. Amidst a strangely assorted crowd, pretty women drive
abroad in brave display of gold and gems. I reason that every man knows
he is protected by the law and a woman need fear no insult. 'Tis not so
in another great city we wot of."

"Ecod, I was just thinking of London. Not that I know much of the place,
but the babel of the bazaar brought to mind the Fleet. Ah, Walter
Mowbray, 'twas a queer gate we opened when you drew on my Lord Dereham
and I heaved him over the wall."

"We were heedless youths then. Now we are grave merchants and must
comport ourselves as such. I fancy it would better become our peaceful
character had we left our swords at the caravansary."

"I' faith, I differ from you. Some chuck might have a notion to measure
our bales by our blades, and I like ever to give a man an ell for a yard
by that reckoning."

So saying, Roger significantly tapped the handle of the tremendous
weapon fashioned for him by an armorer at Ahmedabad. Slung from his
right shoulder by a baldric, the sword was nearly four feet in length,
perfectly straight, double-edged, and strong in the forte. Probably
there was not its like in all India, as the expert native swordsman
finds delight in manipulating a curved scimitar, with razor edge and
tiny grip. The Indian uses the sword to cut, the lance and the dagger to
stab.

Mowbray shook his head.

"There is so much at stake on this venture," said he, "that I hope we
may keep clear of quarrels. Remember, I wrote to Nellie Roe telling her,
if fortune smiles on us, we should return to England by the first ship
that sails from Surat after we have adjusted accounts with Edwards. Let
us sell our silks and spices as best we may and haste back to the coast
with lighter and speedier convoy."

Roger laughed, so loudly and cheerily that many an eye was turned
towards him.

"By the cross of Osmotherly!" he cried, "that letter hath made thee a
parson. Yet I heard naught of this when Suráj Mul barred the way at
Ajmere, and you and I rode down his sowars as if they were painted men
and not bewhiskered knaves of flesh and blood, though of the black
sort."

"Mayhap the near end of our journey hath made me serious minded."

"Now, I think with you, but I arrive at the same end by a different
road. Our swords have done us good service. Let them keep in use and
they may earn us hilts of gold. But how now? Do we leave the city?"

Their guide had led them to the bank of the Jumna, where a bridge of
boats spanned the stream. In reply to a question by Walter, the man told
them that the house of the Diwán, or Prime Minister, lay on the other
side of the river.

They followed him, crossed the shaking bridge which made their horses
nervous, and climbed the steep bank opposite. Away to the right, on the
city side of the Jumna, they could see the high piled red sandstone
battlements of the palace, with some of its white marble buildings
glistening in the sunlight over the top of the frowning ramparts. A
winding road led towards the castle along the left bank of the river,
and, in the far distance, they could distinguish a gay cavalcade of
horsemen, whose burnished ornaments and arms shone in the sun with
dazzling gleams.

"What pageant may that be?" asked Walter of the guide.

"The King of Kings may ride forth in state, sahib, or Prince Jahangir
may go to the chase. I know not. At this season such spectacles are
common in Agra."

"'Tis a brave show," muttered Roger. "This Agra must be a grand place to
loot."

They lost sight of the cortège and halted in front of a strong but
exceedingly beautiful gateway, fashioned in a Saracenesque arch of white
marble, and bedecked with scrollwork wrought in precious stones, with a
text in Persi-Arabic over the porch.

Whilst the guide spoke to a guard, Walter deciphered the script:--

"'May Allah prosper all who enter and all who leave this dwelling!' A
most noble wish," he said, "and one which I reciprocate to the full."

"These Mahmouds have a way of uttering a prayer when they cut your
throat," growled Roger. "They never kill a duck but they chant a verse
of their scripture to mark the beheading. Now, I'll warrant me this is a
canting rogue at the best."

The gate was thrown open. Between its portals was revealed a vista
of a most delightful garden, where roses hung in festoons and all
manner of beautiful shrubs gave shade to pleasant lawns or were
reflected in the placid depths of clear lakes. Half hidden among lofty
trees they saw the low towers of a mansion built wholly of white marble,
and decorated, like the gate, with flower-like devices wrought in topaz,
and carnelians, and blue, red, and green gems that sparkled with the
fire of sapphires, rubies, and emeralds.

"The inmate may have the heart of a rogue, but he has the eye of an
angel," said Walter. "Is this the house of Itimad-ud-Daula?" he went on,
in Urdu.

"It is, sahib," answered the guide.

"And how is it called?"

"Bagh-i-dilkusha, sahib."

"The Garden of Heart's Delight!" He turned to Roger. "And well named,
too. If ever a place deserved such title methinks we are looking at it
now."

"I vow he has been dreaming of Nellie Roe all night," growled Roger to
himself as they dismounted. "I never knew him in such mood. Gad! he is
either sickening for a fever or he will write a set of verses ere
sunset."

They were asked to wait in the _barámada_, or porch, until a messenger
took particulars of their errand to the Diwán. But fortune smiled on
them that day and carried them far. The man had scarce set out towards
the house when the clatter of a horse, hard ridden, announced the
approach of some cavalier in hot haste.

The animal was reined in with remarkable celerity without, and the rider
entered the garden hurriedly. He checked his speed, however, when he saw
strangers, and not even the well-bred hauteur affected by the Persian
nobles of Akbar's court enabled him wholly to conceal the surprise with
which he beheld Sainton.

Walter stepped forward and bowed.

"We are English merchants," he said, "and we seek an audience of the
illustrious Itimad-ud-Daula. These servitors are dull-witted and may not
explain our errand. Perchance, if you have affairs with his Excellency,
you will be good enough to convey to him our request."

The newcomer, a handsome, noble-looking man of thirty-five or
thereabouts, laughed with a certain frankness that bespoke an open
character.

"Traders!" cried he. "Had you said soldiers I might have better
understood you. In what commodity do you deal? Is it aught to eat or
drink? If so, on my soul, your friend gives good warrant of its
virtues."

"Unhappily our land is too far distant to permit us to produce other
than a sample of what our meat and wine can achieve. But we have ample
stock of rare silks and rich spices of Araby and Gondar. If the ladies
of this charming city are as fair to behold and as richly adorned as all
else we have seen then our journey from Surat to the court of Akbar
shall not have been made in vain."

Mowbray's easy diction and the distinction of his manner astounded the
hearer quite as much as did Roger's proportions. The Persian, a born
gentleman, well knew he was talking to his equal of another clime.

"You and your wares could not have arrived at better season," he said
gravely; "but I never yet met merchant so unlike a merchant as you and
your gigantic companion."

Walter's quick intuition told him that here was one who might be a good
friend. It was important to stand well with him and leave room for no
dubiety. So, in a few well-chosen sentences, he told how it came about
that he and Roger brought a pack-train to Agra. The mere mention of
Edwards's name cleared up the mystery so far as his hearer was
concerned.

"Edwards!" he cried, "a fat man, who struts as he walks and coughs
loudly to command respect?"

Mowbray admitted that the description fitted his partner sufficiently
well.

"You know he has been here himself in years past?" went on the Persian.

"Yes. The knowledge he gained then led to the proper selection of our
merchandise."

"Did he not tell you what befell him?"

"Little of any consequence."

"He carried himself so ill that he bred a low repute of your nation. He
suffered blows from porters, and was thrust out of many places head and
shoulders by base peons without seeking satisfaction. Yet he showed some
judgment in choosing you two as his agents. Name him to none. Strive to
forget him until you rate him for sending you hither without warning."

No more unpleasing revelation could have been made. Walter was fully
aware of the difficulties which faced Europeans in India at that date.
The vain and proud Orientals lost no opportunity of humiliating
strangers. A cool and resolute bearing was the only sure fence against
the insults and petty annoyances offered by minor officials. It was,
therefore, vexing to the uttermost degree that Edwards had endured
contumely and not even prepared them for a hostile reception. For the
moment, Mowbray felt so disturbed that he was minded to retire to the
caravansary to consider his next step, when Sainton, who understood the
latter part of the conversation well enough, strode forward.

"Where be the peons you spoke of, friend?" said he. "'Tis fine weather,
and the exercise you spoke of, if practised on me, will give them a zest
for the midday meal."

This time the stranger laughed as heartily as etiquette permitted.

"No, no," he cried, "such minions demand their proper subject. Now, do
you two come with me and I shall put your business in a fair way towards
speedy completion."

Talking the while, and telling them his name was Sher Afghán, he led
them through the garden towards the house. The deep obeisances of the
doorkeepers showed that he was held of great consequence, and none
questioned his right to introduce the two Englishmen to the sacred
interior. They passed through several apartments of exceeding beauty and
entered another garden, in which, to the bewilderment of the visitors,
who knew what the close seclusion of the zenana implied, they saw
several ladies, veiled indeed, but so thinly that anyone close at hand
might discern their features.

Courteously asking them to wait near the exit from the house, their
Persian acquaintance quitted them and sought a distant group.

He salaamed deeply before a richly attired female and pointed towards
Mowbray and Sainton. Then he explained something to a dignified looking
old man, robed in flowing garments of white muslin, whose sharp eyes had
noted the advent of the strangers the moment they appeared.

With this older couple was a slim girl. When the others moved slowly
across the grass towards the place where Mowbray and Sainton stood, Sher
Afghán hung back somewhat and spoke to the girl, who kept studiously
away from him, and coyly adjusted her veil so that he might not look
into her eyes. He seemed to plead with her, but his words fell on
heedless ears.

Indeed, ere yet the aged Diwán had conducted Queen Mariam Zamáni,
sultana of Akbar and mother of Jahangir, heir to the throne,
sufficiently apart from her attendants to permit the strangers to be
brought before her--the rank of the august lady enabling her to dispense
with the Mahomedan seclusion of her sex--Sher Afghán's gazelle-like
companion ran forward and gazed fearlessly at Mowbray, wonderingly at
Sainton.

"Their skins are not white but red!" she cried joyously. "Nevertheless
one of them must come from the land of Tokay, which is famed for its
white elephants."

Hastily conquering his air of dejection the younger nobleman signed to
the Englishmen to approach. They obeyed, without haste or awkwardness.
Grasping their sword hilts in their left hands and doffing their hats
with the elaborate courtesy of the age, they stood bareheaded before
the elder pair, and certainly the kingdom of James I. had no cause to be
ashamed of its latest representatives in the Mogul capital.

Roger Sainton had not his equal in height, in thickness of bone or
strength of sinew, in all the wide empire governed by the most powerful
of Indian monarchs, while Walter Mowbray's splendid physique was in no
wise dwarfed by the nearness of his gigantic comrade. They were good to
look upon, and so the girl found them notwithstanding her jest.

She herself was beautiful to a degree not often seen even in a land of
classic features and exquisitely molded figures. Her deep, violet eyes
were guarded by long lashes which swept rounded cheeks of ivory tint,
brightened by little spots of color which reminded the beholder of the
gold and red on the sunny side of a ripe pomegranate. Her lips were
parted, and her teeth, dazzlingly white, were so regular and large that
they appeared to constitute the chief attraction of a singularly mobile
and expressive mouth. Again she laughed, with a musical cadence that was
quaint and fascinating:--

"May it please your Majesty," she said, addressing the Sultana, "these
are not merchants but courtiers."

"May it please your Majesty," said Walter, instantly, "we would fain be
both."

His apt retort in high-flown Persian was unexpected. His eyes
encountered those of the girl, and they exchanged a glance of quick
intelligence. She was pleased with him, and he offered her the silent
homage which every young man of proper spirit pays to a beautiful and
sprightly woman.

Her brilliant orbs said: "I will befriend you."

In the same language he answered: "You are peerless among your sex."

And such was the manner of the meeting between Walter Mowbray, son of
him who fell on board the _San José_, and Nur Mahal, the baby girl who
was saved from death in the Khaibar Pass twenty years earlier.

It was a meeting not devoid of present interest, and of great future
import, yet it is probable that if Nellie Roe had witnessed it she might
have been greatly displeased.




CHAPTER VII

     "She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd;
     She's a woman, therefore to be won."
                    _Shakespeare_, "King Henry VI," Part I.


Nur Mahal was a Persian, not a native of India. In her wondrous face the
Occident blended with the Orient. Its contour, its creamy smoothness,
the high forehead and delicately firm chin were of the West, and the
East gave her those neatly coiled tresses of raven hue, those deeply
pencilled eyebrows, beneath whose curved arches flashed, like twin
stars, her marvelous eyes.

Her supple body was robed in a _sari_ of soft, deep yellow silk,
bordered with a device of fine needlework studded with gems. It draped
her closely, in flowing lines, from waist to feet, and a fold was
carried over her right shoulder to be held gracefully scarfwise in one
hand. An exquisite plum colored silk vest, encrusted with gold
embroidery, covered her finely molded bust, revealing yet modestly
shielding each line and flexure of a form which might have served
Pygmalion as the model of Galatea.

On her forehead sparkled a splendid jewel, an emerald surrounded by
diamonds set _en étoile_. Around her swanlike throat was clasped a
necklace of uncut emeralds, strung, at intervals, between rows of seed
pearls. She wore no other ornament. Her tiny feet were encased in white
silk slippers, and, an unusual sight in the East, their open bands
revealed woven stockings of the same material.

But the daughter of the Persian refugee who had risen to such high place
in Akbar's court was bound neither by convention nor fashion. She
fearlessly unveiled when she thought fit, and she taught the ladies of
Agra to wear not only the bodice and the inner skirt but also a species
of corset, whilst to her genius was due the wonderful perfume known as
attar of roses.

Again, although more than twenty years of age at that time, she was
unmarried, an amazing thing in itself when the social customs of
Hindustan were taken into account.

Suddenly brought face to face with such a divinity, it was no small
credit to Walter Mowbray that he kept his wits sufficiently to turn her
laughing comment to advantage.

The Sultana was graciously pleased to smile.

"If your wares comport with your manners," she said, "you will be
welcome at the palace. We hold a bazaar there to-morrow, and novelties
in merchandise are always acceptable on such occasions. Sher Afghán,"
she continued, "see that the strangers are properly admitted to the Hall
of Private Audience at the first hour appointed for those who bring
articles for sale."

The young nobleman bowed, as did Mowbray and Sainton, though the latter
knew but little of the high-flown Persian in which the Sultana spoke.

Nur Mahal, who appeared to be on terms of great familiarity with her
august visitor, whispered something to Queen Mariam which made the good
lady laugh. Obviously, the comment had reference to Roger, and that
worthy blushed, for a woman's eyes could pierce his tough hide readily,
there being no weapon to equal them known to mankind.

"She's a bonny lass, yon," he murmured to Walter, "and she has
uncommonly high spirits. I never kent afore why a man should make a fool
of himself for a woman, but now that I have seen one who is half an
angel I am beginning to have a dim notion of the madness which seizes
some folk."

"There are others, but why only half an angel?" asked Mowbray with a
smile, for the Queen had turned to address the Diwán.

"Because that is all we have seen. The hidden half is the devil in her.
Mark me, Walter, there will be heads cracked in plenty before that fancy
wench stops plaguing mankind."

Courtesy was urging Sher Afghán to give some directions to the wanderers
he had so greatly befriended, but inclination, always a willing steed,
dragged him to the side of Nur Mahal.

"I came to ask what you needed most for the bazaar," he said anxiously.

"Naught that you can bestow," was the curt reply.

"Sweet one, your words chill my heart. 'Tis but a week since your
father--"

She stamped a foot imperiously and clenched her hands.

"I am not one of those to be dealt with as others choose," she cried,
though modulating her voice lest it should reach the Queen's ears. "Why
do you pester me? Your tall sheepskin cap affrights me. Take it and your
ungainly presence to far-off Burdwán. I mean to abide in Agra."

He bent low before her.

"A blow from the hand of my beloved is sweet as a grape from the hand of
another," he said, conscious, perhaps, of the manifest injustice of the
attack on his personal appearance. Physically, he was a worthy mate even
for such a goddess, and he had already won great renown in India by his
prowess in the field and his skill in all manly exercises.

"Gladly would I bestow on you a whole bunch of such grapes," she said,
turning to follow the Sultana and her father. But a laughing shout from
the interior of the house caused all eyes to seek its explanation.

"Well met, mother! Have you come, like me, to wring another lakh out of
the Diwán?"

A young man, tall and well built and of pleasing aspect, notable for his
broad chest and long arms, and attired in sumptuous garments, entered
the garden. His words would have revealed his identity to Walter and
Sainton had they not met him, two years earlier, at Surat. This was
Prince Jahangir, the heir apparent.

His complexion was a ruddy nut brown, his eyes, if somewhat closely set,
were strangely keen and piercing, and it was a peculiar and noticeable
fact that he wore small gold earrings, in token of bondage to the great
saint Sheikh Salem, to whose intercession, it was said, he owed his
birth.

Jahangir did not trouble to conceal his emotions. His joyous glance,
evoked more by the sight of Nur Mahal, it is to be feared, than by the
unexpected presence of the Sultana, changed instantly to a scowl when he
saw Sher Afghán. Moreover, he discovered the presence of the Englishmen,
and he affected a tone of surprised displeasure.

"How now, Diwán!" he demanded. "Do you admit strangers to the privacy of
your zenana?"

"These are merchants from Ahmedabad. The Queen has commanded them to
show their wares at the palace," was the courteous reply of the aged
Prime Minister.

Jahangir smiled contemptuously. The foreigners in no wise disturbed him.
He knew quite well that his insult had reached the one man for whom it
was intended. Sher Afghán's pale face grew dark with anger.

"Oh, it is matterless," said the Prince, flippantly, and he addressed
Nur Mahal with a ready smile that utterly banished the anger from his
expressive features.

"Fair lady," he said, "I have brought you a present. I know your
fondness for all that is rare and beautiful. See if my gift will earn
your approval."

He clapped his hands, and a servant came, carrying a small gilded perch
to which clung two snow-white pigeons, each fastened to the crossbar by
a short silver chain.

Nur Mahal uttered a cry of pleasure. She ran to meet the man with arms
outstretched.

"They are quite tame," said the gratified Prince. "After a little while
they will come at your call and perch on your wrist."

She took the birds and caressed them softly. Suddenly, yielding to
impulse, she unfastened a chain, and the pigeon, finding itself at
liberty, darted up into the air and flew around in rapid circles, crying
loudly to its mate the while.

"How did that happen?" demanded Jahangir.

"Thus," she answered, freeing the second bird.

"But they are unused to the garden as yet. You have lost them."

"Sooner that than take away their freedom. My heart weeps for all who
are destined to captivity."

"Then you weep for me, as I am truly your captive."

"Ah, my bondage would be pleasant, and, like the birds, you could fly
away when you chose."

At that instant one of the pigeons dropped with angelic flutterings, and
poised itself on the perch which the girl still held.

The other, timidly daring, followed its mate's example, but settled on
the same side.

"See!" cried Jahangir excitedly. "The choice is made. They come back to
their fetters!"

"Your Highness will observe that there are two to dispute the vacant
place," interposed Sher Afghán.

The icy distinctness of his words showed that the significance of the
little comedy played by Nur Mahal had not escaped him. The girl pouted.
Jahangir wheeled about fiercely. A quarrel was imminent, but Queen
Mariam stopped it.

"Sher Afghán," she said, "you, who are a soldier, should not take much
interest in this idle playing with doves. As I return soon to the
palace, go with the strangers and let them exhibit their wares there
after the midday meal. That will better suit my convenience than the
customary hour to-morrow."

Bowing silently, the Persian motioned to Mowbray and Sainton to follow
him. He spoke no word, but a tumult raged within, and, at the gate, when
a servant was slow in opening it, he felled the man with a blow.
Instantly regretting the deed he gave the fellow a gold mohur, but his
face was tense and his eyes blazed as he mounted his horse and rode
silently with the two Englishmen through the midst of the gay retinue
which had escorted Prince Jahangir from the palace. Guessing with fair
accuracy the hidden meaning of the scene just enacted, Mowbray did not
intrude on the sorrowful thoughts of his Persian friend.

"We are in luck's way, Roger," he said quietly. "We have escaped the
Diwán and won the door of the Queen's apartments. If the good lady be as
ready to pay as she is to buy, this bazaar to-morrow should ease us of
all our goods."

"In which event we shall turn our faces westward?" asked Sainton.

"Assuredly. We must settle with Edwards, else I would take the river to
Calcutta."

"Ecod! From the manner in which you gazed at that hoity-toity lass in
yellow silk I thought you were minded to dally in Agra."

For some subtle reason the remark nettled Mowbray.

"We have already met two who are willing to come to blows about her,"
said he, tartly, "but I fail to see why you should hold me capable of
the folly of making a third."

"Nay, nay," said Sainton, with irritating composure. "I credit thee with
wisdom beyond thy years, but if Solomon, who had three thousand wives,
could go daft about yet an extra woman, there is small cause why thou,
who hast no wife at all, shouldst not be bitten by the craze. I warrant
you Prince Jahangir hath a bevy of beauties in his private abode, and
this chuck who hangs his head so dolefully may have half a score or more
waiting his beck and nod at home, yet they both are keen to fall to with
sword and dagger to dispute the possession of the quean we have just
quitted. 'Garden of Heart's Delight,' i' faith! The flower they all seek
there is of a kind that stings in the plucking."

Mowbray, conscious that the dethronement of Nellie Roe in his mind was
but momentary, regained his normal good humor.

"You are in a mood for preaching this morning," he cried. "Now, had
your tongue run so smoothly when the Sultana was present, you might have
won her favor, as all the women have an eye for you, Roger."

"A murrain on the barbarous words that trip my speech! I could talk to
her Majesty in honest Yorkshire, and I can make some headway in the
language of the common folk hereabout, but when it comes to your pretty
poesy of Shiraz I am perforce dumb as a Whitby mussel."

Here, Sher Afghán, rousing himself from a mournful reverie, began to hum
a verse of a well-known Persian love song:--

     "O love! for you I could die;
     'Tis death from your presence to fly;
     O love! will the pain never end?
     Will our hearts ne'er in unison blend?"

They were crossing the bridge of boats at the moment, and the singer,
more occupied with his thoughts than with external events, did not
notice that a laden camel, advancing down the center of the swaying
roadway, gave the party little enough room to pass on one side.

Walter drew his attention to the fact. The Persian, disdainful of the
lower orders as were all of his class, spurred his mettlesome Arab
forward, caught the lounging _unt_ by the halter and imperiously swung
the beast to one side.

A shriek rang out wildly from behind the camel, whose load of firewood
had struck a native woman walking on the side of the bridge. She
staggered and fell. The infant she carried was jerked out of her arms
into the river.

Walter, who saw what had happened, sprang from his horse, jumped into
the water, which was deep enough at that point to drown a man, and
caught the little naked child as it rose, struggling and gasping for
breath. With a vigorous stroke or two he reached the side of the nearest
pontoon. Roger leaned over, seized the collar of his friend's jacket,
and lifted him and the baby back to the firmer footing of the bridge.

The distraught mother flung herself at Mowbray's feet and wound her arms
around his ankles, thereby embarrassing him greatly, as he was soaked
from head to foot, and the dense crowd which gathered with extraordinary
speed threatened to block the bridge for an hour.

Sher Afghán, who was divided between wonder that a man should take so
much trouble to rescue a wretched infant and amazement at Roger's feat
of strength, for Sainton had lifted Walter clean over the rails of the
bridge with one hand, now awoke to actualities.

He beat a path through the gaping mob, extricated Mowbray from the
extravagant gratitude of the Hindu woman, and quickly led the two
Englishmen to the open road beyond the river.

"Did you not know that the Jumna swarms with crocodiles?" he asked, when
they were all mounted again, and riding onward at a sharp pace.

"Yes," said Walter.

"Then, by the tomb of the Prophet, you did that which I would not have
done for the sake of any brat in Agra."

"I gave no thought to it, or perchance I should have hesitated," was the
modest reply.

The incident served one good purpose. It effectually banished Sher
Afghán's love vapors, and he exerted himself so well in behalf of his
new acquaintances that they and their packs (Walter having donned dry
clothing) were admitted to the palace at the appointed hour, and
marshaled past countless officials who would otherwise have barred their
path.

The great fortress, in the center of which lay the royal apartments,
was a city in itself. Its frowning walls of dark red sandstone, sixty
feet in height and defended by many a tower and machicolated battlement,
surrounded a low hill. This was crowned by the famous Moti Musjid,
or Pearl Mosque, an edifice as celebrated to-day for its perfect
architectural proportions and refined taste in embellishment as it was
when the Great Mogul, during his daily orisons, occupied the small
floor slab nearest to the northwest, and, behind him, six hundred and
forty-nine nobles bent in devout homage towards Mecca.

The Hall of Public Audience, a splendid structure, was separated from
the mosque by a large garden. Near this rallying ground for all having
business with the court stood the smaller but even more impressive Hall
of Private Audience, to which there was direct access from the Emperor's
personal apartments. The Zenana, marked by its exquisite Jasmine Tower,
containing the Sultana's boudoir and giving a far-spread view across
the Jumna, lay beyond.

These buildings, and many another, constructed almost exclusively of
white marble and decorated with scrollwork festoons of flowers wrought
wholly in precious stones, shone in the rays of the afternoon sun as the
Englishmen passed through the somber depths of the great City Gate and
entered the open space surrounding the palace.

That they were the cynosure of many eyes goes without saying. But here,
curiosity was restrained. The grave courtesy of an Eastern court was
blended with the iron discipline enforced by a powerful ruler like
Akbar.

"The King's order!" said Sher Afghán, and before the King's order every
head bent.

Thus, avoiding the crowd which thronged the path leading to the spacious
Hall of Public Audience, where the Emperor in person was then dispensing
justice with that even-handed promptitude which won him the respect of
all his subjects irrespective of class or creed, Sher Afghán led them to
a secluded stairway.

Certain formalities needed fulfilment before the strangers or their
goods were allowed to ascend. Guards with drawn swords stood there, and
even Sher Afghán himself was compelled to satisfy the high-pitched
questions of a gorgeously robed eunuch ere sanction was given to
advance.

Mowbray and Sainton, eager to witness the successful end of their twelve
hundred miles' journey, were more concerned, doubtless, to display
their silks and spices, their rich store of Arabian and Persian goods,
than to note the marvels in sculptured stone with which they were
encircled. A mosaic pavement worth a monarch's ransom was to them only a
fine space for opening out bales of cloth cunningly bedizened with gold
thread, whilst a balcony of carved marble served excellently as a
counter.

At last, when all was ready, a messenger was despatched to the Sultana.
Queen Mariam came promptly, and with her were many ladies of the court.
They were all veiled, as was the strict rule when the Emperor was near
at hand, but among them Sher Afghán, and perhaps Mowbray, looked in vain
for the sylph-like form of Nur Mahal.

The scrutiny commenced at once. "Shopping" was as dear to the heart of
those Eastern dames as to their sisters of other climes and modern days.
The babble of tongues waxed eloquent, and the two traders, comparatively
new as they were to the occupation, saw with gratification that the
Sultana was as loud in her appreciation of the novelties spread before
her eyes as was the youngest lady in her train.

All was going well; Queen Mariam had asked the value of the whole
consignment, and Mowbray, with some trepidation, had added half a lakh
to the lakh of rupees with which he would be well content--expecting,
indeed, to obtain no more than the latter sum at the close of the
bargaining--when a sudden hush, a drawing together of the women, a
protest suspended in its utterance by the Sultana herself, announced
that the elderly man dressed solely in white muslin, who entered the
hall from a raised veranda at the further end, could be none other than
the Emperor.

His appearance was at once engaging and dignified. Not so tall as his
eldest son, he was even broader in build. Possessed of prodigious
muscular strength, due to the great breadth of his chest and his long,
sinewy arms and hands, Akbar looked a ruler of men both in physical and
intellectual properties. His eyes were full and penetrating, with
eyebrows that met in a straight line over his well shaped nose. His
face, a ruddy brown in color, was firm yet kindly in expression. His
forehead was high and open, and in the front folds of his white turban
lay a single large ruby in which the sun kindled a fiery glare.

He surveyed the scene in silence for a moment. Then, as his glance dwelt
on Sainton, a somewhat prepossessed smile gave place to a look of
genuine surprise. He turned and uttered some comment to one behind, and,
as he strode forward, they saw that he was accompanied by the Prime
Minister, Itimad-ud-Daula.

Every man present, save the armed guards and the two Englishmen, dropped
to his knees and bent his forehead to the ground, but Mowbray and Roger,
not accustomed to genuflection, contented themselves with bowing deeply.

The Emperor was in no wise offended. He smiled again, showing his teeth
plainly.

"They told me you were a big man," he said to Sainton, "but are you a
strong one? Big men are oft like long-backed horses--they bend when the
strain comes."

Luckily, Roger understood him, and, though his Hindustani was rude, be
sure it never lacked point.

"I do not think," he said, "that my back is too long for my height, your
Majesty. Be that as it may, they tell me there is no better judge of
strength, whether of man or horse, than your Majesty in all India."

"By the shade of Nizam-ud-din, this giant is no fool!" cried Akbar,
whose voice, though loud, was very pleasant. "Were I younger I would
test thee, Elephant, but that day is past. Tell me, couldst thou shear
two tigers' heads with a single stroke?"

"Yes, if your Majesty first tied both heads together."

"Allah, here is a spark after my own heart! What is thy name?"

"Roger Sainton, may it please your Majesty."

"Raja Sainton! If you be of noble rank why do you come hither in the
guise of a trader?"

Sainton was puzzled, as Akbar's elegant diction rendered the mistake
difficult to understand, so Mowbray, in a few well-chosen words, set
things right.

The Emperor gave a quick glance at Walter, and seemed instantly to
appreciate the relation between the two. But he addressed himself again
to Roger:--

"You have traveled far, and are welcome. To-day I am busy, or I would
discourse with you further. Be here to-morrow, two hours before sunset,
and we shall give each other entertainment. Meanwhile, what can I do
for you and your friend?"

Sainton, filled with the sense of _camaraderie_ which makes men of
kindred sympathies quickly known to each other, realized that Akbar
would not resent a little familiarity.

"Sir," he said, "if you buy our goods and give us good cheer we shall do
that which those in your court ought to do every day, but fail therein
most scandalously, I fear."

"And what is that?"

"We shall pray to God for your health and happiness."

Akbar grasped him by the shoulder.

"List, all of you," he shouted. "Here is our Elephant showing his
wisdom. By the Prophet's beard, I regret, for once, that there is peace
in our dominions, else you and I, Elephant, should go to the war ere
ever you sailed away to your distant land. But we shall find sport, or
my wit fails. You, sir," he went on, speaking to Mowbray, "shall tell us
something of the ways of your country when the Elephant and I have
wearied ourselves. Meanwhile, the Sultana will buy your wares at your
own rates. I judge as much by the cackle of women's voices I heard as I
came hither."

By way of a joke he gave Sainton's shoulder a farewell squeeze that
would have dislocated many a man's bones. Roger, pretending he had not
felt it, stooped and picked up a small brass jar which he grasped around
its narrow neck.

"Let me give your Majesty a reminder of to-morrow's meeting," he said.

The Emperor, seeing more in the words than their mere purport, took the
jar. Roger had bent the brass cylinder into a double fold.

"Thanks, friend," he said, quietly. "'Tis well it was not my neck which
received that grip, else there would be a new ruler in India. And, by
the Koran!" he added under his breath, "I am minded now of another
matter."

He looked around until he caught sight of Sher Afghán, standing somewhat
apart from the listening crowd.

"My young friend," cried he, "I have been discussing you with my trusted
Diwán. He agrees with me that you should provide his beautiful daughter
with a careful husband. Marry her forthwith! To-night, if you be so
minded! And lest anyone should dispute the prize with you take a troop
of horse to escort you to Burdwán."

Bombs were hardly known in India at that period, but the explosion of a
live shell in the midst of the company would have created a sensation
little more profound than Akbar's words. Nur Mahal, that fiery beauty,
to be wed forthwith to Sher Afghán! What would Prince Jahangir say?




CHAPTER VIII

     "The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty,
     For want of fighting had grown rusty."
                    _Butler's_ "Hudibras," Part I, Canto I.


Yet all knew it mattered not a jot what Jahangir said. The Diwán had
given his consent, the Emperor his approval, and it was common knowledge
that both were acting for the welfare of the state in putting an
effectual stop to the infatuation of the heir apparent for a girl with
whom a recognized alliance was impolitic if not impossible.

But Queen Mariam, all of a tremble by reason of her fear lest Jahangir's
madness should lead him to excess, ventured to utter a word of protest.

"My Lord," she said, "this decision hath been taken suddenly."

"Do you think so?" asked Akbar, pleasantly. His composure disconcerted
her. Nevertheless, love for her eldest born and favorite son gave her
strength.

"Yes," she cried. "I would force no maid to wed where her heart is not
set. It oft leads to evil."

"Ah!" he answered, "you are becoming an old woman. Were I one also I
might think like you."

The kindly tone of his words deprived them of their sting. When he
clenched an argument in such wise Akbar had a habit of stroking a large
wart on the left side of his nose, a slight disfigurement which
astrologers assured him was a most propitious sign. Gently rubbing the
wart now he turned again towards Sher Afghán.

"Has delight rendered thee dumb?" he growled good humoredly.

"Not so, O King of Kings," cried the young Persian. "Fearing that my
ears betrayed me I was silent. When your Majesty speaks all tongues are
stilled. I have but two possessions which I cherish, my sword and my
honor. The one has always been and will ever be at your Majesty's
disposal; the other I fly to place at the feet of Nur Mahal."

By this fearless utterance, Sher Afghán accepted the Emperor's command
and flung defiance to all others. Salaaming deeply, he withdrew. In the
hush which had fallen on the assembly they heard him rush down the outer
stairs, and, an instant later, the clatter of his Arab's hoofs as he
rode towards the gate showed that the wedding ceremony would not be
delayed by any dilatoriness on the part of the bridegroom.

Akbar vanished. The Diwán, who had not taken any overt part in the
scene, followed him, and the Sultana, without casting another glance at
the brave array of merchandise, withdrew with her retinue.

Mowbray and Sainton were left gazing blankly at each other, but an
official, knowing better than they the domestic trouble which was
brewing in the royal household, advised them to repack their goods, as,
in his opinion, the bazaar projected for the morrow would certainly be
abandoned.

"I thought for sure yon sloe-eyed wench would bring us no luck,"
muttered Roger when he heard Mowbray bidding their servants load up
their mules again. "My mother always advised me to wed a homely wife if
I wanted to be happy. Not that she was ill-looking herself, but I have
heard her say that my father never had spirit enough to quarrel with
anybody."

"On my word, Roger," laughed Walter, smothering his own annoyance at the
turn taken by events, "you look as glum as Lot's wife when she lost the
use of her feet."

"Who wouldn't!" demanded Sainton. "We had the silver as good as in our
breeches pockets, when some imp of mischief set the King to scratch his
nose and talk about marriage."

"All is not lost yet. I trust to your wit to make his Majesty realize
to-morrow in what fashion he spoiled our market. At the worst, we retain
our goods, and still can trade in the bazaar."

Two journeys through the tortuous streets of the city, joined to the
labor of unpacking and packing their bales at the palace, had occupied
so much of the short November afternoon that the sun was setting with
the rapidity peculiar to the tropics ere they reached the caravansary.

The smoke of many fires clung to the ground, spreading over the streets
and open spaces a hazy pall some ten feet in height. Beneath, all was
murky and dim; above, the tops of trees and the upper stories of houses
were sharply silhouetted against the deep crimson-blue of the sky,
whilst the stars were already twinkling in myriads overhead. This
coverlet of smoke creeps nightly over every Indian town in the cold
weather. It is disagreeable to the eyes and nose if not to the artistic
senses, and the haze is ofttimes so dense during the hours before
midnight that, in the crowded bazaar, the range of vision becomes
lessened and even familiar objects cannot be recognized until they are
close at hand.

The phenomenon was familiar enough to the two travelers not to excite
their notice on this occasion save in one respect. It was essential
that heed should be given to the fondness of native servants for
appropriating articles which did not belong to them. Naught could be
easier than for a pack animal to be slyly driven into a by-path, whence
it would never return, whilst search for it and its valuable burden
would be time wasted. So now, as on every other night when they chanced
to be belated, Mowbray and Sainton kept a sharp eye on their train, and
stood at the gate of the caravansary until each mule and bullock had
filed within its portals.

They were engaged in this task when the chant of palki-bearers and the
glare of torches lighting up the roadway apprised them that some person
of importance was being carried toward Agra from the direction of Delhi
and the north. The carriers were singing cheerfully, announcing in rhyme
the close of a long march, and setting forth the joys of rice and _ghi_
at the end of the day's toil.

But the verse stopped suddenly, and the rapid shuffle of naked feet
through the dust gave place to the objurgations of the torch-bearers
addressed to the muleteers and bullock tenders of the Englishmen's
cortège. Native servants curse each other fluently on the slightest
provocation, so a lively exchange of compliments affecting the paternity
and ancestry of both parties instantly broke out. In reality, nothing
could be done. The mules and bullocks, eager as their drivers to have
finished with the day's work, were crowding into the caravansary, and
the _palki_, or litter, could not pass for a minute or so unless the
bearers quitted the beaten track and made a détour behind the mud hovels
which faced the rest-house. Glad of a moment's respite the coolies
preferred to halt, and wag their tongues scandalously.

Walter, somewhat amused by the scene, did not interfere. There was only
one _palki_, but the number of retainers and loaded ponies behind showed
that the traveler was some one of consequence.

The occupant of the litter, evidently wondering what caused the
commotion, drew apart the curtains on the side opposite to that on which
Mowbray was standing, Sainton, urging on the rearmost of their train,
being at some little distance.

A Pathan torch-bearer approached the _palki_, and, as luck would have
it, Roger came to Mowbray at that moment to tell him that his count
tallied with their reckoning.

Something said by the Pathan caused his employer to withdraw the second
set of curtains. Hence, the light of the torch illumined the interior of
the litter and revealed most clearly the identity of its tenant.

Walter would scarce have believed his eyes had not Roger muttered:--

"'Fore God, 'tis Dom Geronimo!"

"He and no other," whispered Walter. "I knew there were Jesuits in Agra,
but they are well spoken of, and I never dreamed that this wretch was
numbered among them."

"He knows us, too," growled Sainton. "Why should we not requite him for
the ill he would have done us. 'Return good for evil,' saith the maxim,
and 'twill be a good deed to let some of the bad blood out of him."

"No, no. It would ruin our cause with Akbar. Though he is our enemy, he
is less able to work us harm in this heathen land than in our own
country. Let him pass. I vow he takes us for malign spirits, come back
to earth to vex him."

Certainly the aspect of Dom Geronimo's face as the _palki_ moved on and
his carriers resumed their song was that of a man who gazed at a
threatening vision. Incredulity blended with fear at first, to be
succeeded by a glance of utmost malevolence as his shocked senses
resumed their sway. That he recognized the two friends was not to be
doubted. Sainton's gigantic stature alone marked him out from other men,
and, at that season of the year, their garb did not differ materially
from the clothes they wore when the Jesuit left them to their fate on
board the Spanish vessel in the Thames.

He closed the curtains of his _palki_ with an angry gesture, as though
the sight of them was displeasing to him. Yet Dom Geronimo would have
been a lucky man in that hour had he blotted them from his memory as
well.

Nevertheless, his contemptuous action served to hide from him the fact
that Roger reached out a long arm and detained a fellow who was
hastening in the rear of the Jesuit's retainers.

"Whence comes thy master?" he said gruffly.

"From Lahore, sahib," was the stuttering reply, for the man was
frightened by the size of his questioner.

"And whither is he bound?"

"To the court of the mighty Akbar, O protector of the poor."

"Hath he been long in these parts?"

"I know not, huzoor. I am a poor man--"

"Treat him easily, Roger," put in Walter. "See now, brother, here is a
rupee for thee. How is thy master known?"

"He is called the Fire-Father," answered the native, reassured by the
sight of the money and the relaxation of Roger's grip. "They say he
earned the name from the Emperor himself, because once, when a _moullah_
disputed with him, the black-robed one challenged the _moullah_ to enter
with him into a raging fire. The one would carry the Koran and the other
a Book by which he sets great store. Then, he said, it would readily be
seen whether Mahomet or He whom he calls Christ were the more powerful.
But the _moullah_ hung back, and the Emperor laughed, I have been told."

"Aye," said Roger in English, "he has faith enough and to spare, I
warrant ye. Anyone who believes that Spain can win her way in England
will believe owt. And as for fire, God wot, he hath the stomach of a
salamander for it. Now, had I been the _moullah_, I would have bid him
go first into the flames, when, an he survived the ordeal, Mahmoud
should be scouted as a rank impostor."

They could obtain little further information from the servant so they
bade him hasten after his master, and, to still his tongue, Walter gave
him another silver coin.

Though the presence of Dom Geronimo in Agra was an omen of bad fortune,
they agreed, in converse over a meal of which they were much in need,
that his animosity would be exerted in vain if they maintained the good
relations already established with the Emperor. Akbar was renowned for
his religious tolerance. The tale told by the native was one of many
which revealed this generous trait in a ruler deservedly entitled "the
Great." The Jesuits, coming to India in the wake of the Portuguese, were
already well established in Agra, where they were then building a
splendid church. They and the Capuchins, composed, for the most part, of
learned and truly pious men, not only commanded respect by their
discretion and Christian meekness, but won the admiration of the
educated classes by their scientific knowledge. It was probable that
the religious zeal of a fanatic like Dom Geronimo would be restrained by
his wiser brethren. His intemperate language had earned him a typical
_soubriquet_, which stood out in curious contrast to the charity of the
doctrines preached by eminent missionaries like Father Joseph d'Acosta,
a Portuguese, and Father Henri Busée, a Fleming.

"I have heard," said Mowbray, expounding some such theory to Roger,
"that the Emperor once became impatient at the reproaches of the
_moullahs_, who were ever denying him the use of certain meats and
wines. 'If these things are forbidden by the Koran,' said he, 'according
to what religion can a man eat and drink as he likes?' 'That is the
teaching of the Christians alone,' said they. 'Then let us all turn
Christians,' said Akbar. 'Let tailors convert our loose garments into
closer fitting coats, and fashion our turbans into hats.' He frightened
them, and they all declared that, however it might be for common men,
the Koran did not affect the sovereign."

"Be that as it may," said Sainton, "and the tale is not unlike some in
vogue about our own Jamie, I am a believer in portents. Here we are in
Agra, and not a whole day before we run up against a girl and a black
robe. In London--"

"You will anger me, Roger," cried Walter in sudden heat, "if you speak
thus of Nellie Roe and Nur Mahal in the same breath."

"Ecod, you flare up in the twinkling of a quart pot, the sheer name of
which gives me a thirst. What the devil! has it not a queer semblance to
magic, to say the least?"

Mowbray grudgingly admitted so much, but their discussion was
interrupted by the arrival of a messenger who, on behalf of Sher Afghán,
apologized very handsomely for his master's apparent rudeness in leaving
them so hastily at the palace, and invited them to the wedding ceremony
that night at the residence of the Diwán.

"Here is a spark in a hurry to light a bonfire," cried Roger when he
disentangled the request from a maze of compliments.

"'Twas the Emperor's command," said Mowbray, dubiously. "I suppose we
must go. He befriended us greatly, though I hold it the wiser thing to
send a civil excuse."

He rose to bid their servants prepare their best attire, and Roger eyed
him with a smile.

"Aye, aye," he murmured to himself. "Everything goes the same old gait,
as the man said when he tried a second wife. Here we are, off to the
feasting. Thank the Lord! if there be fighting to follow I shall not be
snared this time like an owl in daylight."

Indeed, the first visible indications of any unusual event in progress,
when they crossed the bridge of boats before gaining the pavilion in the
Garden of Heart's Delight, savored far more of a campaign than of a
wedding. There were guards there, mounted and on foot, who challenged
all comers. The Englishmen had taken the precaution to detain Sher
Afghán's messenger, and he was useful now in preserving them from
questioning and delay. Clearly, the Persian warrior obeyed his master's
behests to the letter. He not only knew the importance of speedy
fulfilment of an order, but he did not disdain to use all requisite
means to carry it out.

Outside the gates stood a troop of horse, the stalwart _sowars_ being
either Rajputs or Punjabi Mahomedans, as both of these warrior races
found favor at the court of Akbar. The transient gleams of flitting
lanterns fell on their accouterments, and revealed the presence of
several litters, destined, the young men thought, for the comfortable
conveyance of Nur Mahal and her attendant women to the bridegroom's
far-off domain at Burdwán.

Within the peaceful garden a different spectacle presented itself. The
Diwán's vast household had used every effort to make a brave display
notwithstanding the short notice given. A myriad little lamps festooned
the trees or bordered the ornamental waters and flower-beds, whilst the
main avenue from the gate to the house was brightened by Chinese
lanterns and carpeted with rose leaves.

The guests were conducted, by a new way, to yet another portion of the
magnificent garden, and here they were suddenly introduced to a
spectacle which held them spellbound for a little while.

In the midst of a green plot was an artificial lake, square, and
protected by a small and beautifully carved white marble balustrade.
From each side ran a causeway to a circular island in the center, its
surface almost wholly occupied by an exquisite marble _baraduri_, or
summer-house. The delicate fantasy of the structure might have been
designed by some Florentine artist. Inlaid with jasper, carnelian and
agate, it rose with superb grace from the setting of the dreamy lake,
whilst the causeways of dark red sandstone enhanced its pearl-like sheen
in the rays of the innumerable rows of tiny oil lamps which ran along
every cornice and bedecked each tier of the plinth.

Fountains played in the lake itself, and the shimmering waters reflected
now the starry gleams of the lights, and again the solemn shadows of a
row of tall cypress trees, standing in stately order in the background
and silhouetted against the unimaginable blue of an Eastern sky by
night.

In the _baraduri_ a band of native musicians were squatted on a rich
carpet. They made a deafening row with _sitar_ and _daf-thakri_,
_murchang_ and _mirdang_, instruments with sounds as barbarous as their
names, but capable, perhaps, of soul-stirring music to ears tuned to
their torture. Near them, covered with heavy cloaks, sat a bevy of
nautch-girls, who, when the married pair had set forth on their first
march, would be summoned to the warmer rooms inside the mansion, to
dance there and sing their love songs until dawn.

Between the lake and the house stood a mighty elephant, eleven feet high
at least. His enormous proportions were magnified by a great silver
_howdah_ with roof and curtains, and by the long trappings of scarlet
cloth, embroidered with gold thread, which swept down his massive flanks
nearly to the ground.

That this fine brute was to provide the triumphal car for Sher Afghán
and his wife was evident, when, in a covered court beyond, Mowbray and
Sainton saw the Diwán and Sher Afghán entertaining a number of native
gentlemen. Active servants, clad solely in white, threw garlands of
jasmine round the neck of each guest or offered golden salvers of _pan
supari_, the savory betel leaf so dear to Eastern taste. There was
expectancy in the air. The bride would soon come forth and pass forever
from the enchanted garden.

Itimad-ud-Daula received them with grave courtesy, and Sher Afghán, who
seemed in no wise disturbed by the known fact that Nur Mahal hated the
sight of him, made his English friends welcome.

"I have met few of your nation," he said to Mowbray, "but my heart has
never gone out to a stranger as to you and your brother. You shall not
suffer because I leave Agra. I have spoken to the Diwán concerning your
affairs. Rest content for a little while. When matters are settled over
there--" and he nodded scornfully towards the palace--"he will bring you
forward again. You may be obliged to wait a month or two for your money.
The Diwán will advise you of this, and you may trust him. If it be so,
come to me at Burdwán, and I shall show you how to kill a tiger."

"How little can a man see into the future," confided Walter to Sainton
when the Persian was called away. "You will perceive, Roger, that we
should have missed a good deal had we not come hither to-night."

"He talks of the killing of tigers, but I vow he will first have the
taming of one," said Roger. "Here comes the bride. Saw you ever such a
spitfire? Soul of my body, I'd liefer charge a row of spears than climb
into yon silver turret by her side. Yet Sher Afghán is a proper man, a
finer fellow by half than the spleenish Jahangir!"

"Perchance she cares little for either, but would sell her happiness for
a diadem."

"She looks a quean of that sort. I ken nowt of love, such as folk make
songs about, but my mother always tellt me never to wed a lass for a
dowry. She said it bred a heap of mischief and few fine bairns."

Walter laughed, discreetly enough, but, at that instant, Nur Mahal, who
had imperiously flung aside her veil and was preparing to mount into the
howdah on the kneeling elephant, looked straight at him.

Her face was deathly pale, and her lustrous eyes shone with a strange
light. Pain struggled with anger in her glance. She was defiant yet
humiliated, and she shrank from the proffered hand of her husband as
though his touch would defile her. When her gaze fell on Mowbray she
singled him out for a specially scornful arching of her eyebrows and
contemptuous drooping of her beautiful lips. Considering that he had
seen her that day for the first time, and had scarce exchanged a dozen
words with her, he was taken aback by her evident disdain.

Somehow, though no word was spoken, those wonderful eyes said to him:--

"You, too, have come to witness my degradation--you, in whom I thought I
had found a new lover."

For some reason, unknown even to himself, he bowed sorrowfully. When he
lifted his head again, Sher Afghán was seated beside his unwilling
spouse, a gorgeously-clad _mahout_ was prodding the elephant's head with
a steel ankus, and the stately animal was marching off into the shadow
of the cypresses, his path being marked by two winding rows of lanterns.

Feeling themselves slightly out of place among the _nawabs_, _omrahs_,
and other grandees who formed the Diwán's guests, the Englishmen soon
took their leave. Their servants, thinking the sahibs would sit long at
the feast, had gone off to revel with the rest of their kind, and there
was a wearisome delay whilst one guard after another was despatched to
search for them, the truth being that each _chuprassi_ seized the
opportunity himself to indulge in libation and eat the sweetmeats
provided with lavish hand for the household, before he fulfilled his
quest.

The wedding cortège had gone, the night was dark and cold, and the
patience of the belated pair was fast ebbing, when a hubbub of shouting
and firing, mixed with the screams of women and the neighing of horses
at some distance, rudely disturbed the brooding silence.

"Gad!" roared Sainton, "I thought there would be a fight."

"The Prince has attacked the escort. He means to slay Sher Afghán and
carry off the girl. What can we do?" cried Walter.

"Bide where we are. Here comes news if I be not mistaken."

Indeed, the loud trumpeting of an elephant, and the shaking of the earth
under his mighty rush, showed that not only had the Persian's force been
overcome but he was in full retreat. The excited servants of the
Diwán--those who were left at the entrance--barred the gate and left the
Englishmen standing outside. But there was a lamp there, and the row of
little lights on top of the wall lit up the roadway sufficiently to
reveal the approach of the elephant. He came with the speed of a
galloping horse, his trappings flying in wild disorder and his trunk
uplifted in terror. Behind him raced a mob of armed men, but, on his
left side, managing a fine Arab with consummate skill, and cutting and
thrusting madly at Sher Afghán, rode Prince Jahangir. The Persian,
leaning well out of the _howdah_, was endeavoring with equal fury to
kill or maim his royal rival, but the swaying strides of the elephant,
and the difference in height between the huge brute and the horse, made
it difficult if not impossible for either combatant to injure the other.

Yet Sher Afghán's face was bleeding, and Jahangir's clothes were torn.
Evidently there had been a sharp tussle ere the _mahout_ turned his
obedient monster towards the Diwán's residence.

Behind Sher Afghán, Mowbray saw the white, distraught face of Nur Mahal.
He fancied, though the whole incident was fleeting as a dream, that
she held a dagger in her right hand, but his attention was distracted
by Roger shouting:--

[Illustration: And that was the manner in which Nur Mahal on her wedding
night came back to the Garden of Heart's Delight.]

"I can see nowt for it but to cleave Jahangir in two as he passes."

And cloven the Prince assuredly would have been, for Sainton had drawn
his long, straight sword, had not the _mahout_ suddenly wheeled the
elephant against the gate, upsetting the snorting Arab by the maneuver.
Jahangir was thrown, almost at Mowbray's feet. The elephant charged the
massive doors head downwards, and they were torn from their hinges as if
they were paper screens. The arch collapsed, there was a crash of
falling masonry and rent wood-work, and the great brute himself, stunned
by the shock, fell to his knees.

And that was the manner in which Nur Mahal, on her wedding night, came
back to the Garden of Heart's Delight.




CHAPTER IX

     "Why didst thou not smite him to the ground and I would have
     given thee ten shekels of silver?"
                    _2 Samuel_ xviii. 11.


Jahangir was on his feet instantly. Sher Afghán should not escape him
now unless the gods fought against him.

"To me!" he yelled. "Spare not! Every man shall have a golden
_tauq_!"[B]

[Footnote B: Collar or circlet.]

The elephant struggled to rise, but failed. He was dazed by his terrific
impact against the solid gateway. Sher Afghán leaped from the _howdah_
and rushed joyously to meet his frenzied antagonist. Perhaps the fate of
India would have been settled then and there for many a year had not the
mob of horsemen, unable to stay their disorderly pursuit, swept between
the rivals. Many of the _sowars_ were thrown by crashing into the
immovable bulk of the squealing beast in the roadway: most of the others
either reined in, expecting to encounter a fresh foe, or were carried
past the gate.

Walter, in whom the fire of battle had extinguished the dictates of
prudence, whipped out his sword, faced the enraged Prince, and engaged
him in rapid play. The curved scimitar of the East had no chance against
the straight English blade, wielded as it was by one versed in the art
of European swordsmanship. Jahangir was disarmed, his wrist nearly
broken when he would have drawn a dagger, and Mowbray, closing
fearlessly, pinned him against the base of the wall. His infuriated
adversary was no puny youth, but Walter was now at his best. He tripped
Jahangir, got him down, and gripped him by the throat, saying:--

"Yield, fool, and lie quiet. If Sher Afghán finds thee he will slay thee
without mercy."

In the road a remarkable change had taken place. The elephant's assault
had dislodged a long and heavy iron bar which served to prop the door
from within. Sainton, alert as a fox in an emergency, saw it lying
amidst the ruins. Any ordinary man would find it a difficult thing to
lift, but Roger, sheathing his sword, picked it up and used it with both
hands as a quarter staff. He leaped back into the mêlée and made
onslaught with this fearsome weapon on men and horses alike. In the
press, the Prince's retainers could not use their arrows, and their
cumbrous matchlocks, once discharged, could not be reloaded readily. As
for their swords and short lances, of what avail were such bodkins
against this raging giant, mowing down all comers with a ten-foot bar of
iron? Who could withstand him? Those who escaped him fled, and the clash
of steel beyond the circle of light told that Sher Afghán's followers,
though dispersed by the first unexpected charge, had rallied and were
coming to the assistance of their chief.

Sainton, who thoroughly enjoyed the fight, ceased his exertions when he
saw Sher Afghán helping Nur Mahal to alight from the _howdah_. A crowd
of guests and armed vassals, attracted by the noise of the conflict, had
run from the house, and the obedience rendered to the Persian's orders
by a fresh batch of horsemen advancing out of the darkness showed that
the assailants had been completely routed.

But some remained. Six horses and more than twenty men were prone in the
dust, and few of them moved, for that terrible bar had touched naught
that it did not break. The fallen elephant blocked the gate and the big
Yorkshireman held the road. None could come out from the garden save by
a wicket, and neither friend nor foe dared to approach within striking
distance of Roger.

Sher Afghán, who had not earned his name, "Slayer of Lions," by
bragging, glanced at the tumbled heap which surrounded Sainton and
cried:--

"May Allah bear witness this night that thou hast saved my life, friend
from beyond the seas. I did well to help thee, and nobly hast thou
repaid my service. But where is thy brother? I trust he has come to no
harm."

"When last I saw him he was instructing Prince Jahangir in the art of
fence," said Roger, stooping to recover his hat which had fallen.

"Ha, sayest thou? Would that I had given the lesson in his stead!
Search for him, I pray you, whilst I conduct this lady to her father."

Nur Mahal, who stood near, seemed to be in a somewhat subdued mood.
There was a new note in her voice as she murmured:--

"Heed me not, my Lord, but look for the stranger. My heart misgives me
as to his fate."

Sher Afghán gave her a quick glance, clearing his eyes in wonderment.
Before he could reply the girl darted forward.

"See, here he comes, and with him a prisoner. For my sake, if for none
other, let there be no further bloodshed!"

The appeal was timely. Walter, holding Jahangir, whom he had purposely
kept in the background until the turmoil had subsided, now advanced. But
the spirit of the combat had not wholly left him. When Sher Afghán
sprang forward, eager to renew a duel interrupted by the downfall of the
elephant, his sword barred the way.

"Not so," he cried determinedly. "The Prince is unarmed and my hostage.
Moreover, I cannot see why two such gallant gentlemen should fight over
a worthless woman. Whilst you were defending her and yourself, Sher
Afghán, her dagger was raised to strike you dead."

The Persian stood as though he had been stabbed indeed. He bent a
piteous glance on his wife.

"Is it true," he asked brokenly, "that you would have done this thing?"

She shrank from him.

"You forced me to wed you," she protested. "I did not love you."

Plucking a dagger from his belt he offered it to her.

"I dreamed to conquer the fickle heart of a woman," he said. "If you
were minded to end your woes by my death, here is my unprotected breast.
Kill me! It is my desire. Better that than an assassin's blow at the
hands of the woman I love."

She burst into a passion of tears and fell to her knees.

"Forgive me, my Lord," she sobbed; and her grief was music in Sher
Afghán's ears. If, indeed, his wife regretted her attitude he could
afford to be magnanimous. Throwing sword and dagger to the ground he
bowed to Jahangir.

"Your Highness has been misled by idle tongues," he said. "Tidings of
this brawl will reach the Emperor as fast as men can ride. Let you and
me hasten to his presence and together seek his clemency."

It was a proposal which could only emanate from a chivalrous soul, but
Jahangir was too enraged by his defeat, too embittered by Nur Mahal's
apparent submission, to avail himself of it.

"I neither plead nor make excuse," he said. "Go you in peace with your
bride. I call Allah to witness that I have been misled by none save Nur
Mahal herself. My followers have fled, though I am glad to see some of
the hare-livered dogs cumber the ground. Give me a horse and I shall
ride alone, if your foreign ally grants my liberty."

The lowering anger in his closely set eyes, the quivering lips which
scarce could form the words, showed that Jahangir was not only keenly
resentful of his plight but that he scorned Nur Mahal for her meekness.
The appearance of the Diwán, agitated and faltering in his steps, put an
end to a scene which at any moment might have assumed a new phase of
violence. The aged statesman, when his first alarm was sped, thought
more of the morrow than of the present excitement. He bade Sher Afghán
undertake the interrupted journey in a litter as soon as his wounds were
bound, and he despatched Jahangir to the fort with a strong guard of his
own servants.

By this time the dazed elephant had yielded to the curses and
endearments of the _mahout_. He rose ponderously, and marched across the
ruins of the gate to his stable.

For some reason the Diwán would not allow Mowbray and Sainton to return
to the caravansary. He may have feared for their safety, or perhaps he
found comfort in the thought that Roger, mighty man of war, slept under
his roof.

Before setting out a second time Sher Afghán came to the chamber
allotted to them. He threw around Roger's neck a magnificent gold chain
studded with turquoises.

"Let me gild the bond of steel which rivets our friendship," he said.

To Walter he handed a dagger, with a handle so encrusted with diamonds
that it blazed in the light of a lamp like a single huge stone.

"It is worthy of the hand of my friend and the heart of my enemy," he
cried, nor would he harken to their protests, but hurried away to the
waiting litter and Nur Mahal.

"How read you the riddle of this night's doings?" asked Roger, when they
were alone once more.

"There is no riddle. 'Tis nothing new in history for a woman to plot for
a throne."

"But the wench blew hot and cold. One minute she was for striking her
husband dead and the next she was tame as a pet lamb."

"There you have me. I am only sorry that a brave man like Sher Afghán
should be enamored of such a siren."

"By the cross of Osmotherly, Walter, I came to think I ken more than you
of the ways of women. Now, mark me, she is a hoyden of some spirit. When
the Prince would have reaved her she was willing enough, and tempted to
aid him withal. But when the fight started, she hung back, like a doe
watching two contending stags. Her husband was the better man and the
greater gentleman, and he did more to win her by a five minutes'
contention than by a month's wooing."

"You are right, Roger, but you had most to say in that respect. Now, let
us rest. Jahangir was no mean antagonist. He struggled like a bull when
I had him on the ground. I am weary."

They slept late, and, when they had dressed and eaten, were at a loss
whether to go or stay, as the Diwán had hastened to the palace soon
after daybreak. But their doubts were quickly resolved. A mounted
messenger from the Diwán bade them bring their packs with all speed to
the fort. The Emperor had laughed when told that his heir was lying abed
with sore bones, and gave imperative orders that the bazaar should take
place as arranged.

The man told them that the fair was the _Khus-roz_, or "Day of
Pleasure," and the scene in the garden of the zenana, when Mowbray and
Sainton had hurried their train thither, showed that the festival was
not misnamed. Not only the ladies of the court, but the wives and
daughters of the chief nobles, occupied the stalls, and, while Walter
was busily superintending the unpacking of his bales, he heard the
Emperor himself chaffering like an old wife about the value of a penny.

He was bargaining shrewdly with a beautiful Kashmiri, and receiving as
good as he gave.

"What do you know of merchandise?" she cried. "You may be a good king,
but certainly you are a poor trader."

"And you are selling inferior silk by your pretty face, just as a fine
rind may cover a bad apple," he retorted.

"If your Majesty can only admire my face," said she, "I fear you must go
where you will be better served."

"Ohé, here is a prude! Come, accept my price and let me take my
compliments elsewhere."

"And what shall I say when I render short account to the Sultana?"

"Tell her that the King thought you ill-looking, so he showed you no
favor."

"Your Majesty is reputed a better judge of women's nature. Then, indeed,
the Sultana would regard me curiously."

"Oh, go to! You are vain as a peacock. Here, not a pice more!"

He threw down some copper coins, and affected to drop a number of gold
pieces by accident. The lady promptly covered them with a fold of her
_sari_, and Akbar strolled away to another stall. Among the money she
found a rare pearl, and the gift of a jewel was a signal sign of royal
favor.

"They tell me an elephant broke loose outside the Diwán's house last
night," said Akbar, stopping in front of Walter and eying him keenly.

"For a little while I fancied it was a whole menagerie, your Majesty,"
was the quick answer.

"So. And this other elephant, the Hathi-sahib, made a pen for the
beasts?"

"Assuredly they found him occupation for a time."

"'Tis well. I am sorry I did not see him at work. Meanwhile, you shall
not lose trade because young blood grows hot. What is the value of your
wares?"

"A lakh and a half, your Majesty."

"Bones of my father! They must have told you that 'Akbar' meant 'a mint'
in your language."

"The meaning of your Majesty's name is known far beyond the confines of
your kingdom."

"Ha! Thy tongue is glib! And what is my repute with your King?"

"I have been told that he regards your Majesty with great respect, which
is saying much, as he is held by many to be a very Solomon."

"Aye, the wisest fool in Christendom," broke in Sainton, in English.

Mowbray smiled and Akbar cried eagerly:--

"What sayeth the Hathi?"

The translation, which Walter rendered accurately, made him laugh
heartily.

"I doubt not thou hast an apt phrase to describe me when my back is
turned," he said to Roger.

"If your Majesty leaves behind you the lakh and a half demanded by my
partner I shall at least say that which is true."

"And what will it be?"

"That none but a royal bird could cast such feathers."

"Bismillah! Aught but that! The four winds would blow hither every knave
in India, for they will read it that none but a royal goose could lay
such eggs."

Of course the imperial quip was much applauded by those who stood near,
and Akbar was so pleased with his own wit that he called for pen and
paper and commanded an attendant to write an order on the Treasury for
the amount named, for, strange to say, this far-seeing and intelligent
monarch was quite illiterate. He could scarcely read, and his signature
was a mere scrawl. Nevertheless, his hieroglyphics covered, in this
instance, a considerable sum, its English equivalent being £15,000.
Seeing that the cost and transport of their goods amounted to only
one-third of the sale price, both Mowbray and Sainton had the best of
reasons to rejoice at this rapid change in their fortunes.

But Akbar knew the value of money as well as the poorest of his
subjects. Turning to a corpulent nawab who had laughed loudest at his
joke, he said:--

"Now, Agah Khan, thou shalt see that I am as ready a seller as a buyer.
Look at this roll of Persian silk. Think of the joy it will cause in thy
household. Is it not cheap at two hundred gold mohurs, or shall we say
two-fifty, as thou wouldst not care to rob a man who scarce knew the
value of his commodities."

Agah Khan, not at all elated by this twist of the royal humor, hastened
to say that two hundred and fifty was the true price, at which figure he
would certainly purchase it. He knew Akbar. Had he hesitated the figure
would have risen by hundreds a minute.

"Nay, be not so shy, Nur-ud-din," called out the Emperor after one who
affected an interest in another stall. "Here be spices of Gondar that
shall make thee eat until the mirror reveals one twice thy size. What
shall it be?"

"Fifty, O King of Kings," was the quick response.

"Fifty! When each grain doth season a meal! A hundred at the least!"

"Be it so, shadow of Allah on earth!" said Nur-uddin; yet he looked so
dismal, for he was a reputed skinflint, that Akbar smiled grimly, and
there was discreet mirth even among those who dreaded their own dealing
with this masterful salesman.

"Gad!" whispered Sainton to Walter, "I begin to catch the drift of the
King's bargain. He hath a nice wit."

In half an hour Akbar had sold three fourths of their stock and retained
the best quarter for nothing. They, all aglow with pleasure at this
successful close of their venture, watched the proceedings in patience
until the Emperor approached them again.

"It grieves me that affairs in the Dekkàn will detain me to-day," he
said, looking fixedly at Walter. "Visit the Treasury to-morrow, come
hither at the hour fixed for this evening, and then journey with all
speed and good fortune back to Surat."

Now, Walter read a hint into the words. He bowed deeply, assuring the
Emperor that he would obey his commands to the letter. Then, Akbar
having gone, he and Roger went on their way with light hearts.

In a land where intrigue was rife, the signal favor shown by the Emperor
to the two strangers was in every man's mouth. This was clear from the
respect paid to them as they rode forth from the palace. Each menial
salaamed, and officials who had surveyed them with hauteur during their
first visit now rendered obsequious attention.

They were yet some little distance from the bazaar when two richly clad
nobles, mounted on fine Turkoman Arabs, overtook them, drew rein and
entered into conversation.

At first, Walter answered their courteous inquiries unguardedly, but a
question anent the previous night's escapade revealed a hidden motive.
He described the affair jestingly, robbing it of serious import.

"Nay, friend," said one, the elder of the pair, "we heard Akbar's words.
Prince Jahangir, a profligate and a drunkard, hath grieved him by his
excesses. Had the edge of thy sword fallen on Jahangir's neck, instead
of the flat blade on his wrist, there would have been little harm done."

"A bold speech from one whom I know not."

"Would that a bold action by one whom we know not had rid the land of a
pest!"

Amazed and somewhat disturbed by this outspoken declaration, Mowbray
wheeled his horse squarely towards the speaker.

"I would have you realize that my companion and I are traders. We have
no concern with the court beyond the sale of our goods," he said
sternly.

"Traders should not have enemies in high places."

"We have none."

"Why, then, is one of the foreign preachers closeted with Jahangir since
the ninth hour? Why hath this same preacher spread the rumor in the
bazaar that you are spies, emissaries of a king beyond the black water
who is sending armed ships to prey on our territories in the west?"

Here was unpleasant news, indeed. Mowbray must have looked his
annoyance, because the other continued eagerly:--

"This black gown hath established too great an influence over Jahangir.
Were he dead, and his brother Khusrow recognized as heir, all would be
well, and the store thou hast made to-day would be quadrupled."

"To whom do I speak?"

"I fear not to give my name. I am Raja Man Singh, and this other is the
chief of Bikanir."

"Why do you tell me these things?" said Walter, sorely troubled, for the
men were grandees of high position.

"Because, in God's name, if Jahangir comes in front of thy sword again,
plunge it into him."

Roger, who gathered the drift if not the exact significance of the talk,
broke in in English:--

"If they're athirst for Jahangir's blood, Walter, bid them slit his
weazand themselves."

They evidently read his ejaculation as hostile to the Prince, for he
from Bikanir murmured:--

"Good! The Hathi hath trumpeted."

Now, Roger did not like the nickname given him by Akbar. He stretched
out a huge fist toward the Rajput and roared:--

"I kill only in fair fight. Beware lest the slaying be done now, when,
perchance, we may win not only the Emperor's approval, but that of his
eldest son."

His attitude surprised them, but they showed no fear. Raja Man Singh
said coldly:--

"I have spoken. Many hours may not pass before you feel that my words
were not uttered without cause."

He spurred his horse, and the other followed him in a sharp canter. They
soon vanished in the distance.

The incident, perplexing though it was, would not have troubled them
greatly save for the reference to Dom Geronimo. Here was one whose
rancor was implacable, his spleen being probably augmented by their
presence in the Mogul capital and the notable success they had attained.
When they recalled the Emperor's advice as to their departure they saw
that there were dangerous undercurrents in existence which might swamp
the argosy of their fortunes if they did not conduct their affairs with
exceeding discretion.

Hence, they hailed with joy the invitation from the Diwán to make his
house their own during further residence in Agra. In the caravansary
they were surrounded by strangers who might be in anyone's pay. In the
Garden of Heart's Delight they were, at least, under the protection of
an influential minister, whose abode even Prince Jahangir was compelled
to respect, else he would not have resorted to the ambuscade of the
previous night.

But the blind god, having tossed them towards the smooth haven of
prosperity, blew them back into a storm with malignant caprice. That
night, the Diwán died suddenly, poisoned said some, while others held
that his end was hastened by the turmoil attending Nur Mahal's marriage.

Application to the Treasury for payment of their order was futile. They
were assured, civilly enough, that no money could be disbursed until a
new Diwán was appointed, and, when they kept the appointment fixed by
Akbar, they were told that the Emperor, overwhelmed with grief at the
death of his favorite minister, added to the news of the illness of one
of his sons, Dániál, at Burhampur, was secluded in his private
apartments.

Day after day they waited, devising many schemes to secure their money
and leave a city they would gladly see the last of. They lived in the
Diwán's house. None interfered with them, and the place itself was an
earthly Paradise wherein they would be well content if other matters had
progressed to their liking. The warning given by Raja Man Singh had no
justification in fact. Jahangir had apparently forgotten their
existence, while Dom Geronimo gave no sign that he concerned himself in
any way about them.

Walter not only visited the palace daily, but wrote letters, none of
which received an answer. At last the truth could no longer be hidden.
Akbar, who had reigned over India fifty-one years, was stricken down
with paralysis. In the words of the chronicler, "His Majesty, finding
that his last moments had come, summoned all his Omerahs to his bedside.
Wistfully regarding them, he asked forgiveness of any offense he might
have been guilty towards any of them. Then he gave them a sign to invest
his son, Jahangir, with his turban and robes, and to gird him with his
favorite simitar. He entreated Jahangir to be kind to the ladies of the
family, to discharge all his (Akbar's) obligations, and never to neglect
or forsake old friends and dependents. The grandees prostrated
themselves before their dying lord and did him homage. The King repeated
the confession of faith, closed his eyes, and died in all the forms of a
pious Musalman."

The worthy scribe no doubt intended his concluding sentence to dispel,
once and for all, the rumor which found credence with many that Akbar
had a decided leaning towards Christianity. However that may be, the
tidings of his death sounded the knell of the adventurers' hopes. Not
only had they lost the fortune within their grasp, but they and their
Surat partner were ruined.

Walter's dream of gaining a competence and sailing speedily to England
and Nellie Roe was shattered. In his despair he debated with Roger the
advisability of quitting Agra secretly, and journeying towards Calcutta
by river.

But Roger swore, with quaint oaths, that he would beard Jahangir in his
palace and shame him before all his nobles if he did not fulfil Akbar's
behest. Matters were in this desperate plight when a royal messenger was
announced.

Wondering greatly what new development fickle fate had in store they
admitted the man. He salaamed with much ceremony and said:--

"My master, the Emperor Jahangir, second Sahib-i-Qirán,[C] bids the
illustrious strangers wait on him to-morrow after he appears at the
jharoka (window) to receive the blessings of his subjects."

[Footnote C: Literally, "Born under favoring planets," a title conferred
by historians on Taimúr, and assumed by Jahangir.]

Here was the unexpected happening in very truth. Had Kingship made
Jahangir a King? Would he rise superior to petty considerations and
treat them with justice? Who could tell? As Roger said:--

"We mun eat a good breakfast, buckle on our swords, and trust in
Providence."




CHAPTER X

     "Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety."
                    _Shakespeare_, "King Henry IV."


Jahangir received them in the Hall of Public Audience. If he wished to
inspire respect by a display of magnificence, his appearance and
surroundings were well calculated to achieve this purpose.

The fine building itself supplied a fitting shrine for regal splendor.
The Arabesque roof was borne on Byzantine arches, which gave free access
on three sides from a delightful parterre. It was closed on the north,
as here it rested against the higher ground which contained the private
apartments. A raised marble canopy stood out from the center of the
built-in side, the floor being some eight feet above the mosaic pavement
of the hall. This retreat held the Emperor's throne, to which a small
door communicated from the back.

The throne was elevated on a dais of silver steps. Four massive silver
lions bore an inner canopy of gold, curiously wrought and emblazoned
with jewels. Tavernier, the French traveler, himself a goldsmith,
estimated the value of this wonderful structure at so many millions
sterling that later historians have held the sum named to be incredible.
Nevertheless, it made a brave show in the clear light of an Indian
interior in the cold weather. Not less striking was the figure of
Jahangir himself. Robed in white muslin, his belt, simitar, dagger-hilt,
and scarf literally blazed with diamonds. On his turban reposed a
Persian diadem with twelve points, each terminating in a large diamond
of purest water and most brilliant luster. Within a mass of sparkling
stones in the center was set a shimmering pearl of extraordinary size
and value, while a necklace of smaller but exquisite pearls served to
enhance the lustrous ornament in his crown. Tavernier, probably with
reasonable accuracy, valued the diadem alone at two millions sterling.

Grouped near him on the steps of the dais, or on the platform, were
several court dignitaries, amidst whose gorgeous robes the Englishmen's
eyes quickly discerned the cassock of Dom Geronimo. A host of officials
and nobles of lesser importance thronged the floor of the great hall,
and the scene was one of glittering animation at the moment the two
friends arrived, the only somber and sinister note being the unrelieved
black robe of the Jesuit.

That they were expected was demonstrated by the sudden stilling of
tongues and craning of necks as they approached. All men made way for
them, as men will, though the path be to the steps of a throne, when
they think a fellow creature is doomed to instant death or torture. It
was common knowledge that these two had not only thwarted Jahangir's
amours and laid violent hands on him in the process, but that he was
their creditor, in his father's behalf, for a considerable sum of
money. What better reasons could there be for hanging the pair of them
forthwith?

Yet, some prudent souls, noting the fearless glances cast around by
Sainton and his less colossal but powerfully built companion--thinking,
perhaps, that the Emperor might call on his faithful subjects to seize
these two--edged away from the vicinity. It would be much easier to yell
than to act when Jahangir cried "Maro!"[D]

[Footnote D: "Kill them!"]

"Desperate need calls for desperate deed," growled Roger as they strode
forward, side by side. "If it comes to a fight, Walter, let me sweep a
clear space with a stroke or two. Then I shall catch thee by the belt
and heave thee up at Jahangir. It will take him by surprise. Bring him
out, as a keen dog would draw a badger. Once we have him on the floor,
perchance we can make terms."

Walter laughed gaily. The suggestion that they should terrorize the
whole Mogul court by sheer force was ludicrous, and its humor was not
lessened by the knowledge that they were both in a position of imminent
danger. The presence of the Jesuit in close attendance on the Emperor
was, in itself, an ominous sign, and the mere sight of him brought a
glint into Mowbray's blue eyes which boded ill for Jahangir if Roger's
last daring expedient became necessary.

They advanced near to the marble canopy, and, doffing their hats, bowed
respectfully. Roger, with an eye over his shoulder, thought that the
eager mob of courtiers was inclined to tread too closely on his heels.
With his left hand he pressed the hilt of his long sword, and the
scabbard, sticking straight out behind him, seemed to indicate that he
did not intend to be incommoded.

Anyhow, those in the rear read his wishes that way, and anxiously
whispered to others not to thrust them forward, while the wiser men, who
had kept aloof, noting the strange expression on Jahangir's face,
thanked Allah for the wit which stationed them in a safe place.

Walter, who, of course, acted in the assumption that Jahangir had sent
for him in the most friendly spirit, began the conversation by
addressing a neatly worded compliment to the monarch on his accession.

"It is the happy law of nature," he said, "that the setting of the sun
shall be followed by the rising thereof. May your Majesty's reign
continue for as many years as that of your illustrious father, and may
the brightness of your glory illumine the earth!"

Having some trick of versification, he gave the words a turn towards a
Persian couplet. There was a rustle of gratified surprise among the
audience, few of whom were aware of Walter's proficiency in the courtly
language of Hindustan.

Jahangir, smiling acidly, bent forward:--

"I sent for a merchant," he said, "but you have brought me a poet."

"A happy chance enables me to combine the two, your Majesty."

The Emperor, without any hesitation, answered:--

"You are modest, withal. The last time we met I discovered in you other
qualities, whilst your words savored more of the battlefield than of the
court."

"I have not seen your Majesty before," said Walter boldly, for he could
in no wise guess what line Jahangir intended to take with him, and he
was not prepared for this open allusion to the struggle at the gate of
the Diwán's garden.

The King's face exhibited some amazement, as well it might. He
significantly touched his right forearm, which was closely wrapped in
black silk.

"My eyes and ears may have deceived me," he cried, "but I have that here
which bears witness against thee."

"Your Majesty is good enough to allude to a slight dispute which
involved Prince Jahangir and another. It did not concern me, and I was
foolish to take part in it, but I maintain that had I encountered the
Emperor on that occasion I would have behaved very differently."

Dom Geronimo, who lost no word of the interview, seemed to be displeased
by Mowbray's adroit distinction between the occupant of the throne and a
prince of the royal blood. He leaned over and whispered something, but
Jahangir paid little heed to him.

"Then, you think a monarch should have no memory?" he asked, looking
fixedly at Walter.

"Not so. He should remember his friends and forget his enemies."

"And how shall I class thee and thy comrade?"

"We trust that your Majesty will continue to show us the favor
manifested by your royal father."

Jahangir laughed.

"It is strange," he said slowly, "but you have read my intention. I am
told that the renowned Akbar had it in mind to give you an exhibition of
certain sports which he loved. Faithful to his wishes in every respect
as I am, I have brought you hither to-day for that same purpose. I have
ordered a steward to wait on you. After the midday meal he will conduct
you to the _tamáshá-gáh_,[E] where I will meet you. Farewell. God is
great!"

[Footnote E: Arena, or sport-ground.]

"May His brightness shine forth!" chanted the Mahomedans present, and,
ere Mowbray and Sainton well understood the King's desire, Jahangir had
vanished and they were confronted by a bowing chamberlain, who besought
them to accompany him to a guest-room.

Here, an excellent meal was served. On the table were several flagons of
various wines. Though they knew not what was in store for them, and the
Emperor's manner was as inscrutable as his words, they fully believed
that he did not mean them to be poisoned on that occasion, so they ate
heartily, notwithstanding Roger's earlier precaution in the matter of
breakfast. But the wine, though its novelty was tempting, they spared.
They knew its effects in that climate, and until they were far removed
from Agra it behooved them to keep eye undimmed and blood free from
fever.

The less they drank the more the steward pressed the wine upon them,
until Roger, whom the sight of the flagons tried sorely, bade the man,
if he were minded to be truly hospitable, send the liquor to their
abode, where they would endeavor to do it justice.

"If your Honor will say that you have already partaken of it I shall
obey your behest," said the other with alacrity.

"That will be only the bare truth," was the astonished reply, for they
had each tasted a small quantity and found it excellent, there being
Canary, Alicant, Malaga, and the famed product of Oporto on the board.

"'Ware hawk, Roger," interposed Walter. "Unless I mistake me greatly we
are being screwed up to undergo some ordeal. Jahangir said naught of
paying us. I dislike his civility."

"Gad! if this honest fellow keeps his word and conveys the bottles to
the old Diwán's house, I shall change my mind anent the chuck ere
midnight. What flea hath bitten thee now, Walter? The King hath dealt
with us right royally, and you and he seemed to oil each other with
smooth words."

"I cannot forego my suspicions. They are useless, I admit. We have
thrust our heads into the jaws of the lion, and can scarce complain if
he snaps them off."

"Let us rather resolve to give him the toothache if he tries any
tricks," growled Sainton. "Make for him, lad, if there be aught amiss.
Trust to me to clear a path. For each one in the crowd who draws for
the King there will be another ready to draw against him should they see
a chance of success."

They spoke in English. Their native attendant, seeing that they had
finished their meal, begged to be allowed to depart for a little while.
When all was ready he would come and bring them to the _tamáshá-gáh_.
They were seated in a beautiful apartment, with frescoed walls, mosaic
floor, and arched Moorish roof composed of colored tiles. On one side
it opened into a garden. The palace, unlike most kingly residences,
was not one vast building, but was made up of a series of exquisitely
proportioned halls or small private abodes, sometimes connected by
covered ways, but often standing quite apart, and always surrounded by a
wealth of flowers and foliage peculiarly grateful to eyes wearied by the
glare of the sun reflected from white marble.

Industriously watering the plants was a sturdy _bhisti_, or
water-carrier. His goatskin bag seemed to be inexhaustible. He had been
traversing the garden paths throughout the whole time they were eating.
No sooner were they alone in the room than he ran close to the plinth
and began to deluge the rose-bushes in good earnest.

"Protector of the poor!" he murmured to Walter, "stay not here. Go away
quickly, in God's name!"

Considerably startled by the man's words, which chimed so strangely with
his own forebodings, Mowbray bent towards him.

"Who bade thee give me this message?" he asked, knowing full well that
such a menial would never dare to speak on his own authority.

"One who wishes thee well, sahib--my wife, to wit," answered the
_bhisti_.

"Thy wife!"

"Yes, honored one. You plucked our child from death in the river, and my
wife heard from others that there is intent to make sport with thee and
the Hathi-sahib ere both are put to death."

Swish, swish went the water among the rose-leaves. Never was there a
more energetic _bhisti_, for a gardener had appeared, and further talk
was impossible.

"As well die here as a mile away," was Roger's quiet comment. "We have
breakfasted, we have dined, and a fight is toward. What more can a man
want? Out with your hanger, Walter, when Jahangir so much as opes his
mouth to speak crossly. We shall give him a feast of steel, with first,
second, and third course all alike. There shall be much carving, yet
none will tarry to eat. Gad! this talking makes me thirsty, and, if I am
fated to fall to-day, their blades may as well let out some good liquor.
Fall to, lad! We may not have another chance."

He seized a bottle of Alicant and poured out two generous measures.
Mowbray lifted a tankard and cried:--

"Here's to Old England and Nellie Roe, if I never see either again!"

"And here's to the day when I set foot on the heather once more!" was
Roger's sturdy rejoinder. It was in such spirit that they followed the
chamberlain when he reappeared.

They had no opportunity of conversing again with the _bhisti_. Whatever
good cause inspired his mysterious message they were now on the verge of
enlightenment, so Walter called the poor fellow towards him and openly
presented him with some rupees, saying:--

"He that refreshes the thirsty earth and causes the flowers to grow is
among the most deserving of mortals."

The man shifted his water-bag uneasily.

"Salaam, sahib," he said. "May your years be numbered as the pice in
these coins!"

Now, there are sixty-four pice in a rupee, so the _bhisti's_ wish had
not an uncheerful ring in their ears as they followed their guide across
the garden and thence to a new part of the palace grounds. They were
conducted to an extensive stone platform, built level with the
fortifications at a point where the outer walls were laved by the river
Jumna.

Exactly in front of and below the platform, however, a square enclosed
court, or arena, was reclaimed from the bed of the stream. The
preparations in progress there, no less than the presence of several
elephants in battle gear, hunting leopards in leash, antelopes trained
for fighting, buffaloes whose tremendous horns were tipped with lance
points, and many other animals, including even the ungainly rhinoceros,
showed what manner of sport was forthcoming. Notwithstanding the
precarious condition of their own fortunes, both Mowbray and Sainton
regarded the scene with curious eyes. They had, of course, during their
three years' sojourn, witnessed the fierce spring of the _chitah_[F]
onto the back of a flying deer; they had chased wild boar and even
_nilgau_, the fierce blue cow of India, on horseback; they had
seen a trained eagle pounce onto an antelope and buffet the frightened
creature's head with its wings until the claws got to work. But a combat
of elephants was a King's amusement, as few save a monarch could afford
the cost or compel men to risk and lose their lives in such fashion.

[Footnote F: Leopard]

The broad terrace on which they stood was flanked by the graceful
buildings of the zenana. A double line of spear-men guarded it on three
sides, while another batch of warriors surrounded a ponderous block of
black marble, resting on four low supports, which bore the Emperor's
chair. This was placed close to the edge of the battlements, so that his
Majesty could watch each detail of the sanguinary encounters in the
arena some twenty feet beneath. The chair was securely bound to the
marble block lest it should topple over in a moment of royal excitement,
and there was standing room on the huge stone to accommodate a dozen
privileged spectators. For the rest, the platform extended so far on
either hand that all could look easily into the enclosure, whilst many a
window and balcony of the palace permitted the ladies of the household
to take part in the proceedings if they were so minded. When the
Englishmen arrived there were already many rajahs, omrahs, and other
notabilities standing in groups on the terrace. None of these addressed
the strangers, but muttered words and covert looks showed that some
event was toward of which those present were cognizant.

Roger eyed the strength of the guard and smiled. He laughed outright
when he nudged Walter to note the manner in which even the royal chair
was protected.

"Jahangir either plans mischief or is afraid of it," he said. "He hath
marshaled a small army to protect him in his own house."

Walter straightway took the bull by the horns in addressing a question
to one who stood near and with whom he had a slight acquaintance.

"Is such display of force usual within the palace?" he asked.

The other shrugged his shoulders.

"They talk of a fierce tiger being let loose," he murmured. "One never
knows what may happen."

He vouchsafed no further information. Indeed, at that moment, Jahangir
put in an appearance. His swarthy face was flushed and there was an evil
glint in his close set eyes. Evidently he had been imbibing liquor
forbidden by the Prophet. Accompanied by a few young noblemen whose
appearance betokened the force of kingly example, he strode towards his
chair without paying the slightest attention to the respectful salaams
of the crowd.

"Bring the sheep first," he grunted. "We shall deal with the pigs
later."

This obscure joke was greeted with shouts of laughter.

"Karamat! Karamat!"[G] was the exclamation, for every Mahomedan there
had laid to heart the Persian proverb:--

     "Should the King say that it is night at noon,
     Be sure to cry: 'Behold, I see the moon!'"

[Footnote G: "Wonderful! Wonderful!"]

Yet Mowbray, alert to discern the slightest straw-twist on the swirl of
the current, thought that some of the older men glanced askance at each
other, which puzzled him, as he knew quite well that the death of a
Feringhi was of little account to an Asiatic.

The "sheep" alluded to by Jahangir were veritable carcases of those
animals, slung from poles by the feet tied in a bunch. They were carried
by servants onto the terrace itself, and forthwith a few athletic youths
created some excitement by endeavoring, in the first place, to cut
through the four feet at one blow, and, secondly, to divide the body in
the same way. They used their razor-edged simitars with much skill,
science rather than great strength being demanded by the task.

When half a dozen carcases had been dissected with more or less success,
Jahangir shouted a question to Sainton, of whose presence he seemed to
be unaware hitherto.

"Tell me, Hathi," he cried. "Canst perform either trick with thy long
sword? Thy arm is strong, but is thy wrist supple?"

All eyes were instantly bent on Roger, to whom Mowbray whispered the
King's meaning lest he had not properly caught the words. The giant
grinned genially.

"A slung sheep offers but slight resistance to a blow," he said. "Were
he fresh from the spit I'd sooner eat him."

Discreet mirth rewarded his humor, but Jahangir wheeled round in his
chair towards the ditch and clapped his hands as a signal to the
attendants. At once began a series of sanguinary events in which
buffaloes contended with _nilgau_, hunting dogs tore down bears let
loose from invisible caverns, and panthers made magnificent leaps after
flying deer. Few were real combats. In most cases a helpless creature
was ruthlessly slaughtered by some vicious and snarling enemy, and the
more ghastly the dying struggles of the doomed antelope or bellowing cow
the more excited and vociferous became the spectators.

A fight between elephants was a really thrilling affair. Two magnificent
brutes, specially imported from Ceylon, were led up on opposite sides of
a low mud wall built on wood and carried into the arena by a host of
men. Gorgeously caparisoned, and trumpeting strange squeals of defiance,
each elephant was urged towards this barrier by his two riders.
Separated at first by the wall, they fought furiously with heads, tusks,
and trunks, while the leading _mahout_ encouraged his mount by shrill
cries, forcing him to the attack with a steel _ankus_, or striving to
ward off the blows of the opposing beast's trunk with the same
instrument. It was quickly apparent why there were two men astride an
elephant. Each cunning brute knew that it was an advantage to get rid of
his adversary's _mahout_, and, indeed, one rider was killed before the
fight was long in progress. But the death of the man so enraged his
elephant that he sprang onto the wall ere the second attendant could
climb to his head, and gored his opponent in the flank with such
ferocity that the other turned and fled.

The two rushed towards the end of the enclosure, and the leading animal
charged a stout barricade so blindly that it yielded before his great
bulk. He fell, and the pursuer attacked him furiously. At once a
terrific fanfare of hautboys and cymbals burst forth, and a number of
men ran with lighted fireworks, mostly Catherine wheels, attached to
long sticks, which they thrust under the legs and before the eyes of the
victor. This device caused him to abandon the assault, and he allowed
his remaining _mahout_ to drive him away, but not until two unfortunate
_bhois_, or attendants, had been trodden to death.

Jahangir nodded his satisfaction, and the riders of the elephants were
permitted to alight, each man being given a sackful of pice, while the
ears of the conquering animal were decorated with tails of the white
Tibetan ox, or yak. As for the inanimate corpses of the hapless _mahout_
and his assistants, they were huddled onto biers and borne away,
followed by some shrieking women, whose plaints were drowned by the din
of trumpets six or seven feet in length and a foot wide at the mouth.

It must not be imagined that the spectacle disgusted the English
onlookers. In an age when men lived by the sword, when personal bravery
and physical hardihood were the best equipment a youth could possess,
there were no fastidious notions as to the sacredness of human life or
the deliberate cruelty involved in such encounters.

They were wondering what would provide the next act in this drama of
blood and death when a stir towards the rear of the platform on which
they stood caused them to look in that direction.

Sainton, by reason of his height, could see over the heads of the crowd.

"By the cross of Osmotherly!" he cried, "the mystery is cleared. Here
comes Sher Afghán, closely tended, if not a prisoner."

It was, indeed, the Persian noble himself who now advanced towards
Jahangir, the Emperor having swung his chair, which was on a pivot, to
face the palace. Sher Afghán's mien was collected, his dress in good
order. He was unarmed, and the mace-bearers who marched behind him might
be merely doing him honor.

With eyes for none save Jahangir he strode on with firm step. At the
proper distance he stopped and bowed deeply.

"To hear the King's order is to obey," he said quietly. "Your Majesty's
messenger rode far, for I hastened to Burdwán, but when he reached me I
turned my horse's head that moment."

"Say rather, you gave orders to your litter carriers. When last we
parted you had pleasant company in the _palki_," replied Jahangir.

"Neither my wife nor I love indolence, O King of Kings. We have ridden
hither at the rate of sixty miles a day."

"I am glad of it. Being newly come to the throne I did not wish the most
beautiful and the bravest of my subjects to be banished from the capital
to far Burdwán."

"Your Majesty's words are more propitious than a favorable sign in the
heavens."

"They carry no better augury than the hour of your arrival, for, in very
truth, I feared you might be tardy. I owe these strangers from beyond
the black waters some slight debt in my illustrious father's behalf.
Certain monies shall be paid them, but first I have discharged a promise
of the great Akbar's to entertain them."

He waved a jeweled hand towards Mowbray and Sainton, and the Persian saw
them for the first time. But Jahangir went on slowly, his white teeth
showing as if he wished to bite each word:--

"Thy coming, friend, hath provided for all a truly marvelous close to a
day of pleasure. Art thou not named Sher Afghán, Slayer of Tigers?
Behold, then, a foe worthy even of thy reputation."

Again he clapped his hands. A door was opened in the cellars beneath,
and a great Bengal tiger, maddened by hours of torture, sprang into the
center of the arena, the broken barrier having been hastily repaired
with strong hurdles. The lissome beast, whose striped skin shone like
cloth of gold and brown velvet in the rays of the declining sun, stood
for a little while lashing his sides in fury with his tail until he
caught the scent of blood. Then he crouched, and began to stalk, he
cared not what. The air was fetid with killing, and this past master in
the hunter's art knew the tokens of his craft.

But the arena was otherwise empty, and his lambent eyes, searching
eagerly for the cause of so much reek, were raised at last to the intent
row of faces looking down at him.

"What sayest thou, Sher Afghán," cried the Emperor. "Art thou minded to
vindicate thy title with one who seems to dispute it, or has a happy
marriage robbed thy arm of its prowess?"

The Persian hesitated. He, like his English friends, had thought it
better to brave Jahangir's animosity in Agra itself than fall beneath
the attack of hirelings in some distant fray. In the capital, there was
always a chance of a political upheaval as the outcome of a quarrel,
whereas, in a remote part, the minions of a vengeful monarch might
strike unheeded. Jahangir's tenure of the throne was far from stable.
Yet, though he might not dare openly to put to death a noble of high
rank, this challenge meant little else, even if it held the plausible
pretext that Sher Afghán chose his doom voluntarily.

A thrill of anticipation shook all hearers as they awaited the Persian's
answer. He gazed around on them disdainfully, for he was well aware that
many there would utter a protest did they not fear for their own skins.
Then he spoke.

"Give me arms and a ladder," he said, "and I shall try to kill the
beast."

A murmur arose, like the hum of wind-tossed leaves presaging a storm.
Some men might have been warned by it, but the Emperor, already half
intoxicated, was now goaded to utter madness by his rival's cool daring.

"Arms thou shalt have," he screamed, "but what need is there of a
ladder? Why not jump? There is sand beneath!"

Now this, indeed, was spurring Sher Afghán to his death, for the tiger
would be on him with inconceivable speed ere he could recover his feet.

Among those who thronged breathlessly forward to hear all that passed,
Roger Sainton listened and understood. The big Yorkshireman's eyes
glowed like live coals, and the veins on his neck bulged with sudden
passion. It was in his mind to end the quarrel then and there by
sweeping the Emperor and a row of his guards into the fosse, but a
quaint idea suddenly gripped him, and, without any hesitation, he put it
in force.

Thrusting the gapers left and right he reached the royal dais.

"If not a ladder, friend," he said to Sher Afghán, "why not a step?"

With that, he stooped and caught hold of the huge block of black marble.
Before anyone so much as grasped his intent he lifted it from its
supports, toppling Jahangir and several of his favorites in a confused
heap on the terrace. Then he pitched the mass of stone into the arena
and it chanced to fall flat onto the crouching tiger.

His sword flashed out as several spear-men, having recovered their wits,
made lunges at him.

"Hold back, good fellows!" he cried cheerily, for Roger's anger never
continued when steel was bared. "Mayhap the Emperor thinks the revel is
ended!"




CHAPTER XI

     "I do not set my life at a pin's fee."
                    _Hamlet_, Act I.


Mortal fear has caused many a man to run who thought himself unable to
walk. It now gave a tonic to an inebriate king. Jahangir, struggling to
his feet, obtained a fleeting glimpse of Roger Sainton's amazing
achievement. He heard more definitely the crashing fall of the great
stone into the arena, and his first emotion was one of profound
thankfulness that he and several of his boon companions had not gone
with it.

But instantly there came the knowledge that he had been treated with
contumely before all his court. So his face, already pallid with terror,
became even more white with anger, and words trembled on his lips which,
if uttered, would have been the irrevocable signal for a wild tumult.
Yet, hidden away in the brain of this headstrong debauchee there was a
latent sense of king-craft which taught him caution, and deep down in
his soul was a certain nobility of character which age and the cares of
a ruler developed in later years. His quick eyes discovered what Roger
had truly divined. There was many a powerful noble there ready to
espouse the cause of Sher Afghán, whilst, such was the awe inspired by
Sainton's almost supernatural feat, it was more than likely the giant's
onslaught would create a mad stampede. Moreover, Jahangir himself was as
conscious as any present that he had witnessed a deed whose memory would
endure through the ages, and the warring influences in his breast
sobered him for the moment.

With a self-control that was wholly creditable, he held up an
authoritative hand.

"Who dares to strike ere the Emperor commands?" he cried, and his strong
voice stilled the rising waves of agitation as oil beats down the crests
of troubled waters.

Heedless, or perhaps unknowing, that his turban was awry, he walked to
the edge of the parapet and looked over. There lay the fine marble slab,
broken in two as it remains to this day, though it was quickly restored
to its old-time site. Bound to it were the silken cords which fastened
the imperial chair, the seat itself having been crushed into a thousand
splinters underneath.

He turned towards Roger; though a cruel despot, Jahangir was a
sportsman:--

"Did it fall on the tiger?" he asked.

The big man pretended to scan the arena.

"As the beast is nowhere else to be seen I doubt not he is on the right
side of the stone, your Majesty," he answered.

"Why did you not warn me of your intent? I would have given a lakh of
rupees to have seen this thing."

Roger was far too quick-witted not to accept the cue thus thrown to him.

"There was scant time for words, your Majesty," he said. "In another
instant your devoted servant, Sher Afghán, would have been in the
pit with the snarling brute. For sure you meant but to try him.
Nevertheless, I made bold to interfere, as there is many a tiger, but
only one such man among your vassals."

The big man's humor was mordant, but the excited throng chose to ignore
the implied disparagement, and a murmur of applause told the Emperor
that in curbing his wrath he had acted with exceeding wisdom.

"You are right," he said slowly. "I am much beholden to you, and that
is more than some kings would say who had been flung headlong to the
ground. But see," he added, making a brave show of nonchalance as he
faced the crowd and waved a haughty hand toward the west, "the hour of
evening prayer approaches. Let us to the mosque!"

"Now look you," murmured Sainton to Walter, who stood watchful, with
sword-arm ready, during these thrilling moments, "there goes a man with
murder in his heart, yet will he turn his jowl to Mecca and chant verses
from the Koran with the best of them."

"I fear he only bides his time. But what good fairy prompted you to act
in such a way? I knew not what to do. I felt that any moment we might be
fighting for our lives, yet I saw no loophole of escape."

"Ecod, I remembered my mother telling me that a white sheet makes nine
parts of a ghost on a dark night. I reckoned to scare 'em with a bogie,
and succeeded."

In company with Sher Afghán, they quitted the palace fortress without
let or hindrance. The gallant Persian, after thanking Roger for his aid,
explained his motive in returning to Agra. He had reached the Garden of
Heart's Delight only an hour after they quitted it that morning. Hence,
Jahangir was evidently quite well informed as to his movements, and had
planned the escapade with the tiger as a means of requiting one, at
least, of his avowed enemies. Indeed, they learned later that, in the
event of Sher Afghán's death, the spear-men were ordered to close round
Sainton and Mowbray and bear them down by sheer force of numbers if they
strove to assist their friend. Roger had defeated the scheme only by
taking advantage of a prior moment of intense excitement.

When Sher Afghán told them that Nur Mahal and he, with their retinue,
had taken up their residence in the Diwán's house, the Englishmen wished
to return forthwith to the caravansary. But this the Persian would in no
wise permit. He sat late with them that evening, and, from words which
fell now and then in the talk, they gathered that while he was even more
enamored than ever of his wife the haughty beauty herself was far from
being content with her lot.

"She intended to be a queen," he sighed once, "and, alas, my kingdom is
too small and rude to suit her tastes."

"Why, then, did you not send her to Burdwán, and come here alone in
deference to the king's command?" asked Walter.

"Because there she would pine in solitude. Here, I have good hopes that
Jahangir's profligacy will disgust her. Already I have heard grave
rumors of court dissensions. Saw you not to-day how ready were many to
oppose him?"

"Thank Heaven it was so, else naught could have saved us. But what of
the morrow? You will incur constant danger. As for us, we have well nigh
abandoned all hope of gaining the reward of our venture. Were it not for
my stout-hearted friend we had endeavored long ere this to leave our
fortunes a sunken ship in Agra."

"Say not so. The shame of foregoing Akbar's obligations would travel
far, and the King cannot afford to lose his good name with traders. Bide
on in content. His mood changes each hour, and surely the day will come
when he shall treat you royally. I have good cause to hate Jahangir, yet
I would never say of him that he is wholly ignoble."

Their conversation was interrupted by a servant, who announced that a
store of wine had been sent from the palace for the Feringhis.

"Gad!" cried Roger, "that cat-footed servitor hath not forgotten my
request. And it is good liquor, too."

Sher Afghán was very suspicious of the gift until they apprised him of
all that had happened. Though he would not drink he smelt and tasted
samples of the wine, which, apparently, had not been tampered with in
any way. His brow cleared when he convinced himself that no trick was
intended.

"I told you," he said, "that Jahangir's nature owed something to his
lineage. May Allah grant him wit enough to win me and others to his side
by reason of his forebearance!"

With this magnanimous wish on his lips he quitted them. They were fated
soon to recall his words in bitterness and despair. Jahangir, sunk in
renewed orgy, and twitted by his evil associates with the failure of the
afternoon's device, was even then devoting himself, with an almost
diabolical ingenuity, to a fresh plot for their undoing.

He limned the project fully, but declared with scorn that it needed a
man of courage to carry it out, and there was not one such in his court.

Whereupon, Kutub-ud-din, his foster-brother, who was noted chiefly for
the girth of his paunch, but who, nevertheless, had some reputation for
personal bravery, sprang up from the cushions on which he reposed and
cried:--

"Give me the vice-royalty of Bengal and I swear, by the beard of the
Prophet, to bring you news of Sher Afghán's death ere day dawns."

The Emperor paused. It was a high price, but the memory of Nur Mahal's
beauty rushed on him like a flood, and he said:--

"Keep thy vow and I shall keep my bond."

The conspirators knew nothing of Roger's pact with the chamberlain, else
their task were made more easy. But there is in India a poisonous herb
called _dhatura_, the presence of which cannot be detected in food or
drink. Taken in any considerable quantity, it conveys sure death, quick
and painless as the venom of a cobra; in less degree it induces
lethargy, followed by heavy sleep.

Now, Sher Afghán's doubts of the Emperor's wine were justified to this
extent, that it had been slightly tinctured with _dhatura_, in the
belief that Mowbray and Sainton would drink heavily during the midday
meal, and thus be rendered slow of thought and sluggish in action when
put to the test by the Persian's encounter with the tiger. Such drugs,
thwarted by the unforeseen, oft have exactly the opposite effects to
those intended. Their state of rude health, and the exciting scenes
which took place before the Emperor played his ultimate card and failed,
caused the poison to stimulate rather than retard their faculties.

With night came reaction and weariness. Nevertheless, they did not
retire to rest until nearly an hour after Sher Afghán left them. They
drank a little more of the wine, discussed their doubtful position for
the hundredth time, and thus unconsciously spun another strand in the
spider's web of fate, for Jahangir, whom fortune so aided, might have
spent his life in vain conjecture ere he guessed the circumstance which
in part defeated his malice.

While the two talked the glorious moon of India, late risen, sailed
slowly across the blue arc of the heavens, and garbed all things in
silver and black. The air was chill, but these hardy Britons were warmly
clad, and they preferred the cold majesty of nature's own lamp to the
evil-smelling oil and smoky wicks which, at that period, were the only
means of lighting Indian houses.

When, at last, they stretched themselves on the charpoys which, for
greater safety, they placed side by side in a spacious chamber of the
suite they occupied, they did not undress, but threw off their heavy
riding-boots, unfastened their coats, and arranged their swords so as to
be ready to hand at a moment's notice. They knew that Sher Afghán's
trusty retainers guarded the gate and slept in each veranda. There was
little fear of being taken by surprise in the unlikely event of an armed
attack being made during the night, yet they neglected no precautions.

"Sleep well, Roger, and may the Lord keep thee!" was Walter's parting
word; and Sainton answered drowsily, for something more potent than the
day's emotions had wearied him:--

"An He fail either of us, lad, naught else shall avail."

The bright moon circled in the sky. Her beams, low now on the horizon,
penetrated to the recesses of the room and fell on the low trestle-beds
on which they reposed in deep slumber. It was a small matter, this
nightly course of the luminary, yet, perchance, in those still hours,
the direction of a stray shaft of light made history in India.

About two o'clock, when the tall cypress trees of the Garden of Heart's
Delight threw black shadows toward the house, a small, naked man,
smeared with oil lest anyone should seize him, and covered again with
dust to render him almost invisible, crawled along the dark pathway of
the shadow and crossed the veranda outside the Englishmen's room. He
moved with the deathly silence of a snake, passing between two sleeping
Rajputs, so quickly and noiselessly that one who saw him would most
likely have rubbed his eyes and deemed the flitting vision a mere
figment of the imagination.

Once inside the house he crouched in the shade of a pillar, and waited
until another ghoul joined him in the same manner. These two were Thugs,
murderers by caste, who worshiped the pickaxes with which they buried
their victims. Had Milton or Dante ever heard of such the abode of
harpy-footed furies and the lowest circle of Inferno would alike have
been rendered more horrific by a new demoniac imagery. No man was safe
from them, none could withstand their devilish art. Sainton, whom not a
score of Thugs could have pulled down in the open, was a mere babe in
their clutch when he knew not of their presence.

For these fiends never failed. They were professional stranglers, with
sufficient knowledge of anatomy to dislocate the neck of him whom they
had marked down as their prey. Never a cry, scarce a movement, would
betray a strong man's death. Of them it might indeed be truly said:--

            Their fatal hands
     No second stroke intend.

Creeping stealthily, they reached the two charpoys, and each squatted at
the back of his intended victim. Sainton slept nearer the veranda, and
his wide-brimmed hat was lying on the floor. Throughout his wanderings
he ever sported a plume of cock's feathers and he still retained the
curious ornament which served as a brooch. It was lit up now by a
moonbeam, and the Thug, whose watchful eyes regarded all things, saw
what he took to be a headless snake, coiled in glistening folds and
surrounded by a ring of gold. The wretch, in whose dull brain glimmered
some dim conception of a deity, drew back appalled. Here was one guarded
by his tutelary god, the snake, a snake, too, of uncanny semblance,
reposing in a precious shrine. He had never before encountered the like.
Weird legends, whispered at night in trackless forests, where he and his
associates had their lair, trooped in on him. He quaked, and shrank yet
further away, a fierce savage tamed by a mere fossil.

The sibilant chirp of a grasshopper brought his fellow Thug to his side.
Glaring eyes and chin thrown forward sufficed to indicate the cause of
this danger signal. No words were needed. With one accord they
retreated. Squirming across the veranda and along the path of the
lengthening shadows they regained the shelter of the cypresses.

"Brother," whispered one, "they have a jadu!"[H]

[Footnote H: An amulet.]

"Who shall dare to strike where the jungle-god reposes!" was the
rejoinder.

"A snake without a head, ringed and shining! Saw one ever the like?"

"Let us escape, else we shall be slain."

The trees swallowed them, and, although sought vengefully, they were
never seen again by those whose behests they had not fulfilled....
Minutes passed, until the stout Kutub-ud-din, hiding near the gate with
a horde of hirelings, grew impatient that his vice-regal throne in
Bengal was not assured. So he growled an order and strode openly to the
gate, where, in the Emperor's name, he demanded of a wakeful sentry
audience of Sher Afghán.

"My master sleeps," was the answer. "The matter must wait."

"It cannot wait. It concerns thy master's safety. Here is Pir Muhammed
Khan, Kotwal[I] of Agra, who says that two Thugs are within. We have
come in all haste to warn Sher Afghán to search for the evil-doers."

[Footnote I: A functionary akin to a chief of police.]

Now, the mere name of the dreaded clan was enough to alarm his hearer,
who well knew that none could guard against a Thug's deadly intent.
Warning his comrades he unbound the door, but showed discretion in
sending messengers to arouse Sher Afghán. Kutub-ud-din, thinking the
Persian and the Englishmen had been killed half an hour earlier,
deceived the guard still further by his earnestness. Giving directions
that some should watch the walls without, while others searched every
inch of the gardens, he, followed by a strong posse, went rapidly
towards the house. Almost the first person he encountered was Sher
Afghán himself. The young nobleman, awakened from sound sleep by
strange tidings, no sooner recognized his visitor than his brow seamed
with anger.

"What folly is this?" he cried. "Why hast thou dared to come hither with
a rabble at such an hour, Kutub-ud-din?"

Surprise, disappointment, envious rage, combined to choke the would-be
viceroy, but he answered, boldly enough:--

"You should not requite with hasty words one who thought to do thee a
service."

"I am better without any service thou canst render. Be off, dog, and
tell thy tales to some old woman who fears them."

Beside himself with anger and humiliation, Kutub-ud-din raised his sword
threateningly. It was enough. Sher Afghán, seeing naught but some new
palace treachery in this untimely visit, drew a dagger and sprang at his
unwieldy opponent with the tiger-like ferocity for which he was famous.
Kutub-ud-din endeavored to strike, but, ere his blow fell, he was ripped
so terribly that his bowels gushed forth. Here was no vice-royalty for
him, only the barren kingdom of the grave.

"Avenge me!" he yelled, as he fell in agony, for your would-be slayer is
ever resentful of his own weapons being turned against him.

Pir Muhammed Khan, an astute Kashmiri, seeing his own advancement made
all the more certain by reason of the failure of the Emperor's
foster-brother--thinking, too, that Sher Afghán might be taken at a
disadvantage whilst he looked down on his prostrate foe--leaped forward
and dealt the Persian a heavy stroke on the head with a scimitar. Sher
Afghán turned and killed him on the spot.

It chanced, unhappily, that among those in the immediate vicinity of
this sudden quarrel the Kotwal's retainers far outnumbered the followers
of Sher Afghán, many of whose men were yet asleep, while others were
scouring the gardens. The native of India may always be trusted to
avenge his master's death, so a certain dog-like fidelity impelled a
score or more to attack the Persian simultaneously. Realizing his danger
he possessed himself of the fallen Kotwal's sword and fought furiously,
crying loudly for help. Oh, for a few lightning sweeps of the good
straight blades reposing peacefully in their scabbards by the beds of
his English allies! How they would have equalized the odds in that
supreme moment! How Roger would have shorn the heads and Walter slit the
yelling throats of the jackals who yelped around the undaunted but
over-powered Persian!

For the blood from the Kotwal's blow poured into his eyes, and he struck
blindly if fiercely. Closer pressed the gang, and, at last, he fell to
his knees, struck down by a matchlock bullet. He must have felt that his
last hour had come. Struggling round in order to face towards Mecca, he
used his waning strength to pick up some dust from the garden path. He
poured it over his head by way of ablution, strove to rise and renew the
unequal fight, and sank back feebly. A spear thrust brought the end, and
the man who had dared to rival a prince's love died in the garden to
which the presence of Nur Mahal had lent romance and passion.

Roger, whom the clash of steel might have roused from the tomb, stirred
uneasily in his sleep when the first sounds of the fight smote his
unconscious ears. The shot waked him, though not to thorough
comprehension, so utterly possessed was he with drowsiness.

Then a light flashed in the room, and he saw a beautiful woman standing
in an inner doorway, a woman whose exquisite face was white and tense as
she held aloft a lamp and cried:--

"Why do ye tarry here when my husband is fighting for his life and for
yours?"

Now he was wide awake. It was Nur Mahal, unveiled and robed all in
white, who stood there and spoke so vehemently.

Up he sprang, and roused Mowbray with his mighty grip. The new conflict
raging over Sher Afghán's body was music in his ears, for several
Rajputs had come, too late, to their master's assistance.

"God in heaven, lad!" he roared, "here's a fray in full blast and we
snoring. Have at them, Walter! The pack is on us!"

His words, no less than a vigorous shaking, awoke his companion.

"Oh, come speedily!" wailed Nur Mahal again. "I know not what is
happening, but I heard my husband's voice calling for aid."

They needed no further bidding, though their eyes were strangely heavy
and their bodies relaxed. Once they were out in the night air and
running toward the din of voices the stupor passed. Yet, when they
reached the main alley, where Sher Afghán lay dead, they knew not whom
to strike nor whom to spare, so intermixed were the combatants and so
confused the riot of ringing simitars, of hoarse shouts, of agonized
appeals for mercy.

But Nur Mahal, quicker than they to distinguish between native and
native, cried as she ran with them:--

"My husband's men wear white turbans. All the others are strangers."

They needed no further instruction. When they saw a bare poll, a skull
cap, or a dark turban, they hit it, and the battle, equal before, soon
became one sided. The presence of Roger alone determined the fight
instantly. Kutub-ud-din and the Kotwal had assured their supporters that
the Feringhis were dead, and hinted, in vague terms, that the looting of
the Diwán's house would not be too strictly inquired into if the
"search" for the Thugs were resisted.

But here was the terrific mass of the giant looming through the night,
and here was his sword sweeping a six-foot swath in front of him. No man
who saw him waited for closer proof of his existence. Soon the Garden of
Heart's Delight was emptied of the gang save those who were dead or too
badly injured to crawl. Then lights were brought.

Nur Mahal was the first to find her husband's body. She threw herself by
his side in a gust of tears.

"Alas!" she sobbed, "they have slain him! It is my fault, O prince of
men! What evil fate made thee wed me, Sher Afghán? I vow to Allah,
though I could not love thee living, I shall mourn thee dead. Jahangir,
if thou hast done this thing, bitterly shalt thou rue it! Oh, my
husband, my husband, thou art fallen because of an unworthy woman!"

It was with difficulty that Walter could persuade her to leave the
corpse of the dead hero. Tears choked her voice, and her self-reproach
was heartrending, inasmuch as it was quite undeserved. The distraught
girl could not be blamed because a marriage planned for state reasons
had not prospered, and even Mowbray, who was prejudiced against her,
knew quite well that she was no party to this night attack against her
father's house.

Finally, he led her to the trembling serving-women who cowered within,
and then addressed himself to an inquiry into all that had taken place.

Piece by piece, the tangle resolved itself. At first, the references of
the watchman at the gate, supported by certain wounded prisoners who
gave testimony to the presence of Thugs in the garden, were puzzling.
But a Rajput, who knew the ways of these human gnomes, found a smear of
oil and dust against the wall of the sahibs' bedroom, and even traced
their tracks, to some extent, by similar marks on the floor. None could
guess the reason of the Thugs' failure, which was unprecedented, but the
remainder of the sordid story was legible enough.

Two hours before dawn, Walter sent word to Nur Mahal that he wished to
consult her. She came instantly, and he noted, to his surprise, that she
was garbed as for a journey.

He began to tell her what he had discovered, but soon she interrupted
him.

"I know all that, and more," she said. "I can even tell you what will be
done to-morrow. Jahangir will repudiate the deed, and execute those
concerned in it whom he can lay hands on. But you and I are doomed. With
Sher Afghán dead, who shall uphold us? We have but one course open. We
must fly, if we would save our lives. Let us go now, ere daybreak, and
ride to Burdwán. Once there, I can frame plans for vengeance, whilst you
shall go to Calcutta, not unrewarded."

The firmness of her tone astounded Mowbray as greatly as the nature of
her proposal. When he came to seek Roger's advice he found that his
friend had swung round to the view that it was hopeless now to seek
redress from the Emperor. The number and valor of Sher Afghán's
retainers gave some promise of security, and, once away from the
capital, there was a chance of escape.

So Nur Mahal was told that they would adopt her counsel, and it was
wonderful to see how a woman, in that hour of distress and danger,
imposed her will on every man she encountered.

It was Nur Mahal who instructed certain servants of her father's to see
to the embalming of her husband's body and its safe conveyance to
Burdwán. It was she who sent couriers to start the caravan of the
Feringhis on a false trail back to Delhi. It was she who arranged the
details of the first march, forgetting nothing, but correcting even the
most experienced of Sher Afghán's lieutenants when he declared
impossible that which she said was possible.

And finally, it was Nur Mahal who, after a last look at the face of him
whom she revered more in death than in life, rode out again into the
darkness, from the Garden of Heart's Delight. But, this time, Walter
Mowbray and Roger Sainton rode with her, and those three, as it
happened, held the future of India in the hollows of their hands.




CHAPTER XII

     "Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?"
                    _Marlowe_, "Hero and Leander."


Of all the perils encountered by Walter Mowbray since he left his home
in Wensleydale, there was none so impalpable, and therefore none so
mortal, as the daily companionship of Nur Mahal. She used no wiles,
practised no arts--her subtle mesmerism was the unseen power of the
lodestone. At first, there never was woman more retiring. Mowbray and
Sainton were seldom absent from her side; nevertheless, she spoke only
when the exigencies of the journey demanded a few simple words. The
horror of Sher Afghán's death seemed to weigh on her heart, and her
natural vivacity was almost wholly eclipsed. Yet her face would kindle
with a rare smile when acknowledging some trivial act, and the fragrance
of her presence might be likened to the scent of roses in a garden by
night. It was there, ravishing the very air, whilst its source remained
invisible. Though she rode fast during many a weary hour, and bore
without a murmur hardships under which her more robust waiting women
sank, one by one, until five out of eight were perforce left to
recuperate in various small towns passed on the way, she never lost that
wondrous sense of delightful femininity which constituted her chief
attraction and her most dangerous allurement.

In guiding, counselling, controlling, her intellect was crystal ice, but
let any man render her a service, let him help her to dismount or bring
her a cup of water, and, with the touch of her hand, the flash of her
deep violet eyes, she thrilled him to the core. It was natural that
Walter should be her attendant cavalier on many such occasions, a fact
greatly to be regretted in the interests of Nellie Roe, whose saucy blue
eyes and golden locks were too far away to deaden completely the effect
of Nur Mahal's bewitching personality. And, truth to tell, England had a
somewhat shadowy aspect in those days. After three years of sojourn in
the East, here were Mowbray and his faithful companion no better off
than when they rode along the North Road into London one fair summer's
afternoon to seek their fortunes. Then they had their swords, some
equipment, and a few crowns in their pockets. Their case was even worse
in this semi-barbarous land, for their worldly goods were not enhanced,
while they themselves were fugitives from the spleen of a vengeful
tyrant!

Not even Roger was proof against the magic of Nur Mahal's smile. At
the close of the third march, when their leg-weary horses were unable
to reach the hamlet of Mainpura, the intended goal of the night,
they camped under a tope of trees, lit fires, and proceeded to make
themselves as comfortable as circumstances permitted until the dawn. Nur
Mahal, having taken leave of them with her accustomed grace, rested in
a small tent which was carried by a pack animal. Mowbray and Sainton sat
on saddles piled near a fire, and Roger showed the trend of his thoughts
by asking:--

"Is it in your mind, Walter, to tarry long in Burdwán after we have
brought my lady thither?"

"How can I answer? We are but a degree removed from beggars. If she
gives us the wherewithal to journey speedily to Calcutta, why should we
remain at Burdwán?"

"You parry one question with another. I may be much mistaken, yet I
doubt if my lady sought our escort for the sake of the journey."

Mowbray, who was striving to burnish a rusted bit, looked sharply at his
big comrade, whose broad red face, propped on his hands, was clearly
revealed by the dancing flames.

"Out with it, Roger," he cried. "Thou hast not been so chary of thy
words for many a year."

"Well, to be plain," said the other, "I think yon bonny head is
well dowered wi' brains. Here is a land where wit, wedded to a good
sword, can win its way. Were you and she married--nay, jump not in
that fashion, like a trout on a hook, else I may deem the fly well
thrown--were you and she married, I say, she is just a likely sort
of quean to carve out a kingdom for herself. Here you have Mahmouds,
Rajputs, Hindustanis, Bengalis, and the Lord knows what hotch-potch of
warring folk, each at variance with the other, and all united against
a galling yoke such as may fairly be expected from Jahangir! Why, man,
were you lord of Burdwán and husband of Nur Mahal, you might run through
India like a red hot cinder through a tub of butter."

Mowbray breathed hard on the steel in his hands.

"Roger," he said, "had you not eaten half a kid an hour gone I would
have dosed you for a fever."

"Aye, aye, make a jibe of it, but there's many a true word spoken in
jest. If King Cophetua could woo a beggar-maid, the devil seize me if it
be not more likely that the beauty tucked up under yonder canvas should
make pace with a fine swaggering blade like thyself."

"Thou art too modest, Roger. If she wants a hammer wherewith to beat out
an empire, where could she find a mallet to equal thee? And is it not
reasonable to suppose, if such were her intent, she would have furthered
the aims of our poor friend, Sher Afghán? He was of her own people, and
would soon find a backing."

"It seems that any man will suit her needs save the one she fancies,"
said Roger drily, and, to Mowbray's exceeding relief, he pursued the
matter no further.

Yet the notion throve on certain doubts which it must have found
imbedded in Walter's own mind, and, next day, with memories of Nellie
Roe very tender in his heart, now that all chance of wedding her was
lost in gloom, he avoided Nur Mahal as thoroughly as politeness would
admit. She gave no sign of discontent, but suffered him to go his new
gait in silence. Once, indeed, when he made to help her onto her Arab
horse, she sprang to the saddle ere he could approach, and, at night,
when she parted from him and Roger with a few pleasant words, a fold of
her veil screened her face.

It were idle to pretend that Mowbray was in his usual happy vein during
this part of the journey, and when, at the next evening's halt, Nur
Mahal signified that after Sainton and he had eaten she would be glad of
some conversation with them, he was, if not elated, certainly much more
cheerful.

She received them with smiling gravity, and bade them be seated on
stools which her servants had procured in the village where their little
camp was pitched. She herself reclined on a number of furs which served
as a couch when she slept. They noticed that her dress, which, by some
marvel, was white and fresh, was devoid of ornament. Indian widows wear
purple, but the exigencies of the hour might well excuse this neglect of
custom, and, for that matter, Nur Mahal was not one to pay any heed to
such ordinances.

"I have fancied," she said, addressing Roger, "that you are not wholly
satisfied with this present journey, Sainton-sahib."

Now, Roger was so taken aback by this side stroke that he blurted out:--

"In the name of your excellent prophet, Princess, why do you charge this
to me?"

She flashed her star-like eyes on Mowbray.

"Perhaps I am mistaken. Is it you, Mowbray-sahib, who would gladly be
quit of my poor company?"

The attack on Roger had prepared him, as, indeed, Nur Mahal may have
meant that it should.

"Your Highness," he said, "has some good motive in stating a belief
which would otherwise be incredible. What is it?"

She sighed, and answered not for a moment. Maybe she wished Walter had
been more confused and, by consequence, more lover-like. But, when she
spoke, her sweet voice was well controlled. The affair was of slight
import from all the index that her manner gave.

"A woman's mind is oft like a smooth lake," she said. "It mirrors that
which it sees, but a little puff of wind will distort the image into
some quaint conceit. Let that pass. My object in seeking your presence
has naught to do with idle thoughts. To-morrow, an hour after sunrise,
we reach that point on the road whence one track leads to the Ganges,
and to Calcutta, and the other to Burdwán. It will, I do not doubt, be
better for you to make your way to the river, and leave me and my
wretched fortunes to the hazard which the future has in store. I am
greatly beholden to you for all that you have done in the past, and it
grieves me sorely that this journey, taken so unexpectedly, leaves me so
short of money that I can only offer you a sum which is barely
sufficient for the expenses of the voyage down the Ganges. But I have in
my possession a goodly store of jewels, and in Calcutta, or in your own
country, there are merchants who will buy them at a fair price. Take
them, and be not angered with me, for I would not have you go away
thinking that my acquaintance had brought you naught but ill luck."

From beneath a fold of her _sari_ she produced a small cedar wood box
which she offered to Walter. He sprang to his feet, with face aflame.

"I may be only a poor merchant, Princess," he cried, "but I have yet to
learn from your own lips what word or deed of mine leads you to believe
that I would rob a woman of her diamonds."

"Ohé," she wailed, with a very pleasing pout, "how have I offended your
lordship, and who talks of robbery where a free gift is intended? Tell
me, you whom they call Hathi-sahib, see you aught amiss in taking the
only valuable articles I can presently bestow?"

"Please God!" said Roger, "we shall set you and your gems safe within
the walls of Burdwán ere we turn our faces towards Calcutta, and that is
all my friend Walter meant by his outburst."

Her eyes fell until the long lashes swept the peach bloom of her cheeks,
for the physical difficulties of the journey, instead of exhausting her,
had added to her beauty by tinting with rose the lily white of her
complexion.

"Is that so?" she murmured, and Walter, who knew that she questioned
him, said instantly:--

"No other thought entered our minds."

"It is well. I shall retain my trinkets a little while longer, it
seems."

She laughed quietly, with a note of girlish happiness in her mirth that
he had not caught since the day of their first meeting in the Garden of
Heart's Delight.

"Now that you have repaired my imagined loss," she said, "will you not
be seated again, and tell me something of your country. I have heard
that women there differ greatly from us in India. Are they very pretty?
Do they grow tall, like Sainton-sahib?"

Here was a topic from which their talk might branch in any direction.
Soon Walter was telling her of his mother, of life in London and the
North, while a chance reference to his father led up to the story of Dom
Geronimo's crime, and the implacable hatred he bore towards even the son
of his victim.

Nur Mahal followed the references to the Jesuit with close interest.
When Mowbray would have passed to some other subject she interrupted
him, and clapped her hands as a signal to one of her women, whom she
bade summon Jai Singh, the Rajput chief of her guard.

"What was the story you heard on the road as we returned to Agra?" she
asked when the rissalder stood before her. "It dealt with certain
Christian priests who dwell in that city, and with others at Hughli, if
I mistake not."

"A dervish, who sought some grain, maharáni, told us that Jahangir was
privately minded to seize all the black robes because they encouraged
the Portuguese traders to greater boldness. He ever counseled the great
Akbar to that effect, but the Emperor, his father, was too tolerant
towards the Feringhis to listen to him. Now, said the dervish, Jahangir
would make all the men good Mahomedans and send their young women to
the zenana."

"You hear," she said, as Jai Singh saluted and disappeared. "Jahangir is
opposed to strangers, and it is quite probable he harbors some such
project, which he has discoursed with the _moullahs_, being anxious to
win their favor."

"But the crow was standing by his side when we went to the palace," put
in Roger.

"That may well be. If this man spoke evil against you, Jahangir would
listen, though his own purpose remained unchanged. I had this in my mind
when you spoke of going to Calcutta."

"When you spoke of sending us thither to-morrow, you mean," cried
Walter.

"I should have warned you," she replied, but her hearers saw another
purpose behind her words, because anything in the shape of a disturbance
on the Hughli rendered it very necessary that they should tarry at
Burdwán and avoid the river route until the trouble was ended.

Again, a sense of distrust welled up in Mowbray's breast, but Nur
Mahal's soft voice allayed it.

"It must not be forgotten," she said, "that affairs at Agra may cause
the King to forego the folly he contemplates. Khusrow, his brother, has
many adherents, and if Jahangir, as I am told is true, devotes his
waking hours to wine and dissolute companions, he shall not long retain
the throne his father built so solidly."

Both men recalled Sher Afghán's words. How strange it was that his
wife, who had not quitted the walls of Dilkusha during the few hours of
her recent tenancy, should be so well informed as to events in the
palace.

Walter laughed.

"If I could not see your face and hear your voice," he cried, "'twere
easy to believe it was the Diwán, and not his incomparable daughter, who
spoke with such wisdom."

"Incomparable! It is an idle word. Who is incomparable? Not I. Assuredly
there is a maid beyond the sea whose attractions far outweigh mine in
your estimation, Mowbray-sahib. Nay, seek not for some adroit phrase to
flatter and mislead. Men tell me I am beautiful, but there never yet was
rose in a garden which the next south wind did not help to destroy while
fanning its budding rival into greater charm."

She spoke with a vehemence that caused Roger, who followed her poetic
Persian simile with difficulty, to believe that Walter had said
something to vex her.

"What ails thy tongue to-night, lad?" he cried in English. "It is not
wont to rasp so harshly on such fair substance."

"You disturb my comrade," said Mowbray, glancing covertly into the
girl's eyes. "He thinks I have offended you."

She flung a quick glance at Sainton, and laughed. Some pleasant quip was
on her lips, but, in that instant, the hoof-beats of horses, hard
ridden, came to their ears. In the present state of the fugitives, the
sound was ominous. At once the men were on their feet. Mowbray bade Nur
Mahal retire to her tent, an order which she was slow to obey, and then
betook himself to the disposal of his small force, lest, perchance, the
distant galloping signaled the approach of pursuers. The night was dark
but clear, the only light being that of the stars, and it was strange
indeed that any party of horse should ride with such speed over a broken
road.

It was essential that the nature of the cavalcade should be ascertained
before it was permitted to come too close. Flight was not to be thought
of, owing to the condition of the horses. If the newcomers were the
Emperor's minions the only way to avoid capture was to show a bold front
and strike first.

Rissalder Jai Singh was ordered to mount and ride forward with two
sowars to bring the party to a halt. If they were strangers, of
peaceable intent, he would courteously request them to pass, after
explaining the necessity of the precautions taken. Were they the King's
men, he was to demand a parley with their leader, failing which, he and
his companions must turn and ride at top speed towards the village,
giving the defending force, stationed under a clump of trees on both
sides of the road, an opportunity to ambush the enemy on both flanks.

It was a hasty scheme, evolved so hurriedly that Jai Singh cantered off
while as yet the invisible horsemen were quarter of a mile away. Mowbray
and Sainton, adjusting their sword-belts, stood on the road between
their men and listened for the first sounds which should indicate the
reception given to the rissalder.

Suddenly Roger said: "Lest harm should befall Nur Mahal, is it not
better that you should take a couple of horses and lead her to some
point removed from the track? Then, if this force overwhelms us, you
have a chance of escape, whereas the presence of one sword more or less
will make slight difference to the odds."

"Did I think you meant what you have said, you and I should quarrel,"
retorted Walter.

"Sooner would my right hand quarrel with the left. Yet my counsel is
good. Whilst one of us lives she is not wholly bereft, and you are the
lad of her choosing. I' faith, if she showed me such preference, I'd
take a similar offer from thee."

"You are not wont to anticipate disaster, Roger, nor yet to frame such
clumsy excuse."

"I have never before been so mixed up with a woman. Argue not, Walter,
but away with her. I'll strike more freely if I ken you are safe. It is
good generalship, too. She is the treasure they seek, and she should not
be left to the hazard of a rough-and-tumble in the dark."

"Then let her ride alone if she be so minded. We have fought side by
side too often, Roger, that we should be separated now."

Sainton's huge hand reached out in the gloom and gripped his comrade's
shoulder.

"Gad, Walter," he growled, "thou art tough oak. Least said is soonest
mended, but the notion jumbles in my thick head that Nur Mahal will
surely be a quean, and that thou art fated to help in her crowning.
Hark! What now?"

They heard Jai Singh's loud challenge, followed by the confused halting
of a large body of horse. The clang of arms and the champing of bits
came to them plainly. The distance was too great to distinguish voices
at an ordinary pitch, but it was reasonable to suppose that Jai Singh
was conversing with some one in authority.

They were not kept long in suspense. A few horsemen advanced slowly, Jai
Singh at their head.

"Sahiba!" he called, when close at hand, "there is one here who would
converse with your Lordships in privacy."

Although the fealty of a Rajput to his salt can never be doubted, there
was a chance that Jai Singh might have been deluded into an exhibition
of false confidence. Walter, therefore, ordered his little force to
march close behind Roger and himself, but when he saw that Jai Singh and
the two sowars were accompanied by only one man he knew that his
suspicions were not well founded.

The stranger was the Chief Eunuch of Jahangir's court, and the mere
presence of such a functionary betrayed the object of the pursuit.

He dismounted and salaamed deeply.

"Praised be the name of Allah that this undertaking nears its close!" he
cried, his queer, cracked voice rising and falling in irregular
falsetto. "Seldom have men and never has a woman ridden so fast and far
during so many days. Had not those whom you left on the way assured me
that you were truly before me, I had returned to Agra long since, though
my head might have paid the forfeit of a fruitless errand."

The Chief Eunuch, important official though he was, commanded little
respect from other men. Even the manner of Jai Singh's announcement of
his presence betrayed the contempt with which creatures of his type were
held. So Walter said, sternly enough:--

"The length of the journey might well serve to condense thy speech. Hast
thou brought some message from the Emperor? If so, out with it."

"Honored one, I am charged to escort the Princess Nur Mahal back to
Agra, where, sayeth my Lord, the King, she can dwell in peace and
content in her father's house."

"What sayeth the capon?" demanded Roger, who caught the peremptory tone
of the man's words and was minded to clout him, for such a menial is apt
to become unconsciously insolent when he carries his master's commands.

Mowbray's restraining hand warned Roger not to interfere.

"Is that all?" he said with ominous calm.

"No, protector of the poor. The Emperor Jahangir sends his compliments
to you and to the Hathi-sahib. He says that if you return with the
Princess you shall be received with all honor, paid in full, and
forwarded, at his proper charge, to Ajmere on the road to Bombay."

"And if we refuse the King's offer?"

"Why should you refuse, sahib? My Lord, the King, is wroth that any
should dare act as did that foolish man, Kutub-ud-din. All those who
took part in the attack on Sher Afghán have been impaled alive on the
road leading from Dilkusha to the bridge of boats. I and my companions
rode between their writhing bodies as we quitted Agra."

"It were foolish to distrust so just a monarch, yet what say you if we
choose rather to proceed to Burdwán?"

The Chief Eunuch suddenly became very humble.

"I am only an envoy," he said. "Behind, there are two hundred soldiers,
mounted on the best horses in the King's stables and commanded by a
valiant officer. Behind them, there is the might of the Empire. I pray
you believe that my Lord, Jahangir, means to do well by you."

There is an Indian story of a crocodile inviting a lamb to inspect his
beautiful teeth as he lay with his mouth open, but the messenger's fair
words placed Walter in a quandary. Obviously, he must consult Nur Mahal
ere he returned the answer which was ready enough on his lips, for he
thought that the two hundred, however valiant their officer, would never
dare to attack half the number of stalwart Rajputs trained by Sher
Afghán, especially when they knew that they must also encounter the
terrible Man-Elephant. As for the King's armies, Burdwán was a far cry.

[Illustration: "If we go to Burdwán are you content to abide there?"]

"Bide you here, Roger," he muttered shortly. "Keep things 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?"




CHAPTER XIII

     "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 I have 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."

[Footnote J: A literal translation of the name "Jahangir."]

"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 her manner 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 letter
from 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 I am 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 the career 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."

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 local _Kotwal_
was minded to give them some trouble. He was cowed instantly when Walter
exhibited Akbar's order to the Treasurer, which he 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, the _Kotwal_ deigned 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 there would 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
the _Kotwal_ contributed 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 his friend. "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 ashore on 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 the
_lingua franca_ of 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 three men 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. At
dawn, 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."




CHAPTER XIV

     "As if a wheel had been in the midst of a wheel."
                    _Ezekiel_ x. 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 forlorn hope, 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 the road 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 proclaimed him 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. The Portuguese 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 lumbering beast 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 the _soi-disant_ courier 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. Had Abdul 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 money and 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 a _nim_ tree, 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 wears the 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, now that 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 the only 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 the point
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 principle _noblesse
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 move one 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. The
Franciscan, 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 in Europe, 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 the sheaths, 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 the
_kheddah_.[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."

[Footnote K: The enclosure in which wild elephants are captured.]

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."




CHAPTER XV

         "Bring me to the test,
     And I the matter will re-word, which madness
     Would gamble from."
                    _Hamlet_, Act III, Sc. 4.


Perchance they had dared the certain death which faced them had not
Fateh Mohammed spoken again. Vain as he was, and furious at the thought
that a Feringhi should have lorded it over him for days, he was held in
leash by the written orders of the Emperor, which, this time, he had
really received and read with bulging eyes.

"I am bidden," he said, "bring you to Agra, alive if possible. Hence,
though clemency ill accords with my present mood, I offer you terms.
Suffer my men to bind you securely--for none would be such a fool as to
trust that Man-Elephant at large--and I will have you carried in
litters. Refusal means instant death to both."

"Hast thou suddenly gone mad, Fateh Mohammed?" demanded Mowbray,
thinking, by a display of boldness, to save the situation even at the
twelfth hour.

"Aye, mad, indeed, to accept the word of the King of Kings from the
mouth of an unbeliever! Oh, thou Feringhi dog, open thy lips again in
defiance and I will make thee a sieve for bullets!"

Walter knew that the bubble of his pretense was pricked. Some bolt had
fallen from a blue sky, else this subservient rogue would never venture
to bluster in such wise if he feared reprisals. Nevertheless, the
contempt inspired by the groundling served the Englishman in good stead
at a critical moment.

"Thou shalt be most bitterly enlightened ere many days have passed," he
said. "Sainton-sahib and I can do naught at present but yield to your
demands, yet I warn thee, Fateh Mohammed, that for each second of
ill-treatment meted out to us or to the unhappy people brought from
Hughli thou shalt be requited by an hour of torture on thy unwieldy
carcass."

Here was defiance, truly, from one whose capture, living or dead,
Jahangir's couriers, riding hot-foot in pursuit, had demanded an hour
earlier when they came at dawn to Fateh Mohammed's tent. These men
carried no tidings save the Emperor's warrant for their action. They
knew, they said, that Sher Afghán was slain--it was even rumored that
the companion of the Hathi-sahib was concerned in the deed--and that
his widow had gone towards Burdwán with the two Feringhis. As for the
statement that Jahangir had charged these latter with a mission, it
was manifestly absurd in view of his eagerness to secure their arrest,
while it was impossible that anyone so far south could be aware of Nur
Mahal's fortunes at Agra, seeing that they, the messengers, had passed
her returning escort privily by night, being urged thereto by the
Chief Eunuch, who accompanied her. Indeed, the Eunuch, Ibrahim, was
responsible for the Emperor's action, having sent a private report to
Jahangir, by carrier pigeon it was thought.

It was on their advice that Fateh Mohammed had adopted irresistible
safeguards ere he summoned the Englishmen to surrender. The bazaar
gossip of Agra had invested Roger Sainton with a legendary halo which
would daunt the bravest heart. No half measures could be taken with the
Hathi-sahib, said the King's _chuprassis_: he must either be killed or
bound as one would tie a wild bull.

Now, it was distasteful, above all things, for men who had been treated
with the utmost deference during many days to permit themselves to be
led forth in fetters. The bare thought of such ignominy sent the blood
bounding through Mowbray's veins and caused an ominous frown to deepen
in Sainton's face. The big Yorkshireman stood close to the tent-pole;
had Walter deferred further speech for another tick of a clock, the tent
had been torn from its supports and Roger had either fallen or knocked
down a dozen of the waiting musketeers. But he heard his friend say
quietly:--

"Hearken to me, Fateh Mohammed. If one of us, speaking in haste,
has used injurious words, let them be forgotten. You have your
orders--assuredly they must be obeyed. Sainton-sahib and I are already
disarmed. You probably disarmed our escort ere you came to us. We, on
our part, pledge ourselves to go with you to the fort at Agra. Under no
circumstances shall we seek to escape, and we will counsel all others
who may be guided by our admonitions to give the same gage. If you are
the wise and far-seeing man I take you to be you will content yourself
with this promise, and treat us and the remainder of the Europeans with
due courtesy. What say you? Shall the Emperor upbraid you for faithfully
carrying out your charge, or do you care to risk the unknown dangers of
flaunting the wishes of one who, for anything you or I know to the
contrary, may now be Sultana?"

Fateh Mohammed, though naturally distrustful of the honeyed poison of
Mowbray's counsel, felt in his heart of hearts that the Giaour was not
only giving him good advice but making a fair offer. Yet, like a cur
which cowers and snarls when a determined hand would stroke it, he said
sullenly:--

"How am I to place trust in you? You told me--"

"I told you what I truly believed, and still believe, to be the
Emperor's intent," interrupted Walter, who saw that the fat man was
weakened by the bare hint of palace intrigue. "Look back through my
words and you will find no single phrase in which I actually represented
myself as charged with a mission by Jahangir himself. Nay, be not so
amazed. It is true. You may have been misled, I admit, but it was a most
fortunate mistake for you. Did I not meet you almost alone? Have we not
marched with you daily and slept nightly on the same camping-ground? If
Sainton-sahib and I wished to betray you, have we not passed a hundred
opportunities?"

Fateh Mohammed was manifestly uneasy. The affair was not so simple as he
deemed it. Moreover, by placing a degree of faith in Mowbray, he applied
salve to his own wounded vanity. In simple parlance, if he managed
things aright now, he would not look such a dupe in the eyes of others
as he was in his own estimation.

"Never was man more perplexed," he murmured. "You may be honest! How can
I tell? Certainly, the King of Kings does not say you are to be treated
with contumely, yet, what security have I that you will act according to
your promises?"

Mowbray resolved to risk all on a final hazard. He turned to Roger.

"Give me the cedar box," he said.

The big man reached for his hat. Cunningly tied inside the lofty crown
was the gift of Nur Mahal.

"I am a heavy sleeper," he grinned in explanation, "and I thought none
would search there though they might scour my clothes. When waking, I
reckoned to hold the gew-gaws whilst my brains were undisturbed, so I
kept them under the same thatch."

"Here!" cried Mowbray, opening the box and handing it to Fateh Mohammed,
"these diamonds are worth a lakh and a half of rupees. They shall be my
bond."

To a native of India, such a guarantee was worth a thousand oaths. Fateh
Mohammed might be trusted to take this view and none other. The
production of a hidden hoard showed that this most enigmatical
Englishman was really in earnest. It needed only a glance to assure him
that the gems were worth the sum named, and more. His voice was thick as
he answered:--

"Soul of the Prophet! you give me a worthy bail!"

"You think so! See to it that the box and its contents are well cared
for. If not I, Nur Mahal knows each stone. And now, if we are to march
ere the hot hours, let us eat."

Promising to observe his part of the compact, Fateh Mohammed withdrew
his imposing array of soldiers. Soon, a servant brought them some food,
curried chickens and rice, with new milk, eggs, and bread. Not a word
did they exchange until they had eaten, for Mowbray was dismayed by the
collapse of his scheme, and he dared not seek from his loyal comrade the
forgiveness which would be only too readily extended to him. Their
fortune as good as lost, their lives in imminent jeopardy, their honor
pledged to render themselves up to the spite of an implacable tyrant,
and all because he trusted more to the machinations of a beautiful siren
than to the good swords of which they were deprived. Truly, the outlook,
hazardous enough before, was now desperate beyond description. No wonder
Walter ate silently, fearing to trust his gloomy thoughts to language.

Suddenly Roger cried:--

"Gad, these Paradise birds are rare eating!"

"Birds of Paradise, man! They are but common fowls."

"Never, on your life, Walter! This mun be Heaven, for sure. I heard the
gates click when the musketeers cocked their flints."

After all, that was the best way to take their misfortunes. As Roger
said to Fra Pietro, when, later, they told him the news which camp rumor
had twisted into grotesque form:--

"It is your turn now, most worthy friar. 'Fight first and pray
afterwards' has ever been my honored motto, but from fighting I am
debarred both by loss of my sword and by perjury of my good name. Pray,
then, brother, in every tongue thou knowest, and mayhap the Lord will
list unto thee."

Mowbray sought an opportunity to question Jahangir's emissaries. Their
statements showed that Jai Singh must have passed them in Allahabad. The
_Kotwal_ of that city urged them to keep to the road, and inquire at
each large town if boats carrying men and horses had passed down stream.
In that way they could make sure of intercepting the fugitives.

"How came you to slip so quietly away from the camp of Nur Mahal?" he
asked, but to this they replied vaguely, so Mowbray concluded that the
Chief Eunuch had bribed them to silence, in which event it were best not
to tell them of Fateh Mohammed's admission.

They said, frankly enough, that had any chance led them to miss the
Hughli contingent, the first intimation of the Emperor's wishes would
only have been forthcoming at Allahabad, where the Kotwal must have
recognized the sahibs. Walter reflected ruefully that, had he bribed
this man to silence, he might have despatched the messengers on a
hopeless chase by river. It was now too late. Although so much depended
on Jai Singh's journey to Nur Mahal, he was bound irrevocably to go on
to Agra, and must veto the rescue which the gallant Rajput would
undoubtedly attempt should matters at court be not to his liking.

It was an inglorious end to an undertaking which opened so auspiciously.
The sole consolation Mowbray could derive from soul-wearying thought as
to the future arose from the certain relief he had given to the unhappy
captives. From the depths of misery the Portuguese were raised to a
level of comparative comfort, whilst Fra Pietro had assuredly been
snatched from the very jaws of death.

So, at last, Walter resolved to abandon useless gropings against the
veil which shrouded the days to come. He made himself as agreeable as
might be to Fateh Mohammed, and so played upon the latter's ambitious
dreams that not even the hostile Kotwal of Allahabad was able to disturb
the arrangement into which they had mutually entered.

The column crawled up country at a slow rate, for such a mixed company
travels perforce at the pace of its most dawdling units. Fifteen miles
was a good day's march, and, where a river barred the road, many hours
were wasted in safely transferring men and animals from bank to bank.

And now, for the first time in his life, Roger Sainton fell under
petticoat dominance. _Buen principio, la mitad es hecha_--"Well begun is
half done"--says the Spanish proverb, and certainly the Hathi-sahib made
a good start.

The Countess di Cabota professed that she never felt safe from the
perils of the way unless the big Yorkshireman held her mule's bridle. He
beguiled the hours by improving her English, of which language she
already had a fair knowledge; she repaid him by many a bright smile, and
displayed a most touching assiduity in mastering the broad vowels and
quaint phrases of his speech, for Roger's slow diction was the pure
Anglo-Saxon which yet passes current in his native dale.

They were thrown together the more that Walter sought distraction from
troubled reverie in learned discourse with Fra Pietro, and for this sort
of talk Roger had no stomach. Once Mowbray rallied the giant on the
score of the attention he paid to the buxom Countess, but Roger
countered aptly.

"I' faith," he said, "she is a merry soul, and not given to love
vaporings like most of her sex. She tells me her heart troubled her
somewhat before she married, but the fit passed quickly, and now she
will be well content if the Lord sends her home to wholesome fare and a
down pillow. After that, commend me to a fat woman for horse sense. Your
scraggy ones, with saucer eyes, would rather a love philter than a pint
of wine, but set down a stoup of both before her Ladyship and I'll wager
our lost box of diamonds that she'll spill the potion on the ground and
the good liquor down her throat."

"At last, then, you have found a woman who marches with your humor?"

"I'm not one to judge such a matter quickly," murmured Roger with a
dubious frown. "They're full of guile at the best, yet I vow it pleases
me to hear Matilda say 'Caramba!' to her mule. It minds me of my mother
rating a lie-abed maid of a Monday morning. 'Drat you for a huzzy,' she
would cry, 'here is six by the clock already! To-morrow's Tuesday an'
next day's Wednesday--half t' week gone an' nowt done!'"

"So the lady's name is Matilda?"

"Aye! She has a lot more, but I fancied the sound of that yen."

"Surely you do not address her so familiarly?"

"And why not? Gad! she calls me Roger, pat as a magpie with a split
tongue."

"This is news indeed. Yet you tell me she is not inclined to tender
passages?"

"Tender fiddle-de-dee! She laughs like a mime if I tickle her ribs with
my thumb when the mule stumbles. My soul, Walter, you are grown so used
to every woman making sheep's eyes at you that you think they'll treat a
hulk like me after the same daft fashion."

"In truth," said Mowbray, sadly, "my courtships have been all too brief,
and threaten to end in aught save laughter."

"Nay, nay, lad. Let not thy spirits fail. I cannot but think that you
and I shall scent the moors again together. We have driven our pigs to
queer markets; mayhap we shall sty them yet, despite this cross-eyed
Emperor and that fly-by-night, Nur Mahal."

"I have dreamed of home in my sleep of late. Methought I saw my mother
weeping."

"'Tis well. They say dreams go by contrary. Were it otherwise, has she
not good cause to greet? By the Lord Harry, when we show our noses in
Wensleydale, my auld dam will clout my lugs. 'Roger, you good-for-nowt,'
she will say, 'I tellt ye te keep Master Mowbray frae harm, and here
hev' ye led him tiv a pleace wheer t' grass grows downwards and t' foxes
fly i' t' air. I'm fair shammed on ye!' Eh, man, but I'll be glad to
hear her tongue clack i' that gait."

And with this cheerful dictum Sainton strode away to bewilder and amuse
the Countess di Cabota with his amazing lingo. Although they were now
enjoying the glorious cold weather of India, the absence of wind and the
brilliant sun of the Doab served to render the midday hours somewhat
sultry. Her Ladyship, being plump, complained of weariness.

"You have a most excellent color," said Roger, eyeing her critically.

She sighed.

"It may be," said she, "that as we are near Agra my heart droops. What
manner of man is Jahangir? Is he of a generous and princely
disposition?"

"If he takes after his father he should be open-handed with other folks'
money. I know him to be a fine judge of a woman, which is a right royal
attribute; but he drinks freely, a better quality in a sponge than in a
king."

"Sancta Maria! A spendthrift, a libertine, and a sot! What hope have we
of such a one?"

Roger laid a huge paw on her shoulder, and his merry eyes looked down
into hers although she was riding a fair sized mule.

"Be not cast down, Matilda!" he cried. "If the sky were cloudy you would
not vow the sun would ne'er shine again. I observed it was hotter in
coming to the Line than under the Line itself. Here, Got wot, it is
hottest of all, yet fear and fancy may be worse bogies than fact."

For some reason, his hopeful philosophy did not console the lady that
morning. She leaned a little against his arm, and glistening tears
suddenly dimmed her vision.

"Alas!" she sobbed, "we are all going to our death, and you, good Roger,
have risked your life to no purpose."

"Then shall I die in good company, a thing much to be commended. He that
went to the grave with Elisha recovered his breath owing to his
lodging."

She straightened herself in the saddle.

"I like not this talk of dying," she snapped.

"Gad, it is not greatly to my mind on a fine morning after a hearty
meal. When I can strike no longer may I fall handsomely, say I. Yet I
thought you were bent on chewing the unsavory morsel, though, to be
sure, you mainly use your teeth to vastly better purpose."

She glanced up at him, clearing her eyes defiantly.

"You make no allowance for a woman's feelings," she said. "Did I not
know the contrary, I should believe you held women of no account."

"I' faith, that would be doing me an injustice. When a woman says
'Lack-a-day,' my tongue wags in sympathy. If she weeps, my heart grows
as soft as a fuzz-ball."

"Fuzz-ball! That is a word you have not yet taught me," she said.

"It much resembles a round mushroom, and when dry, it bursts if you
squeeze it."

"Oh, go to! I never before met your like."

She laughed, though there was a spice of irritation in her mirth, but
Roger gripped her round the waist, for the mule, more perceptive than
the man, stumbled at the right moment. To comfort her, he gave her a
reassuring hug.

"There is naught of the fuzz-ball about thee, Matilda," he vowed, and
the Countess laughed again. But she blushed, too, and murmured in her
own language:--

"After all, the truest romance is more than half a comedy."

One night, when the cavalcade was halted in the very village whence Nur
Mahal had turned northwards with such quick vagary, an owl hooted from
the depths of a _nim_ tree. The weird note thrice boomed unheeded
through the air, for all in the camp were weary, but, when the mournful
cry rang out for the fourth time, one of Sher Afghán's Rajputs raised
himself quietly from his bed of leaves and listened.

At the fifth hoot he glanced around and saw that none other was
disturbed. He rose and sauntered quietly towards the tree, in whose
deep shade he was lost for a little while. He returned, and with him
now walked another Rajput. The two reached the camp fire around which
lay their clansmen, and conversed in whispers with others whom they
awakened. Then the newcomer, following directions, strolled towards the
tent occupied by the Englishmen. Entering in the dark he was seized by
Walter, who was lying sleepless, thinking of the possible outcome had he
given Nur Mahal a different answer when they last stood together in the
millet-field so near at hand.

Jai Singh had said that the place was bewitched, and lo, here was Jai
Singh himself wriggling in his clutch! As for Roger, the sound of the
scuffle roused him, and both Mowbray and he were vastly surprised when
the old Rajput gasped:--

"Slay me not, sahib! My throat is sore enough with screeching to deaf
ears. Soul of Govind, let go!"

Bad news can be told with scant breath. It did not take Jai Singh long
to acquaint them with the dire intelligence that Nur Mahal, although
received in great state by Jahangir, had openly defied him. She charged
him with the murder of her gallant husband, and, woman-like, even
unfairly taunted him with his cowardice in destroying by a trick one
whom he dared not encounter in fair fight.

Lashed to rage by her scorn, Jahangir gave instant orders that she
should be sewn in a sack and thrown to the crocodiles. But even in that
servile court there lingered memories of Akbar's justice, and the
infuriated tyrant was compelled to rescind his cruel mandate before it
could be executed.

Some subtle instinct of statecraft told him the better way. He boldly
declared that Nur Mahal's late husband had conspired with others to slay
Kutub-ud-din, whilst Sher Afghán had himself fallen a victim to an
intrigue between his wife and the Englishman, Mowbray. Ibrahim, Chief
Eunuch, proved that his royal master was absolutely in ignorance of the
facts until he (Ibrahim) told him certain things he had discovered. Here
was actually a receipt showing that Nur Mahal had given the Feringhi
jewels worth a lakh and a half of rupees. It was evident that her motive
in returning to Agra was to stir up disaffection on the one hand and to
purge herself of crime in the eyes of the public on the other. What
better excuse could Oriental monarch devise to clear his own reputation
and to confiscate the estates of Sher Afghán and the late Diwán? A royal
_hukm_[L] was drawn up forthwith, and one of the richest heiresses in
India became a pauper, while pensions were conferred on the relatives of
those who had been unjustly slain for participating in the attack on
Sher Afghán.

[Footnote L: Order.]

But remorse is an invisible snake whose fangs cannot be drawn, and its
venom tortured Jahangir during the few hours each day that his brain
was clear of wine fumes. The prize he had so dearly bought was now
within his power, yet he affected to take no notice of her. Nur Mahal
was allotted a mean apartment in the seraglio. She was appointed an
attendant on the king's mother at a salary of one rupee a day, and the
Dowager Queen Mariam was forbidden to show her any favor whatever.
Though this ordinance was not strictly fulfilled, Jai Singh, when he,
after much difficulty and with grave peril, obtained an interview with
Nur Mahal, found her doing needlework and painting silk, in which arts
she excelled, to support herself and the few devoted women who refused
to leave her.

Jai Singh delivered this budget in an unconcerned way that did not
escape Mowbray's ear, for, in the gloom, he could not see the Rajput's
face.

"Nur Mahal knows that we are marching to Agra with the Portuguese
captives?" he asked, when Jai Singh seemed to invite questions rather
than continue his recital.

"Assuredly, sahib. How else could I explain my presence there?"

"Did it need explanation? Was there no knowledge of Jahangir's intent to
capture me?"

The other hesitated, and Mowbray cried bitterly:--

"Tell all thy tale, Jai Singh, or else leave me in peace."

"Hush, sahib! Not so loud. I swear by Khuda I am party to no device
against your Excellency. If I look through glass I can see what is
beyond, but if I look into a woman's mind I peer at the reflection of
my own conceits. I can only tell you of things as they are. When I seek
to fathom Nur Mahal's thoughts I am gazing into a mirror."

"Forgive my haste, Jai Singh, and speak on."

"My story is nearly ended, sahib. At dawn you march to the next
camping-ground, which will surely be on the south side of a big nullah
fourteen miles ahead. While perched in the tree I noted the lie of the
camp, and, doubtless, it is the same each night. At the eleventh hour
I and threescore followers will cross the nullah. Be ready! Strike
fearlessly when you hear an owl hoot three times. If the commotion
starts in the center they will think the devil has broken loose when the
real attack comes from the flank. There will be led horses in plenty
once we ford the nullah, provided you tell me now how many will escape
with you."

"And then?"

"Then we ride to the east and back to the south."

"Whither bound?"

"To Burdwán. Nowhere else can we obtain shelter until we make our next
move."

"The plan is Nur Mahal's?"

"You forget, sahib, it is your own."

"But she approves. What of her? Does she bide in Agra?"

"She bides there, sahib, if that be your wish."

"Ah! Was that her word to you?"

"Nothing could be clearer, sahib. If you choose to help her she will
escape from the palace and join you at an agreed place. If your only
desire is to make for the sea I am pledged to her on Ganges water to aid
you with money and life."

"But she is poor, you said, obliged to adorn others not worthy to adjust
her gown if beauty were alone to wait on the most beautiful?"

"There is money in plenty for the removal of Jahangir," was the laconic
answer.

"Hearest thou, Roger?" said Mowbray, reaching out to touch his comrade's
arm in the dark.

"Aye, lad, I hear," came the giant's low growl. "'Tis a pity affairs are
ordered differently, else we should see some pretty fighting."

Jai Singh, too, leaned forward. He thought they were agreeing that he
had planned most excellently. Already he could sniff the sacking of Agra
fort, in which the accumulated treasure was so great, when Akbar had an
inventory made, that four hundred pairs of scales were kept at work five
months weighing silver, gold, and precious stones. His breath came thick
and fast. His voice gurgled just as it did under the pressure of
Mowbray's hands on his windpipe. A revolt now, properly handled, would
mean the loot of a century.

"'Twill soon be sunrise, sahiba," he said. "I must be going. Remember,
the eleventh hour--three hoots--"

"Stay, Jai Singh," said Walter, quietly. "There must be no attempt at a
rescue. If any attack be made on the column, Sainton-sahib and I will
strike hard for Fateh Mohammed. We have given our bond to accompany him
to the very presence of Jahangir. God helping us we will maintain our
honor in this matter as in all others. Go you, and tell Nur Mahal what I
have said. There is no other way. We are pledged to meet the Emperor
face to face as his prisoners, and he must do with us what he wills, or,
rather, what God wills."

"Sahib, you know not what you are refusing."

"Go, nevertheless, Jai Singh, and tell Nur Mahal that I have refused.
Perchance, now, she may hasten alone to Burdwán."

"Hear me, sahib, I beseech you. She rode to Agra meaning to marry
Jahangir, but her gorge rose at the sight of him. Do not hold her guilty
of deceiving you. It was your memory which forced bitter words from her
lips when the Emperor expected her kisses."

"It may be so. But when you gave your oath by the sacred Ganges you
meant to keep it?"

"Until death, sahib."

"Know then, Jai Singh, that Sainton-sahib and I have given our word to
Fateh Mohammed. An Englishman's word is strong as any vow by holy river.
You have discharged your trust most faithfully--would that I could
reward you! But I am penniless. Even certain diamonds, concerning which
Jahangir was rightly informed, are part of my bond. Leave us, good
friend, and warn Nur Mahal that we are, perhaps, less able to help her
than she to help us."




CHAPTER XVI

     "And when a lady's in the case,
     You know all other things give place."
                    _Gay_, "The Hare and Many Friends."


Fateh Mohammed, whose name, literally translated, meant "The Victorious
and Praised," intended to halt his cohort a short day's ride from Agra,
in order to patch its way-worn aspect into some semblance of dignity ere
he entered the presence of the King of Kings. Had he ever heard of
Falstaff he might well have cried with Sir John: "No eye hath seen such
scarecrows. I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat." The
wear and tear of seven hundred miles had pressed so heavily on the
resources of guards and prisoners alike that their clothes and
accouterments did, indeed, require some furbishing. In this ragged
regiment the Englishmen and their Rajputs alone presented a reputable
appearance.

But, stout though he was, and otherwise much resembling plump Jack in
his rascally tastes, Fateh Mohammed possessed a fair share of Eastern
wiliness, so he took good care to apprise Jahangir beforehand of the
curious conditions under which he was bringing to the capital the two
men whose presence there was so greatly desired by his imperial master.
The recital naturally showed that the fat man was a model of zeal and
discretion. If the Conqueror of the World regarded the Giaours as
malefactors, here they were, ready to be bound and dealt with according
to the King's command, but, should it happen to please the Planet-born
to treat them as friends, naught had been done to give ground for other
supposition, save in such slight and easily arranged matters as
disarming them and holding certain valuable securities for their
observance of the pact agreed upon.

Hence, Fateh Mohammed felt neither "victorious" nor "praised" when a
high official, accompanied by a glittering retinue, rode out from Agra
and greeted Mowbray and Sainton with much deference, inviting them to
return with him forthwith and accept the Emperor's hospitality! They had
gone through so many vicissitudes of late that this bewildering attitude
on the part of the Mogul monarch left them outwardly unmoved though
inwardly amazed. No one could be more surprised than Mowbray, the too
successful prophet of the royal intent. Yet he bowed his polite
acceptance of the proffered honors, and his manner was discretion itself
when Fateh Mohammed, jelly-like in agitation, expressing his regrets
with the spluttering haste of water poured from a narrow-necked bottle,
hastened to restore not only the cedar box with its contents intact, but
also the swords and daggers stolen from the Englishmen while they slept.

Mowbray did not know then that the court official had curtly told Fateh
Mohammed he was in grave peril of being hanged on the nearest tree if
Jahangir had reason to complain of his treatment of the strangers. It
was in vain that the fat man pleaded the Emperor's written instructions,
which were ambiguous certainly, but which must be interpreted by his
Majesty's anxiety to secure the presence of the two Feringhis at Agra.

"If you interpret a King's wishes you run the risk of making a false
translation," was the chilling response, so Fateh Mohammed was left
alternately thanking the Prophet that he had not obeyed his inclinations
and slain the Giaours when he learnt how they had hoodwinked him, and
shivering with fear lest, after all, Jahangir might find cause to be
displeased with him.

Therefore, he groveled before Mowbray, and, like Prince Henry's
sack-loving companion, wished "it were bedtime and all well."

The mystery of the Emperor's attitude deepened when Walter learned that
Nur Mahal was, indeed, a palace menial. Even the weather-cock courtier,
skilled in the art of polite evasion, did not scruple to show his
contempt for feminine influences at the best.

"I have seen many such butterflies dancing in the sun," he said
scoffingly. "They are very brilliant until the rain falls, or some
hungry bird eats them."

His orders were to conduct the Englishmen and their followers to
Dilkusha, where they would be in the midst of familiar surroundings, and
it was Jahangir's wish to receive them that afternoon. When Mowbray
insisted that Fra Pietro should come with them the envoy was dubious at
first, but Walter would not yield the point, which was ultimately
conceded. As for the others, they were to bide in their present camp
until arrangements were made for their disposal.

"Gad!" cried Roger, paying some heed to this statement, "that will not
be to Matilda's liking!"

"Have affairs come to the pass that you may not be parted?" asked
Walter, roguishly, his perplexities vanishing for the moment as he
pictured the Countess's agitation when told she was to be separated from
her cavalier.

"'Tis to me a matter of no great cavil," was the reply, "but the poor
body will surely miss me when the mule crosses a bad bit of road."

"Why not bring her with us?"

"Aye. That is to be thought of. There are always more ways of killing a
dog than choking him wi' butter."

"But you must marry the lady first, Roger. At a pinch, Fra Pietro--"

"The devil fly off with thee and thy pinching! Who spoke of marrying?
Thy humor, at times, Walter, is dry as the Swale after a drought."

"From what I have seen of the Countess I fear that marriage will be the
only cure for her affliction."

"By the cross of Osmotherly!" cried Sainton, hotly, "if that be her
malady she will ail a long time ere I give her physic. Marry, forsooth!
If ever I seek a wife, which I greatly doubt, I'll hitch up wi' a lass
from my own dales. Not that Matilda is ill-looking, or, for that matter,
as skittish as some I have seen, but may the Lord help any woman I
bring to Wensley afore my mother runs an eye over her!"

"I fear, then, her Ladyship must remain here willy-nilly."

Sainton, more annoyed than he cared to show, drew his long neglected
sword and began to burnish it affectionately.

"Thou hast a toad's tongue at times, lad," he growled, breathing on the
steel before rubbing it to a fine sheen. "The thing had not troubled me
a whit hadst thou not spoken of it, but, now I come to think over
bygones, I am constrained to admit that mayhap her Ladyship may have
construed my actions amiss. Women are oft prone to look through a chink
when the door is open all the time. On my soul I fear to face her. My
hang-dog looks will betray me and she'll upbraid me. Go thou, Walter,
and tell her--tell her--"

"That thou hast no mind to wed. Nay, Roger, that would be ungallant, to
say the least."

"Tell her any glib lie that will get me safely away. Samson was half
conquered when it was known wherein his strength lay, and my only sure
refuge is flight if a woman attacks. Poor Matilda! I would I had the
heart to appease her. Yet I am not for matrimony, and no barber can make
a wig of a hide that is bald of wool. But I vow you have vexed me by
your niceties. Drat the thing! I trust the bit of Latinity our worthy
friar gave me yester e'en is sound sense, else I'll mope for a week."

"And what was that, Roger?" asked Mowbray, turning to hide a smile from
his wrathful friend.

"He spoke to me of certain passages twixt you and Nur Mahal, as he built
somewhat on her power despite Jai Singh's story. Yet he sighed and said:
'Quid vento? Mulier. Quid muliere? Nihil!' It tickled my fancy to put
the quip into rhyme:--

     'More fickle than wind
       Is woman's mind;
     More fickle than woman
       Naught you'll find.'

Beshrew me! It fitted Nur Mahal all right, but the cap seems to sit awry
when worn by my jolly and pleasant-spoken Countess. What! Would you grin
at me, you dog, like a clown gaping through a horse-collar? I'll wager,
were the business yours, you'd carry a longer jowl."

"On my word, Roger, if you trumpet so loudly I must even believe that my
Elephant is sore wounded. Why say aught to-day to the Countess? Once we
are sped on some new path I promise to write her on your behalf, and in
such a strain that any silly notions she may be harboring shall vanish
after a day's fasting."

"Ecod, you know not Matilda. She would not miss her dinner for twenty
men. And that is what draws me to her. A plague on all weddings, I say.
They mar a woman and vex a man. What the devil! A nice thing Noah did
for the world when he took nowt but pairs into the Ark."

Nevertheless, though angered by his tardy discovery, Sainton was far
too good-natured to steal away covertly from the genial presence of the
Countess di Cabota. He cudgeled his brains to invent some reasonable
excuse for bidding her farewell. Finally he hit upon an expedient that
pleased him greatly, and chased the unwonted frown from his cheerful
face.

In view of the expected state visit to Jahangir he had donned his best
garments, which, though soiled, were yet free from rents, and never a
finer man trod the iron earth of India than Roger that day when, with
his four-foot sword clanking against his thigh, he approached the
Countess's camping-place. Already, of course, rumor had been busy. The
perturbation of Fateh Mohammed and the haughty curling of Rajput
mustaches which followed the advent of Jahangir's envoy told some
portion of the tale to the stealthy-eyed natives. Gossip did the rest.
Roger found the Countess all agog with joyous hope.

"_Por gracia di Dios!_" she cried, clapping her hands, "now that I see
you wearing your sword I know that what I have been told is true."

"I' faith, Matilda, you are a rare hand at guessing sheep when you smell
roast mutton," was his hearty greeting. "'Tis indeed true that some
favoring star hath moved the king to deal with us kindly. Perchance 'tis
the moon, which is said to rule certain humans. But my news is stale. I
come to take leave of you."

The Countess's ruddy cheeks paled beneath the tan of long exposure to
the open air, and a spasm of fear dilated her pretty eyes.

"To take leave of me! _Mater misericordiæ!_ What say you?"

"Nay, my bonny Countess, you read my words wrongly. Master Mowbray and I
are bidden ride ahead to meet the Emperor. That is all."

"You will return ere night?"

Roger stroked his chin with dubious calculation. The action enabled him
to avoid her startled glance.

"I have my doubts," he said, and, not so sure now of the simplicity of
his errand, wisely added not another word.

"Do you mean that you go on to Agra and leave me here with--with Fateh
Mohammed?"

There was a directness, yet a veiled inference, in the question that did
not escape him.

"Be reasonable, Matilda," he pleaded. "We go but to prepare the way. You
forget that Jahangir, for some reason not known to any of us, is
changing his plans. From fire and murder he hath turned to clemency. It
may be that he thinks some quiet talk with Master Mowbray may clear the
thorns from his new path."

"Then let Master Mowbray go to him, and you bide here."

"That cannot be. It would argue distrust."

"I think I understand," said the Countess, quietly, with all a woman's
irritating assumption of the truth when a man would soothe her with a
plausible tale.

Roger, whose wit was keen enough when he encountered opposition, was
helpless before this passive attitude. Yet he blundered on, trusting to
luck to extricate him. He fumbled with a small package he took from his
breast, and swayed from one foot to the other, losing some of his
gallant air in an attitude which reflected his mental stress.

"There's nowt to make sike a pother about," he growled. "We haste to
Agra, you follow more slowly, and that is all there is to it. But you
are in sad plight, Matilda, after these weary days of travel, without a
stitch to your old clothes, so to speak, or means to buy new ones. Now,
a lady of your condition should be garbed more reputably. Though I doubt
not Jahangir will treat you generously in his altered mood, I would not
have you wholly dependent on his tardy grace. I have no money, but here
is money's worth, and it can never be put to better use than in
purchasing the wherewithal to adorn you."

So saying, and thankful that the concluding sentence, which he had
concocted with some care, had not escaped his memory, he dropped Sher
Afghán's magnificent gold chain into her lap, for the Countess was
sitting on a saddle outside the tent.

She bent forward, as if to examine the present, passing each of the fine
turquoises with which it was set mechanically through her fingers. She
managed so well that her voice seemed to be under control.

"You are very kind and thoughtful," she said in a low tone. "I am,
indeed, much in need of repair."

"Gad! I would smite sorely the man who said so. I spoke of the husk, not
of the kernel."

"And I shall value the gift highly," she continued.

"Stick out for the last rupee. These Agra goldsmiths are thieves. If not
the whole, you might sell a portion."

Her head drooped a little more.

"They are beautiful links, well knit, and of the best workmanship," she
said, "and I have never before seen such stones. 'Twould be a pity to
sunder them. They will be pleasant to look upon long after the flimsy
silks they would buy are faded and threadbare."

Resignation, not to say hopelessness, was a new phase to Sainton in
woman's varying humors. Had the Countess di Cabota stormed, or
protested, or even broken down utterly, Roger, though profoundly
uncomfortable, might have survived the ordeal. But the merry-eyed lady
was crushed. She who was wont to toss her curls so saucily when he tried
that excellent specific of a thumb in the ribs now sat before him with
hidden face. And Roger was terrible only in war. Let him have his way he
was easily swayed as a child; but to-day he was a child perplexed by a
new problem.

"If you are not minded to use the gaud in that way," he growled
hesitatingly, "I must devise some other manner of meeting your wants."

"I am greatly beholden to you," she murmured. "Mayhap I may not see you
again, so, should you succeed in sending me some money, let your
messenger bring a parchment, and I will write an order on a certain
house in London for your repayment."

This was unbearable. Roger stooped, placed a great hand under her chin,
and raised her unresisting face. His unlooked-for action caused pent-up
tears to tremble on her eyelashes, while there was a suspicious
quivering in the corners of her red lips.

"Are you bent on plaguing me, Matilda, or is it that you truly believe I
am seeking some pretense to go away under a false flag?" he demanded
fiercely.

"I cannot tell you, Roger. You know best yourself. Why should I
complain? I owe my life, and many days of happiness, to you and to your
good friend. Whether you go or stay may the Lord watch over you, and
bring you safely to that pleasant home in the North of which you have so
often spoken to me! I think I have seen it in my dreams, and the notion
pleases me."

She caught his hand and would have pressed it to her face, but he was
too quick for her. Before she well knew what was happening she was
lifted to her feet, and Roger had kissed her heartily on the lips.

"That is a quittance for the chain," he cried. "When I want another for
the money I shall bring thee, be not surprised if I discharge the debt
in like fashion."

Woman-like she glanced hastily around, all aglow with sudden
embarrassment, to learn if others had observed his action. Certainly the
eyes of some of the Portuguese captives were turned curiously towards
them. Making a tremendous effort, she laughed gaily.

"Your English leave-taking is very nice, but somewhat unusual to our
ideas," she cried. "Nevertheless, I am glad to have your promise to
return."

"I swear it, by the cross of Osmotherly!" vowed Roger, and with this
mighty oath the Countess was satisfied, though, as a good Catholic, she
might have been surprised if she knew that the giant's favorite
expletive only referred to a crossroad on the summit of a Yorkshire
hill, where King Oswald is supposed to lie buried by the side of his
mother, whence the name Osmotherly: "Oswald-by-his-mother-lay."

There was some dubiety among the remaining Europeans when they saw the
Englishmen ride off with Fra Pietro and the Rajputs. So might sheep feel
in a wolf-infested land, if the shepherds and dogs were withdrawn.

"What is to become of us," they asked, "and why have our protectors
taken the friar alone?"

But the Countess bade them be of good cheer.

"They will come back," she said, calmly. "They have promised; and those
men never say what they do not mean."

Yet one of the pair reflected ruefully, as he jogged towards Agra, that
he had said a good deal more than he meant to say. Mowbray, noting his
comrade's introspective mood, forbore to question him as to his farewell
interview with the Countess, and Roger quaked at the thought of putting
into words his recollections of the scene. So Walter chatted with Fra
Pietro, seeking that grave counselor's views as to the possible motives
which inspired Jahangir's remarkable _volte-face_.

To reach the Garden of Heart's Delight the cavalcade crossed a ford of
the Jumna and followed a road along the left bank of the river. Thus,
they passed close to the royal palace, being separated from it only by
the width of the stream. Its lofty red sandstone walls, high piled
towers and threatening battlements, topped by the exquisite spires and
minarets of the white marble buildings within, made a resplendent and
awe-inspiring picture in the vivid sunlight. Dominating the cluster of
regal apartments on the river face was the superb Diwán-i-Khas, or Hall
of Private Audience, which stands to this day "a miracle of beauty."
Mowbray knew it well. Behind its inlaid walls lay the garden in which
Akbar chaffered with the ladies at the fair, and on the south side was
the broad terrace whence Roger heaved the great stone onto the tiger.

Standing boldly out in the angle formed by the Diwán-i-Khas and the
terrace was the Golden Pavilion, so called because of its roof of gilded
copper, and nestling close to this glittering apex of the zenana was the
fairy-like Jasmine Tower. No strange eyes might dare to rest on that
imperial sanctuary save from a distance. Yet Mowbray, from description
oft repeated, could tell the Franciscan some of its glories; how the
marble pavement of its inner court represented a pachisi-board, on which
the Sultana and her ladies played a clever game with shells; how the
lovely lattice-work of the window screens was cut out of solid slabs of
marble; how trailing devices of flowers and fruit were fashioned in
pietra dura with carnelians, agates, turquoises, and all manner of
bright colored or sparkling gems; how fountains made music where marble
baths were sunk in the floor, while the dripping naiads who emerged
from the cool depths might survey their charms in the Shish Mahal, or
Room of a Thousand Mirrors, wherein a cascade of rippling water fell
over a tiny terrace artificially lighted with colored lamps. These and
other marvels did he pour into Fra Pietro's ears, until the friar
piously crossed himself and said with a smile:--

"Yet a little while and these glories shall be forgotten. 'Then shall
the dust return to the earth as it was; and the spirit shall return unto
God who gave it.'"

"But you will grant, good brother, that a man only lives once on earth,
and it would be scarce credible, did we not know it, that with all our
Western wit we have naught in London or Paris to match the skill of
these barbarians," cried Walter.

"I have seen in old Rome the crumbling fragments of palaces for which
the proudest hall in Agra might serve as an ante-chamber. Brethren, more
traveled than I, and learned men withal, have told me of the still more
wondrous works of ancient Greece and forgotten Babylon. Of what avail
are the vain efforts of man! 'Lord, a day in Thy courts is better than a
thousand. Heaven and earth shall pass away, but Thy word shall not pass
away.'"

Though the friar spoke Latin when he quoted the Bible, Walter followed
his thought closely. Here was a man wholly unmoved by the pomp and
vanity of the world. Fra Pietro paid more heed to a budding shrub as a
manifest sign of the Creator than to all the transient splendor of the
Mogul capital. Yet he was one who seldom mixed religion with his
conversation, and it is reasonable to suppose that his utterances would
have taken a less abstract form had he known that the bright eyes of Nur
Mahal were even then fixed intently on the cavalcade from the recess of
a small apartment over the Water Gate of the palace. Perchance the
subtle mesmerism of her glance was more potent with his gentle spirit
than with the hardier soul of the young Englishman, for his sedate mule
had not gone many paces by the side of Walter's mettlesome Arab ere he
spoke again:--

"Forgive me, friend," he said, "if I broke in on your discourse with
solemn reflections. One must be boorish, indeed, to deny a just meed of
praise to the designers and builders of yonder superb pile. Tell me, as
you seem to know its ways so well, in what quarter does Nur Mahal
probably dwell?"

"There!" and Mowbray pointed straight towards the Water Gate.

"Ah! That is the very heart of the fortress. It will be difficult to
reach her."

"Difficult indeed, dangerous for a native and wholly impossible for a
European. But why do you ask?"

The Franciscan's remark took his hearers by surprise, and Roger, who
listened silently to their talk, smiled for the first time during five
hours.

"Hola, my chuck," he muttered to himself, "now it is thy turn to be
roasted while a woman turns the spit."

"I think she is the _fons et origo_ of all that has occurred," said the
friar. "Whether exalted or lowly, such a woman will ever be the yeast
in the leaven of a man like Jahangir. He may neither believe nor admit
that this is so, yet I incline to the opinion that the character of your
reception is due to the promptings of a higher intelligence than that
with which the Emperor is endowed."

"I would rest assured if Nur Mahal supplied his inspiration," answered
Mowbray, conscious that Roger's eye was cocked at him. "But remember
there is a chance that my arch-enemy, Dom Geronimo, may have survived
the Emperor's edict against the Christians. In the East one perforce
looks for guile, and I fear that the smooth seeming of Jahangir's
actions may prove a snare for our undoing. I account in that way for the
desire to separate us from the others. It is idle to say that this great
city could not house us without preparation. And now you have my secret
mind as to your presence here. If Jahangir means evil, Roger and I,
knowing his methods, may defeat him. Assuredly you are safer with us
than with the poor souls who remain in Fateh Mohammed's custody."

Then Roger swore so violently that Fra Pietro turned and looked at the
fort again.

"By all the fiends!" he roared, "why didst thou not tell me thy secret
mind, as thou callest it, earlier? Here have I left Matilda with yon
spawn of Old Nick, and kept her content only by a pledge to return with
proper haste."

"Roger, Roger! never before hast thou addressed me with such unreasoning
heat. Who asked thee, this morning, to bring the lady with us? Who
asked me to make thy excuses to her? What of my dry humor, my toad's
tongue? Who was it that grinned like a clown through a horse-collar
because he would not lie glibly enough to suit thy purpose?"

Sainton gulped down his wrath, but Mowbray was disturbed by the
expression of ox-like stubbornness which suddenly clouded his face.
Roger, wearing such aspect, was hard to control.

"I mun go back," he said. "Look for me ere midnight, Walter."

Without another word of explanation he bared his sword and wheeled his
powerful horse.

"Make way, there!" he bellowed. "Out of my path, swine! Quickly, ye
sons of pigs, I am not to be stayed!"

Thinking the Hathi-sahib had gone mad the troopers who rode with
Jahangir's emissary scattered right and left. Mowbray, though vexed
by the untoward incident, promptly endeavored to rob it of grave
significance by ordering half a dozen of his own Rajputs to follow
Sainton-sahib and help him if necessary.

Before the nawab who headed their escort quite realized what was
happening, Roger had vanished. The last glimpse Mowbray obtained of
his gigantic countryman was when Sainton, sitting bolt upright on his
charger and holding his sword aloft like a steel torch, disappeared in
the cloud of dust created by the passage of himself and his small troop.

[Illustration: "Out of my path, swine."]

Now, the high-placed official was vastly offended by Roger's rude
and peremptory words, and some little time elapsed before Mowbray's
apologies, couched in the most polite Persian, were accepted. There was
nothing for it but to credit the Colossus with a touch of the sun, and
add thereto a hint of his passionate attachment for the buxom Countess.

Even then Walter's difficulties were not exhausted. Fra Pietro, speaking
very firmly, said that his place was with his people, and he would be
glad if some arrangement were made whereby he could return to them.

"It is not to be thought of," was Mowbray's instant answer. "Not only
will Roger create difficulty enough when he encounters Fateh Mohammed,
should the latter oppose the departure of the Countess, but I look to
you to champion the cause of the other captives at our meeting with
Jahangir. A woman may account for my comrade's absence. Such excuse will
not avail you."

The friar bowed meekly.

"I would not burthen you with fresh cares," he said, "but I cannot save
my own life and leave my flock to perish. Nevertheless, if it be best in
your judgment, I will go with you into the Emperor's presence."

Mowbray's resolute features must have shown the irritation which
mastered him, for the Franciscan added:--

"Be not angered with your friend. He hath a heart of a size to match his
body, and 'tis a man's privilege to protect the weaker sex. 'From the
beginning of creation God made them male and female.'"

"Believe me, brother, I am mostly concerned about my own lack of
foresight in this matter. Thank Heaven there is no woman here for whose
sake I should be compelled to act, it may be, even more hastily than
Roger!"

"Did you not tell me that Nur Mahal inhabits that portion of the zenana
situate over the Water Gate?"

"Yes; what if she does?"

"While Master Sainton was venting his ire I chanced to turn my eyes that
way. A white scarf fluttered for an instant high above the gate. Ah!
there it is again! Take heed lest some of the others follow your glance!
You are not prone to rash vows, friend, yet I am much mistaken if there
be not a woman in Agra who shall perplex you sorely ere many hours have
passed."

And, indeed, Walter did see a whirl of muslin tremble in the air like a
tiny cloud from one of the many small windows which pierced the frowning
battlements.




CHAPTER XVII

     "Under which King, Bezonian? Speak, or die!"
                    _King Henry IV_, Part II, Act 5, Sc. 3.


When a woman's head governs her heart she is to be feared; and that is
why Providence, meaning her to be loved, ordained that, for the most
part, her heart should govern her head. In the rarer descriptions of the
human clay a woman unites in herself romance and the critical faculty,
as though the Master delighted in blending Aphrodite with Athene.

Nur Mahal, true daughter of the gods, was such a one. Gifted with the
intelligence and cold intellect of an empire-ruler she seldom yielded
to the divine femininity which was her birthright. It was an impulse
of sheer emotion which led her to betray her joy by a signal when
she distinguished Mowbray in the midst of the troop of horse. Not
unnaturally, she interpreted the sudden halt caused by Roger's anxiety
anent the Countess as arising from Mowbray's wish to let her know that
he had seen the fluttering scarf and rightly guessed its owner. If so,
his action was an indiscretion. Who could tell how many pairs of eyes
were watching him from hidden chamber or open battlements?

The departure of Sainton in such furious haste puzzled her exceedingly,
but she was reassured when Mowbray turned his horse's head again towards
Dilkusha. She knew now that the brown-robed stranger who rode so near to
him was not only the friend, spoken of by Jai Singh, for whom the
Englishman had dared so greatly, but that he, too, had observed her
token. So she ventured to thrust forth the gossamer muslin a second
time, and she was sure that Mowbray looked towards her and bowed
gracefully, even raising his hat to show that he was aware of her
presence.

In Agra, during the Mogul dynasty, such was the perfection reached by
the weaver's art, muslin was fashioned of a texture so delicate that a
turban or girdle, if spread out, would sink gently, with surprising
slowness, to the ground. Nur Mahal, though impoverished, still retained
her wardrobe, and this scarf was one of the lightest and most beautiful
in her possession. Nevertheless, a flaming torch thrust into an
oil-soaked beacon could not have kindled a tocsin fire of more furious
significance than those floating folds. Aware of her environment she,
having hastily adjudged Mowbray guilty of imprudence, should have been
prudent herself. But prudence is a negative quality seldom allied with
the magnetic powers which sway men, and Nur Mahal was bold in either
love or hate. Moreover, she despised her enemies.

So it came to pass that the Emperor pleaded fatigue when Mowbray and
Fra Pietro rode to the palace that afternoon, and they returned to
the Garden of Heart's Delight more perplexed than ever by Jahangir's
inscrutable attitude. Of Jai Singh they could glean no tidings. All the
servants in the late Diwán's residence were newcomers and Mahomedans, to
whom the old Rajput was unknown. His fellow-clansmen of the escort had
no later intelligence of his movements than Walter himself, who, though
restored to familiar surroundings, was nevertheless in the position of a
traveler returned to a place whence the well-known landmarks have been
effaced.

Fra Pietro, in his placid way, admired the beauty of the garden, the
elegance of the building, the wealth of roses and flowering plants which
adorned each lovely vista, and then settled down to read his breviary by
the waning light.

"It is a salutary practise," said he quietly, "to turn one's thoughts
heavenward when the world grows dark," and indeed, Walter, confused
by a hundred conflicting issues, found himself regretting the lack of
spirituality in his soul which rendered such solace unattainable in the
present stress of events.

For never was man more mystified. Clemency, even from a Mogul ruler, was
not altogether a vain thing to expect. But why had Jahangir's grace
taken such form? If the Europeans were to be well received, why had the
Emperor denied them admission to the fort under a trumpery excuse, after
having expressed a wish to see them at once? Where was Jai Singh?
Evidently Nur Mahal, assuming it was she who signalled from the tower,
had definite news of their coming, and it was most unlikely that she
could be so accurately informed save through the medium of her devoted
adherent. What mad adventure was Roger engaged in that he was not come
ere sunset, for he would reach Fateh Mohammed's camp about noon, and he
would surely hasten the Countess's departure, if unopposed, to permit
arrival at Dilkusha before night fell? Yet the shadows cast by the
cypress trees were fast merging with the somber pall spreading over the
land, and not a sound of jingling mule bells or clanking steel came to
the anxious listener's ears.

Darkness fell with the phenomenal rapidity of the vast Indian plain. The
sky was overcast. The winter rains were long due, and heavy clouds were
massed aloft ready to break when the first cold wind swept down from the
Himalayas. But the wind, as Fra Pietro would have it, was only surpassed
in fickleness by woman, and it chose now to linger in the icy solitudes
of the awful hills rather than seek the pasture lands awaiting its
caress. Hence, the atmosphere was oppressive, stirred only by languorous
zephyrs from the southwest, and the silence of the garden was such that
the uneasy perching of a bird or the rustle of a mongoose in the
undergrowth were sounds of import, demanding watchful eyes and strained
hearing.

Mowbray and the friar were lodged in that part of the building which
overlooked the _baraduri_, or summer-house. As frail man, whether
warrior or saint, must eat, the pair partook of a well served meal.
Other things being equal the repast would have provided a grateful
change from the hard fare of the journey up-country. But anxiety is a
poor sauce, and they ate rather because they must than because they
chose. And now, even the Franciscan put aside for the hour his
indifference to matters mundane.

"Our good Roger is belated, I fear," he said. "Unless he cometh soon I
shall offer a prayer in his behalf to St. James, the special patron of
all who travel by night."

"If the result be guaranteed, brother, pray earnestly, I beg you, and,
should your list of heavenly advocates include one noted for his wise
counsel, ask him to guide our steps aright when next we leave this
bewitched abode. In my childhood I was told that the little people who
dwell under the green knolls on the hillsides always lead those mortals
who fall into their power to scenes of fairy beauty. Certes, this garden
is planned for like sorcery. I first entered it a simple trader, but
ever since that day my brains have been clouded and my feet meshed in
hidden snares."

Walter spoke bitterly, else he would not have even hinted at his
disbelief in the efficacy of the apostolic protection. There never was
man of humbler spirit than Fra Pietro, yet he took up the cudgels in
earnest when his companion seemed to discredit the son of Zebedee and
Salome.

"Blame not the Garden of Eden because it held a snake," said he.
"Whether in garden or desert the Lord will listen to my petition, and
grant it the more readily, should it be for the good of my soul, if it
be carried to the foot of the throne by a holy sponsor like St. James.
His mother, some commentators hold, was sister to the Blessed Virgin; he
taught the gospel to each of the twelve tribes; and he was the first
Christian bishop to undergo martyrdom. He is ever portrayed with the
gourd, shell, staff, and cap of a traveler, and it is only reasonable to
suppose that such a pillar of the Church should be in special favor in
that eternal garden where he is receiving the reward of his earthly
sufferings."

The friar's outburst, delivered with much fervor, aroused Mowbray to
some sense of his involuntary error.

"I beseech your pardon, good Brother Peter," he cried. "Not for a moment
would I dare to disparage St. James. Forget my heedless words. My faith,
was it not one named after him who packed me neck and crop into such
wanderings as have not been endured by many of my generation, unless it
be those few countrymen of mine who crossed the Spanish Main with
Hawkins and Grenville? Assuredly, it would ill become me to question the
potency of a James, whether Saint or King, where travelers were
concerned."

Perhaps he had phrased his apology better were he less preoccupied. The
Franciscan, watching him, sighed and murmured:--

"Gratiam tuam quaesmus, Domine, mentibus nostris infunde!"

The hours passed and naught happened, until Mowbray, harassed by evil
forebodings, resolved that further inaction was not to be endured. He
marshaled his Rajputs, of whom there were fourteen, and asked for three
volunteers who would ride to Fateh Mohammed's camp and bring news. He
would see to it that they were allowed to depart from Dilkusha, and
thenceforth they were not to draw rein until they reached the camp,
which they were to enter by such means as seemed best to them. If
Sainton-sahib were there they must return with utmost speed, one or all,
as soon as they had gleaned some explanation of the sahib's detention.

Each man was willing, so he selected three, and one other, whom he
commissioned to search the bazaar and inquire in likely quarters for
tidings of Jai Singh.

There was some difficulty at the gate, but Mowbray's determined air, no
less than the truculent attitude of his men, whose belief in him was
unbounded, soon quelled the scruples of the doorkeeper, and the four
clattered out into the night. It was now ten o'clock, and, in Walter's
opinion, nothing short of force had kept Roger from joining him within
the preceding five hours. He deemed it wise to guard the gate on his own
account, so he selected the oldest Rajput, one Devi Pershad, to act as
lieutenant, while he split up the remainder of his small force into
three watches.

He gave strict orders that thenceforth, until daybreak, none should
enter or leave the compound without his knowledge and sanction, and he
fancied that the Musalman durwán, thus deposed from his duties, smiled
maliciously when he heard the lordly stranger imposing his will on those
who maintained the dwelling for Jahangir.

Instantly the man was put to the test. Ere he could banish the smile
from his face, Mowbray grasped him by the neck, and Devi Pershad held a
lantern close to his eyes while his master bared Sher Afghán's dagger.

"How now, dog!" Walter cried. "Wouldst thou dare to question my
commands?"

The doorkeeper's knees yielded. Here was one who read his thoughts.

"Not so, protector of the poor," he gasped, "but many have come within
the hour, and there may be others."

"Many, sayest thou? There are not twenty servants in the house all
told," and he shook the fellow till his teeth rattled.

"I am a poor man, sahib--and I do as I am bid. Those who come with a
sign--I admit," was the stuttering answer.

"What manner of sign?"

"Some tap once and cry _sufed-kira_ (death watch); others tap thrice and
say _Jai_ (victory), and it was my _hukm_ to admit both without
question."

If the trembling wretch's confession needed evidence it was fittingly
supplied. From without came three slight knocks and a voice:--

"Within there, brother. The word is _Jai_!"

Mowbray released the durwán, sheathed his dagger and drew his sword. He
motioned to the door.

[Illustration: Instantly the man was put to the test.]

"Open, and act as thou wouldst have done were I not here," he muttered.
He and Devi Pershad, with the Rajputs of the first guard, hastened into
the dark interior of the lodge while the man unbound the gate. There
entered a very harmless couple, a _bhisti_, carrying his empty water-bag
of goatskin, and a veiled woman whose simple garb showed that she was of
the same caste, in all probability his wife.

But why had such a pair used a password, and why were two different
passwords in vogue at all that night? Here was a minor riddle of which
a sword-point might find the key. Walter sprang forth and seized the
water-carrier. The woman uttered a slight cry of alarm, but seemed to
regain instant control of herself. The poor _bhisti_ was so taken aback
by the sight of the gleaming blade with which the Englishman enforced
his stern demand for information that he uttered not a word. His jaw
fell and he gazed up at Walter in dumb fear.

Somehow, when the rays of the lantern revealed his features, Mowbray
thought he knew the man. Suddenly, recollection came. This was the
palace servant who warned him and Roger against Jahangir's malice on the
day of the wild beast combats.

But, whatever form Mowbray's questions might have taken, all such
speculations were driven from his brain, and he released the _bhisti_ in
blank amazement, when a well-remembered voice murmured sweetly:--

"Harm him not, Walter. He is a humble well-wisher who escorted me
hither."

It was Nur Mahal who spoke. Never before had she addressed him by his
Christian name, the sound of which she must have learned owing to
Roger's frequent use of it. Clearly, she had acquired its facile
pronunciation by much private endeavor, for his own mother could not
have uttered the word more accurately.

And what was he to say, or do? Though it was always a likely thing that
Nur Mahal, knowing he was in Agra, would endeavor to reach him, now that
she was actually here how should he shape his course to avoid the
complications sure to result if her visit came to Jahangir's ears? It is
not to be wondered at if his brain whirled with jostling thoughts, nor
that her presence should obscure for the nonce the vital importance of
ascertaining the significance of the passwords, whose mere choice showed
that they represented the rival factions of Mahomedans and Hindus.

"I see that you are not to be taken by surprise, let those plan who
will," she whispered, and she laughed musically, with a certain
frolicsome lightness long absent from her manner. Was the winsome maid
of the Garden of Heart's Delight re-born amidst the sorrows which
encompassed her? Was her rapid descent from high estate the means of her
regeneration, seeing that content oft arrives by the door through which
ambition departs? Who could tell? Certainly not Mowbray, to whose
already grievous load of cares her presence added no inconsiderable
charge.

But, if the man were flurried, the woman was not. She threw back her
veil, being ever disdainful of the ordinance that women of rank and
beauty should hide their faces from the common ken.

"Thank you, good fellow," she said to the _bhisti_. "Get you back to the
fort speedily, and remember that those who serve me without words shall
be paid ten times more than those who talk. Ah!" she continued, turning
to the wondering Rajputs who, of course, recognized her as soon as the
light illumined her animated features, "Jai Singh told me you were
faithful to your salt. It could not be otherwise with men from
Rajputána, yet such fidelity is worthy of reward. It shall not be long
delayed."

The coarse linen _sari_ of the water-carrier's wife had fallen from her
head and shoulders, and even the flickering glimmer of the oil lamp
revealed the fact that Nur Mahal was attired with uncommon splendor. She
not only looked but spoke like a queen, and her way of addressing the
poor retainers at the gate was as gracious and dignified as if they were
court nobles.

"Have you brought no other retinue?" asked Walter, at a loss for more
pertinent question before so many inquisitive ears.

She laughed again, and the silvery note of her mirth was pleasant if
disconcerting.

"All in good time," she said. "Let us go to the house, but first
inquire, if you do not know, who have preceded me. Then I shall tell you
who will come after."

Amidst the chaos of his ideas Mowbray was conscious that Nur Mahal was
rendering him one invaluable service. She brought with her certainty
where all was void. Her words, her air, betokened a fixed purpose. For
all he knew he might be a pawn or a king in the game she was playing,
but, until he was further enlightened, it was advisable to move as she
directed. Then, being a free agent, he might become erratic.

The doorkeeper, brought to the domain of dry figures, whittled down his
earlier statement as to the number of strange visitors he had admitted.
There were two Mahomedans, using the significant countersign "Death
Watch," while no less than eight Hindus, excluding Nur Mahal (herself a
Mahomedan), were of the "Victory" party. He knew none. His orders were
from the Grand Vizier.

"Whither have they gone? Are they secreted in the house?" demanded
Mowbray.

"Enough said," was Nur Mahal's laconic interruption. "Come with me. I
will explain."

She led him into the avenue of cypresses. When he would have spoken she
caught his arm.

"Not here!" she whispered. "I am told you are lodged in the Peacock
Room. Let us converse there in privacy."

"You know so much," he murmured, "that perchance you can tell me what
has befallen Roger Sainton?"

She stopped.

"Why did he leave you?" she asked.

"He went to rescue one whom he promised not to abandon. My fear of
intrigue led him to bring the lady here ere it was too late."

"To bring a woman--here!"

"Why not? If one woman, why not another?"

"Come!" she urged. "We are at cross purposes, but I have no information
as to Sainton-sahib. I had hoped he was with you, for he is worth a
thousand. Silence now!"

His feet crunched the gravel of the path, yet he disdained to walk
stealthily. Nur Mahal's tiny slippers made no noise. She moved by his
side with swift grace, and when he would have made a détour, led him to
the main entrance, paying no heed to those of the house servants
stationed at the door, though they stared as if she were a ghost. It may
be that some among them were aware of her identity, but in any case the
apparition of such a woman, unveiled, in the company of a foreigner, was
sufficiently remarkable in India to create unbounded astonishment.

She swept on through the building, casting aside the cumbersome _sari_
as if its purpose of concealment were at an end. The few lamps which lit
the inner rooms were scattered and dim, but Mowbray could see that his
first impression as to the magnificence of her garments was not a
mistaken one. She had yielded so far to convention, being a widow, as to
wear a purple dress, but the bodice of white silk was fringed with
silver, an exquisite shawl draped her shoulders in diaphanous folds,
diamonds gleamed in her hair, and her rapid movements showed that her
silk stockings were shot with silver. A strange garb, truly, for one
who, according to Jai Singh, lived on a pittance of one rupee a day, and
even more noteworthy when the manner and hour of her visit to Dilkusha
were taken into account.

When she entered the Peacock Room she found Fra Pietro kneeling, with
his face sunk in his hands, near to the _charpoy_, or roughly contrived
bedstead, which, like all Europeans, he preferred to the cushions of the
East. Walter had quitted the room by another door, so the worthy
Franciscan's spellbound look, when he raised his eyes to learn who it
was who came from the interior of the house and saw the radiant figure
of Nur Mahal, would surely, under other circumstances, have brought a
laugh to Walter's lips.

The friar, wishing to read some portion of the daily "office," had
obtained four lamps and trimmed them with some care. Comparatively
speaking, there was a flood of light at his end of the spacious chamber,
and the obscurity reigning in the further part only added to the
bewildering effect of the sylph-like being who, after advancing a little
way, stood and gazed at him irresolutely.

But Mowbray's firm tread broke the spell against which Fra Pietro was
already fortifying himself by fervent ejaculations. A prophet surprised
by the fulfilment of his own prophecy, he rose to his feet, and bowed
with the ready politeness of his race.

"Princess," he said, speaking Urdu, with slow precision, "I greet you!
None but you can resolve our perplexities. You are, indeed, well come!"

The aspect of the friar, with the shaven crown, untrimmed beard,
coarse brown robe and hood, white cords and rough sandals of St.
Francis d'Assisi, was no less astounding to Nur Mahal than was her
regal semblance to him. In her eyes he was on a parity with the
fakirs, thebmullahs, the religious mendicants of her adopted
country. The few Europeans she had seen were soldiers, merchants, or
dignified ecclesiastics of the Jesuit order, but here was one whose
poverty-stricken appearance might well have prejudiced her against
him. Like the Apostle whose name he bore, Fra Pietro had said: "Lo,
we have left all, and followed Thee." Of such renunciatory gospel
Nur Mahal had no cognizance.

Nevertheless, such was the depth of this girl-widow's sagacity, that she
caught instantly from the Franciscan's benign features some glimpse of
his exalted character. She half turned to Walter with her enchanting
smile:--

"I had forgotten the presence of your friend. This, doubtless, is the
priest of whom I have heard, and for whose sake you dared do more than
for mine."

"I owed him my life, and more, for he saved me from unimagined horrors.
Nor is the debt yet paid in full," was the reply.

"Can I speak openly before him?"

"You may trust Fra Pietro, Princess, as you would trust none other."

"Yet I have trusted many to-night. Now list to me carefully, for time
presses. Jahangir dies ere daybreak, and there is much to be done by a
man who shall risk all."

"The Emperor dies! Do you mean that he is to be murdered?"

"Call it what you will, his death is ordained. Nay, frown not so
ominously. 'Tis not of my planning. Those who wish his downfall are not
seeking to avenge my wrongs. If they succeed, and I see no reason why
they should fail, they aim at placing Khusrow on the throne. And who is
Khusrow? A boy of ten! I, a woman, am a mere puppet in their hands. That
is why I am here. You see one who is in the counsels of both parties yet
bound to neither."

She threw back her head, and the circlet of brilliants across her smooth
white brow did not send forth brighter gleams than her eyes. Speaking so
freely of treason and dynastic plots, she smiled as though the whole
affair were some hoax of which she alone knew the petty secret.

"You have met Raja Man Singh and his ally, the Maharaja of Bikanir?" she
continued, coolly, before Walter could decide what shape the tumultuous
questions trembling on his lips should take.

"Yes," he answered, "and they are well aware with what loathing I regard
their schemes."

"It is always possible to change one's mind," she said slowly. "I
cannot, in a few minutes, give you the history of months; the record of
the past few hours must suffice. Since it was known that you and the
Hathi-sahib were returning to Agra there has been naught but plot and
counter-plot. First, those who conspire against the Emperor look to you
to help them, and are even now awaiting you in the _baraduri_ at the
bottom of the garden. Secondly, Jahangir, well aware of their intent,
has resolved to ensnare them and you in one cast of the net. Hence, the
followers of Raja Man Singh and those others who will strike for Khusrow
are gathering silently, some within a stone's throw of the outer walls
of the palace, ready to follow their leader in the attack on the fort,
where the guard of the Delhi Gate will admit them, the remainder among
the trees without. But the forces of the Emperor, ten times more
numerous, will fall on them at midnight, whereas the revolt is timed for
the first hour. Already the traitors inside the fort have been secured.
A few live to delude their friends--most are dead. All this, you may
say, concerns you not. You are wrong, Mowbray-sahib. You are a greater
man than you think. The conspirators count surely on your assistance and
that of Sainton-sahib, whose repute with the common people is worth a
whole army. Therefore, lest aught miscarried, they came to me and urged
me to induce you to head the outbreak. Though I am a weak woman, I might
not have consented had not the Emperor joined his supplications to
theirs."

"The Emperor!" cried Walter, with involuntary loudness.

"Hush! The _baraduri_ is not far distant. Yes, Jahangir still favors me
with his jealousy. He does not know that--that--you are longing for the
sight of some other woman beyond the black seas. Do not misunderstand
me. Jahangir hates me and fears you. Kept well informed by his spies of
all that was going on, he connived at the scheme which brought you and
me to the forefront of the rebellion. Thus, when he stamps it out in
blood, we shall be the chief victims. But that is not all. Raja Man
Singh and his friends are in no mind to kill Jahangir and clear the way
for a foreign intruder. They, too, see how we may serve their ends. Once
the Emperor is dead it will be a fitting excuse to get rid of us on the
ground that we conspired against him."

"'Tis a pretty plot," said Mowbray, grimly. "Hath it any further
twists?"

"Yes, one. Raja Man Singh, Khusrow, and the rest are doomed. Few of them
shall see the sun again. The man who contrived their fate is far more
skilled in intrigue than they. Behind Jahangir and his feud with me
stands the black robe."

"Dom Geronimo! I thought him dead."

"He may be, but he lived to-day," was Nur Mahal's careless answer.
"Living or dead, his hour has passed. Others, too, can think and plan.
Not plotters now, but swords are needed. I would that Sainton-sahib were
here. Why did you let him go?"

"He is hard to restrain when set on anything. But you would not have him
and me, with twenty troopers, fight for our own hand 'gainst all India!"

She came nearer to the listening men. In her eagerness she grasped each
by an arm and whispered:--

"Jai Singh is within call with two hundred. A few determined men
to-night are worth thousands to-morrow. Three hoots of an owl from the
wall behind the _baraduri_ will bring him and them. You have the leaders
of the revolt gathered in the summer-house, whence they will soon send
a messenger to summon you to council. They know I am here and await my
pleasure. Above them--" and now her voice dropped so low that the words
only just reached their ears--"you have Jahangir himself and his
principal minion, Ibrahim, the Chief Eunuch!"

Her eyes blazed with the intensity of her emotion. Great though her
power of self-control, she quivered slightly, and the action, trivial in
itself, told that this woman was the nerve-center of an empire. She
waited no comment. The moment long looked for had come at last. India,
with all its potentialities, was within her grasp.

"Doubt not, but act!" she murmured, passionately, seeing the incredulity
in the men's faces. "In the roof of the _baraduri_ there is a secret
chamber, contrived there, for their own purposes, by Akbar and my
father. From it, in fancied security, Jahangir and Ibrahim can see and
hear all that passes beneath. I took care they should know of it. 'Twas
too good a bait to pass, and they swallowed it. What joy can equal the
Emperor's when he hears his enemies plotting with you and me to place us
on his throne, knowing full well that ere many minutes have passed we
shall be slain or, far better, captured, so that he may glut his
vengeance on us? Come with me! Let a Rajput give the signal to Jai
Singh. Without any fear of failure, almost without a blow, you will have
both Jahangir and Khusrow's adherents in your power to do with as you
will."

They could not choose but believe her. Here was a counter-stroke,
worthy indeed of the daughter of one who entered India a pauper and died
Prime Minister. Walter's head swam, and Fra Pietro shook as if with a
palsy.

"There is no other course open," she murmured, vehemently. "It is your
death and mine, or Jahangir's. Decide quickly! Do you flinch from the
ordeal?"

"No," said Mowbray, recovering himself. "If such be the alternatives,
may God prosper those who are in the right!"

Nur Mahal released them. Walter would have sent for Devi Pershad, and in
a few fateful seconds the irrevocable step must be taken which should
plunge India into an era of turmoil and bloodshed. But a tumult of alarm
among the household servants, and the clatter of hurried footsteps in
the interior of the house, betokened some new and unforeseen commotion.
Then the door by which Nur Mahal and Mowbray had entered the room was
flung open and Roger appeared, carrying in his left arm the apparently
lifeless body of the Countess di Cabota. His long sword was dripping
blood, and his clothes were rent by cuts and lance thrusts, but his
genial face, never downcast when a fight was toward, broke into a broad
grin when he saw Walter.

"By the cross of Osmotherly!" he roared, "I have had the devil's own job
to reach thee, lad. I have fought every inch of a good mile, and been
ambushed times out of count. Poor Matilda fainted at the last onset. I
had to hug her with one arm and slay with the other. Gad! it was warm
work. She is no light weight!"

He deposited his inanimate burthen on a _charpoy_ and cleared his vision
of blood and perspiration, for he had been wounded slightly on the
forehead. Then he set eyes on Nur Mahal.

"Oh, ho, my lady, art thou here?" he said. "Small wonder there were such
goings on without! By gad, thou art the herald of storm on land as the
petrel is at sea. Walter, my lad, give us a grip of thy hand! I'm main
glad to meet thee again. But Matilda needs tending. Bid this glittering
fairy see to her. Whether Portugee or Hindee, I suppose women are much
alike in such matters!"




CHAPTER XVIII

     "Gregory, remember thy swashing blow."
                    _Romeo and Juliet_, Act I, Sc. 1.


But there were matters of graver import afoot than the Countess's
fainting fit. Already the conspirators in the summer-house, alarmed by
the commotion, must be devising means to protect themselves, and the
Emperor, ensconced in a hiding-place after the fashion invented by
Dionysius of Syracuse, was probably doubting the wisdom of his
Haroun-al-Raschid escapade. For Roger, bursting through the hostile
cordons like an infuriated blue-bottle fly caught in the outer strands
of a spider's web, had applied a premature spark to a gunpowder train.
The silence of the night was jarred into fierce uproar. The imperial
troops, thinking the revolt had broken out before its appointed hour,
were hurriedly closing in around the rebels. The latter, strenuously
opposing Sainton's passage up the hill leading to the Garden of Heart's
Delight, communicated a panic for action, which is the next worst thing
to a flight, to those of their comrades who knew not what was happening.
In a word, the left bank of the Jumna was ablaze, and sharp encounters
occurred wherever the Emperor's men met those who fought for his
would-be supplanter, Khusrow. At the gate Devi Pershad and the Rajputs,
manfully aided by the house servants, were even then resisting the
efforts of the rebels previously hidden in the wood to break open the
door and go to the aid of their leaders within. Indeed, Roger had barely
ceased speaking, before a sowar, one of his own small escort, ran in and
breathlessly announced the desperate nature of the attack on the
gateway.

Sainton, of course, knew nothing of the real cause of all this riot. Nor
was there time to tell him. Mowbray grasped the excited soldier.

"Canst hoot like an owl?" he cried.

"Aye, sahib, that can I," was the reply, for the man guessed the portent
of the question.

"Come, then, Roger! Thou knowest the summer-house? Smite any man who
leaves it! Nur Mahal, bide you here till I return! Fra Pietro, bolt the
doors and open only to me or Roger!"

"One word, brother, ere thou goest," cried the friar in English. "A
chosen ruler, be he Christian or heathen, is the Lord's anointed. 'Curse
not the King, no, not in thy thought.'"

Walter, hurrying forth, darted a single glance at the speaker. Somehow,
the Franciscan's words gave ordered sequence to a project which flitted
vaguely through his mind as he listened to Nur Mahal's thrilling
recital. It seemed to him that this beautiful woman, "who offered
herself twice to no man," harbored a certain spite against Jahangir
because of the treatment he had meted out to her. Once she had vaguely
hinted at bygones as between Mowbray and herself; otherwise her
utterances were those of unsated and insatiable ambition, and the style
of her raiment alone showed that she had quitted the palace that night
prepared to fill the stage in whatsoever part fortune allotted her.

Now the two Englishmen were in the garden, running towards the
summer-house, which, it will be remembered, stood on an island in the
midst of a small lake, and was approached by four narrow causeways, each
at right angles with its neighbors. There never was a darker night. It
was barely possible to distinguish the tops of the trees against the
sky; beneath, they passed through a blackness so dense that they could
not see each other.

Under such conditions rapid progress was impossible. Mowbray called
a halt, and bade the Rajput use his skill in imitating owls. Thrice
the long-drawn ululu vibrated in the scent-laden atmosphere; at the
third screech came an answering hoot, lanterns twinkled of a sudden
at the farther end of the lawn, and Jai Singh, with his rabble of
swashbucklers, perched expectantly on the wall, tumbled pell-mell into
the garden.

"We come, sahib!" they heard his exultant cry. "Every man carries a
light and wears a black turban. Spare none other!"

"Ecod!" said Roger, "that is good talking. Jai Singh is thin in the
ribs, but he hath the liver of a bull. Yet there seemeth no urgence for
killing. What is toward, Walter? 'Smite,' say you. 'Spare not,' yelps
Jai Singh. Nur Mahal shoots lightning from her eyes. Even the good
friar points a moral with a text on cursing the king. Who hath cursed
him? Whose throat is to be cut? My soul, there's battle in the very
air!"

Sainton was appealing to unheeding ears. The _baraduri_, being a roofed
entablature supported on slight columns, became vaguely silhouetted
against the dim glow of the advancing lantern-bearers. Walter saw
several armed men rushing towards the house along the nearest
_chaussée_. It went against the grain to strike any man who came to him
trustingly, no matter what the ultimate intent, and among the foremost
he thought he recognized Raja Man Singh.

"Back, there!" he shouted. "We are for Jahangir! Back to your covert and
lay down your arms!"

There could be no mistaking his meaning. The conspirators, dumbfounded
by the discovery that he whom they reckoned an ally was a declared foe,
stopped, hesitated, and then broke, left and right.

"They must not escape!" said Mowbray to his companion. "After them, Jai
Singh!" he vociferated to the Rajput, and forthwith there was a scurry
in which several fell. Nevertheless, two, at least, got away through the
trees and scaled the wall. Raja Man Singh remained, gasping his life
out, but he of Bikanir and one other reached the reinforcements outside.

Hastily despatching Jai Singh and his followers to defend the main gate,
Mowbray retained only two men of his own little troop. Equipping them
with lanterns, he led Roger to the summer-house and cried in a loud
voice:--

"Come forth, Jahangir!"

There was no answer. The hollow roof, exquisitely painted with frescoes
representing forest life, echoed the command, and the slight scrutiny
rendered possible by the weak light of the lamps gave force to Roger's
query:--

"Dost think to find him, like Mahmoud's coffin, slung 'twixt heaven and
earth, Walter?"

But Nur Mahal was to be trusted beyond the credence of eyes alone.
Unless the Emperor had flown, or changed his mind at the latest moment,
he was surely there, for the doorkeeper said two strangers had passed by
the watchword "Safed-Kira." And the vital need of hurry made stern
measures necessary.

"Jahangir!" cried Mowbray again, "I know that thou art here, thou and
thy pimp, Ibrahim. Nur Mahal hath sent us to save thy life, and thy
throne if need be. Descend, therefore, else Sainton-sahib shall pull
thee down together with thy lurking-place."

A moment's pause brought only the racket of desultory firing in the
roadway, the thuds of a battering ram against the iron-studded door, and
the yells of assailants and defenders as the high boundary wall was
sought to be carried by escalade, for the Maharaja of Bikanir, now that
his desperate scheme was unmasked, urged his adherents ere they marched
to sack the palace to extirpate the brood of vipers in the Garden of
Heart's Delight.

"Roger," said Walter, calmly, resolved to be sure of his quarry, "try
thy strength on a pillar!"

The summer-house, an elegant hexagon, had a carved pillar at each angle.
Sainton placed his foot against one, gave a mighty push, and the stones
yielded. Some fell with a clatter onto the mosaic pavement, others
splashed in the water of the lake.

"Hold!" came a muffled cry, "I come!"

A fine creeper had entwined its stout tendrils round three of the
pillars. In one of these, cunningly hidden by the vine, were small
holdfasts, by which an active man might climb to the roof. Once there, a
section of the blue enameled tiles slid back and gave access to a small
apartment with a grille floor, the interstices being invisible from
beneath owing to the painted foliage.

Jahangir, followed by Ibrahim, made an undignified descent. Obviously,
he feared a sword thrust as he neared the ground. Yet he was no coward.
Disdaining to jump he came down slowly, and faced Mowbray without laying
hand on the pistol or jeweled tulwar he carried. If treachery were
intended he could not guard against it, and he was too proud to exhibit
his secret thought by useless action.

"Have I heard aright?" he asked, with well-feigned coolness. "Did you
say that Nur Mahal had sent you?"

"Yes. How else should I, a stranger, know of your retreat?"

"And neither you nor she are in league with my enemies?"

"Some of them lie in the garden. You hear the others without. Are you
man or king enough to help us in repelling them?"

Jahangir bowed his head.

"God is great," he said, as though in self-communion. "Never was mortal
more deceived than I have been."

Ibrahim, Chief Eunuch, somewhat restored from the rare fright of the
trembling roof, thought it high time to trim his sails to the new wind.

"I always told your Majesty," he began; but Jahangir, for answer, smote
him in the face with his clenched fist so heavily that he fell into the
lake and lay there insensible. He would have been drowned had not a
Rajput pulled him out and held him by the heels until a good deal of
water came from his mouth and a good many gold pieces from a tuck in his
cummerbund.

Mowbray, whose judgment was cooler and truer in the frenzy of a fight
than when a woman's eyes assailed him, did not forget that where Jai
Singh had introduced his hirelings others might follow. Nevertheless,
with the inadequate force available, it was impossible to conduct an
effective defense of a square enclosure containing many acres. It was
above all else essential to resist the main assault. The Eastern
fighting man is moved to the madness of heroism by success, and driven
to despair by failure. The gateway must not be carried.

He detailed sentries, therefore, to report any hostile move from the
flanks or rear, in which case he would fall back on the house, which
occupied the exact center of the garden. Then he and the others
hastened to the gate.

They were not a moment too soon. A huge balk of timber, carried up from
the bridge and swung by fifty men against the sturdy door, smashed the
panels and dislodged the hinges. Through the gap poured a torrent of
assailants, all well armed, and the struggle must have resulted in
instant victory for the rebels had not Roger faced them.

There was light in plenty. Many carried torches, whilst masses of tow
soaked in oil had been placed on the ground to enable the archers and
matchlockmen to shoot. Luckily the onward rush prevented anything like a
volley being fired in that narrow space, or the Emperor and his English
supporters must certainly have been hit. As it was, the giant had a fair
field, steel against steel, and one man against a hundred.

When Roger was busy there was no standing-room for friends by his side
or foes in front. His tremendous strength was no less astounding than
his tigerish agility. His long sword whirled in lightning circles, he
sprang back, forth, and sideways with incredible ease, and such was the
area he covered, combined with a quick eye to discern and a supple wrist
to disconcert every adventurous cut or thrust aimed at him, that, whilst
those outside were yelling to the van to press forward, the unlucky
wights of the front rank were making a new rampart of their bodies.

Walter found a corner where Sainton's sickle did not reach, and
Jahangir, fired to emulation, joined him. The three practically held
the gate, because Jai Singh, with his horde of freebooters, did not
quickly regain his self-possession after the stupefying discovery that
the Emperor, whom he was actively fighting against, was laying on with a
will in behalf of the Englishman.

Others, too, learned the bewildering fact that here was Jahangir himself
in the very hatching ground of the conspiracy. The Maharaja of Bikanir
saw him, and having missed him twice with a pistol, adopted a new tactic
which might easily have involved the monarch and the Englishmen in
common ruin. Awaiting the rebel leader, to carry him to the fort, was a
war elephant, a huge brute, well protected by iron plates, thick knobs
of brass, and chain armor, penetrable by no missile short of a
cannon-ball. The animal was trained to charge any one or anything at the
bidding of its _mahout_, and the Maharaja, mounting the _howdah_ with
some of his officers, bade the driver launch the elephant at full speed
through the gate.

Among the many physical advantages Roger held over other men not the
least was his height. While dealing with the present danger he could see
that which threatened farther afield, and now, above the heads of the
combatants, he caught sight of the great moving mass of shining panoply.
Such a thunderbolt would rend its way through all opposition. Swords and
lances were powerless against it, but there lay on the ground, wrenched
from its sockets by the battering-ram, the heavy iron bar which the big
Yorkshireman had used so effectively on the night that Sher Afghán
carried off his unwilling bride.

None of the others knew of the approaching peril. Roger turned to Jai
Singh.

"Come on, Don Whiskerando!" he shouted. "I thought thou hadst better
stomach for a fray!"

Though he spoke English, his look was enough. The old Rajput awoke from
his trance and rushed forward manfully. His levies followed, the rebels
yielded a few feet, and Roger secured breathing space. He sheathed his
reeking sword, picked up the iron bar, and stood on the left of the
gateway, balancing the implement over his right shoulder and bracing his
feet, set wide apart, firmly against the ground.

A fiercer yell, a stampede of both parties, announced the oncoming of
the new danger. Mowbray and Jahangir thought that this was the end until
they saw Roger, not smiling now but frowning, whirl the bar lightly as a
preliminary to the greatest feat he ever performed. For the story lives
yet amidst the glorious ruins of the Mogul Empire how the Man-Elephant
killed the elephant. Trumpeting loudly, rushing through the swaying mass
of human beings as a whale cleaves water, the immense brute seemed to
enjoy the sensation it created. As it entered the gate, with trunk
uplifted, the bar crashed across its knees. The elephant stumbled and
fell. Again the iron flail whistled in the air, this time striking the
brass-studded boss on the beast's wide forehead. The thick metal disks
shivered into fragments, and the monster, with fractured skull, lurched
over heavily on its side, throwing the Maharaja of Bikanir and his
lieutenants to the ground, where they died quickly at the hands of those
nearest to them.

A great shout went up, a shout of terror and wonder. Men ran, throwing
away their arms and shrieking incoherent appeals, whether to Allah or
Khuda, for protection. It was recorded that some went mad, some died
from fright, and many dropped from exhaustion miles away from Dilkusha
and its magic. For never before had one man met a full-grown fighting
elephant face to face in single combat and killed it. Such deeds were
told of lions and tigers, of many-antlered deer and massive bulls, but
never of the elephant, which, in the plenitude of its majestic strength,
can drag four score men in triumph, let them tug their best at a rope.

"_Shabash, hathi!_" cried Jahangir. "By the soul of my father, Akbar, if
I am spared to-night those two strokes shall be writ in history and
recorded in stone!"

"'Twill please me better if they remain in your Majesty's memory," was
Sainton's gruff answer. Truth to tell, his mighty effort had shaken him.
In that last almost superhuman blow he had surpassed himself. His
muscles still twitched from the tension, and he experienced a curious
sympathy for the magnificent creature whose dying convulsions alone
betokened the abundant life with which it was endowed.

He leaned wearily on the long bar. The slaying of the elephant was the
culmination of a day's toil such as no other man in India could have
endured, for many a stout warrior had fallen under his sword ere he
carried the Countess di Cabota into the Garden of Heart's Delight.

But the Emperor, not to be rebuffed thus curtly, seized him by the arm.

"Harken, friend," said he, "one lie will poison a river of truth. They
told me 'twas thy intent to tumble my palace about my ears. Tomb of the
Prophet, what will not a man believe when he lends his wits to women and
wine? Never was king more beholden to stranger than I to thee and thy
friend; canst thou not credit my faith when I say that no recompense you
ask shall be too great for me to give?"

Sainton turned and clapped the Emperor on the shoulder.

"I have oft wondered," he cried, "how so good a soldier could be a bad
king. Now I see 'twas a passing fit, which, mayhap, like certain
distempers, leaves thee wholesomer."

And that was how Jahangir and Roger began a comradeship which was never
marred nor forgotten while either lived.

Mowbray, though delighted that Sainton's rough diplomacy had won the
Emperor so thoroughly, nevertheless kept a sharp lookout for any
recrudescence of the fight. But the back of the revolt was broken. He
who escaped with the Maharaja of Bikanir, riding post-haste for fresh
troops, was captured by the imperial forces, and a strong contingent of
mounted men arriving at Dilkusha relieved the little garrison of further
concern. Jahangir despatched several officers with instructions, the
exact significance of which Walter failed to grasp. He knew it was
hopeless to expect clemency for those who fomented the disorders. In the
East, and indeed elsewhere, rulers had a habit, not wholly lost to-day,
of repressing such outbreaks with merciless severity.

The Emperor quickly completed his arrangements. Then he drew Walter
aside.

"You spoke of Nur Mahal. She is here, I know. What was her errand?" he
asked.

"To warn me of the plot of which I was the unconscious figurehead," was
the ready answer.

"Her action is the chief surprise of a night of marvels," said Jahangir,
thoughtfully. "No matter how greatly I was misled by others, I vow she
was candid. Never did woman belittle a man as Nur Mahal belittled me.
She said much that was true, and a good deal that was false. But her
spleen was manifest. Had my head rolled at her feet she would have
kicked it. Why, then, should she risk her life to save me?"

"You must ask her that yourself, your Majesty."

There was no other way. It was out of the question that Walter should
dispel Jahangir's doubts by hinting a very different motive for Nur
Mahal's visit to Dilkusha. Come what might he had dissipated in her mind
the mirage of a dynastic struggle in which he would participate as her
husband. The mere fact that he had so completely thrown in his lot with
the Emperor would prove to her, if proof were needed, that the dream of
those memorable days which followed their flight from Agra might never
be renewed. What would she do? What manner of greeting would she give
Jahangir? Who could tell? Once before, when expected to marry the
Emperor, she reviled him. Not half an hour ago she said Jahangir must
die before dawn. He was not dead, but very much alive, and more firmly
seated on his throne than at any time since his accession. What would
she say? Mowbray was on thorns as he walked with the Emperor and Roger
to the house.

Fra Pietro unbolted the door at which they knocked. Roger, seeing the
Countess moving forward, and evidently quite recovered from her
faintness, was seized with a spasm of shyness.

"All is well, Matilda," he said, hanging back. "You had a boisterous
journey, but you are in quiet waters now. I go to remove some marks of
the jaunt."

He made to sheer off, but she ran after him, brushing the Emperor aside
in her eagerness.

"Nay, my good Roger!" she cried. "Fra Pietro hath told me all. I closed
my eyes, and my heart stopped beating when I witnessed that last array
of dreadful men. And thou didst carry me in thy arms as if I were a
child, bearing me hither in safety through a hostile army. Oh, Roger,
how can I wait to thank thee!"

"Calm thyself, sweet Matilda," they heard him growl. "I'll have no
kissing of hands, and I cannot kiss thy lips in my present condition.
Gad! I have more brains on my clothes than in my head. Well, if naught
else will content thee, there!"

In the center of the room stood Nur Mahal, her normally lily-white face
with its peachlike bloom wholly devoid of color, and her wondrous eyes
gazing fixedly at the tall figure of the Emperor, who hesitated an
instant when Mowbray motioned him to enter first. Walter's pulse
galloped somewhat during that pause. He did not know then that while men
were dying in hundreds around the gate and elsewhere, the Franciscan had
won a wordy victory behind the locked doors. No sooner were the
Countess's senses restored than Fra Pietro engaged the Persian Princess
in a discourse which quickly revealed that here were well-matched
dialecticians. Pride, keen intellect, consciousness of physical charm
and mental power, were confronted by gentle insistence on the eternal
verities which govern mankind, irrespective of race or climate.

Neither palliating nor excusing Jahangir's excesses, the friar did not
hesitate to hold a mirror to the girl's own faults. If she had loved
the prince why did she profess to hate the king? If the death of her
husband so rankled in her memory that the Emperor, who was indirectly
responsible for it, was not to be forgiven, why had she gone back to
Agra, instead of pursuing her peaceful voyage to Burdwán? Ah, yes,
he appreciated her belief that other eventualities might happen, but
life was constituted of shattered hopes, and the one eternal, wholly
satisfying ideal was to so order one's actions that when called to final
account one could truly say: "This I did and thus I spoke because it
seemed to me best for the happiness and well-being of my
fellow-creatures."

To and fro flew the shuttlecock of their argument, until Nur Mahal,
astonished and not a little humiliated by the singular knowledge of her
inmost feelings displayed by this mild-eyed man of low estate, paced the
long room like a caged gazelle, and the Countess di Cabota, half
distracted by the distant sounds of murderous conflict, nevertheless
found time to wonder what Fra Pietro was saying which made the beautiful
Persian so angry.

The sound of Mowbray's voice, the sight of Jahangir in his company
unattended, drove the passion from her face. Her red lips were slightly
opened in mute inquiry, her fingers were entwined irresolutely, her
whole attitude, so heedless was she of the restraint that cloaks the
secret thought, indicated a passive desire to let chance carry her which
way it willed.

But the glory of her loveliness was never more manifest than in this
feminine mood, and Jahangir, a man of impulse, was drawn to her as steel
to a magnet.

"You and I," said he, slowly, "have much to forget, but you alone have a
great deal to forgive. Nevertheless, on a night when I have won my
kingdom I may well be pardoned if I hope to win my queen."

With that, he unfastened the samite over-cloak he wore, and took from
his neck a string of priceless pearls. Nur Mahal bent her proud head,
and the Emperor, with a laugh of almost boyish glee, adjusted the
shimmering ornament around her throat.

She said something in a low tone, and it was a long time before she
looked up again. When her eyes first encountered Mowbray's they were
bright with repressed tears.

Notwithstanding these tender passages, and some amusingly one-sided
episodes in the garden between Roger and the Countess, for the lady made
him kneel down whilst she washed his face, there was little time for
love-making. Jahangir, having joyously informed the nearest members of
his entourage that Nur Mahal was to be treated as the Empress which she
would be created next day in durbar, began to question Mowbray as to the
events of the night. Walter's task was rendered more simple by the
projected marriage of one whom he suspected to be the real instigator of
the whole affair. He must perforce twist the narrative to show the
prospective Sultana in the best light, and herein, as it happened, a
casual reference to Dom Geronimo was helpful.

"I mistrusted that man from the first," said Jahangir. "Why should he, a
European, conspire against his fellows? No beast of prey, unless it be
indeed hard pressed, eats its own kind. Howbeit, he will trouble the
world no longer."

"What means your Majesty? I was told he was active in his machinations
this very day."

"Yes," was the cool reply. "I made use of him until my patience
vanished. When you and Sainton-sahib proved him a liar, I sent orders
that a cow was to be slain instantly and the black robe sewn in the
skin."

"Sewn in the skin!" repeated Walter, incredulously.

"Yes. He will be dead by the fourth watch. Hussain Beg, a traitorous
villain from Lahore, whom I caused to be sealed in an ass's skin, took a
day and a night to die, but the hide of a cow dries more speedily."

Horrified by the fate which had overtaken the arch enemy of his race,
Mowbray told Fra Pietro what the Emperor had said. The Franciscan at
once appealed for mercy in the Jesuit's behalf.

"Forgive him," he pleaded, "as Christ forgave his enemies. You can save
him. Your request will be granted. God, who knoweth all hearts, can look
into his and turn its stone into the water of repentance."

It was not yet one o'clock when Walter and Roger, the latter glad of the
errand which freed him from Matilda's embarrassing attentions, rode with
a numerous guard to the fort, bearing Jahangir's reprieve for Dom
Geronimo.

There had been no delay in the execution of the sentence. They found the
unhappy priest already imprisoned in his terrible environment, and
almost insane with the knowledge that the stiffening hide was slowly but
surely squeezing him to death.

With Sher Afghán's dagger Mowbray cut the stitches of sheep-sinews, and,
after drinking some wine and water, the Jesuit fanatic became aware of
the identity of the man to whom he owed his life.

"'Tis surely time," said Walter, sternly, "that you and I discharged our
reckoning. I could have pardoned my father's death, foul murder though
it was, on the score of your youth and zeal. But it is unbearable that
you, who preach the gospel of Christianity, should pursue with rancor
the son of the man you killed with a coward's blow. Now, after the lapse
of twenty-four years, I have requited both his untimely loss and your
continued malice by saving your wretched life. What sayest thou,
Geronimo? Does the feud end?"

"On my soul, Walter!" cried Sainton, "I think he is minded to spring at
thee now."

But the glazed eyes of the unfortunate bigot were lifted to his rescuer
with the non-comprehending glare of stupor rather than unconquerable
hatred. He murmured some reference to the miraculous statue of San José,
to which, lying at the bottom of the bay of Biscay amidst the rotting
timbers of a ship bearing the saint's name, he evidently attributed his
escape. So they left him, with instructions as to his tendance, and rode
back to the Garden of Heart's Delight.

All fighting had ceased. Some few Samaritans were tending the wounded;
ghouls were robbing the dead; a mild rain, come after weeks of drought,
was refreshing the thirsty earth and washing away the signs of conflict.

"What kept thee so long on the road?" asked Walter, when Roger confessed
that the shower was the next most grateful thing to a flagon of wine he
did not fail to call for and empty at the palace.

"Gad! I was forced to wring Fateh Mohammed's stiff neck," was the
unexpected answer. "Having received Jahangir's orders, he held by them
as if they were verses of the Koran. The fat knave was backed by too
many arquebusiers to assault him by daylight, so I played fox, and rode
off in seeming temper. I and the six troopers hid in a nullah until
night fell. Then we spurred straight to Matilda's tent, but Fateh
Mohammed, to his own undoing, was grossly annoying her, in that very
hour, by professing his great admiration for her manifold attractions.
He was not worth a sword thrust, so what more was there to do than to
treat him as my mother treats a fowl which she wants for the spit?"

"What, indeed?" said Walter.




CHAPTER XIX

         "To shew our simple skill,
     That is the true beginning of our end."
                    _Midsummer Night's Dream,_ Act V, Sc. 1.


When they reached Dilkusha they yet had much to talk about. During their
absence Jahangir had departed with Nur Mahal, entering the palace by the
Water Gate, so the Englishmen did not encounter the royal cortège. Worn
out by fatigue, the Countess di Cabota was sound asleep, but Fra Pietro
awaited them, being anxious to learn the fate of his co-religionist. He
was devoutly thankful that Dom Geronimo was not dead, and his next
inquiry dealt with the adventures of Roger throughout the day. Then the
lively record of the fight at the gate must be imparted, and nothing
would suit the friar, late though the hour was, but he must go and see
the fallen elephant, which, guarded by a crowd of awe-stricken natives,
still cumbered the entrance to the cypress avenue.

He gazed long at the mighty brute, whose bulk, as it lay, topped a man's
height. Then said he to Sainton:--

"At what hour, friend, didst thou attack the camp of Fateh Mohammed?"

"It might be half-past eight of the clock."

"Ah! You forced your way in and out; you rode through hundreds of
King's men and rebels, who each in turn sought to bar your path; you
fought here so well that not even this monster could prevail against
you; nevertheless, our worthy Master Mowbray would scoff at the special
protection of St. James which I invoked for you in the very hour of your
first onset."

"Gad! Such a serious speech hath a deep meaning. Walter, what's to do
between you and our good friar? Hast thou been reviling an apostle?"

"Never, on my life," laughed Mowbray. "When my ears have lost the sounds
of strife, Fra Pietro, you shall lecture me most thoroughly on my
seeming lack of faith in that matter."

"By the cross of Osmotherly!" vowed Roger, "if St. James be so potent
I'll down on my marrow-bones the next time I'm 'bliged to carry Matilda
a mile. My soul! my left shoulder will ache for a week with the strain
of her exceeding shapeliness."

The Franciscan sighed. They were in no mood for a sermon. The load of
care lifted from their hearts by the witchery of the night left room for
aught save sober reflection. He must point the moral another day.

When fortune buffets a man for years she is apt, if caught in the right
vein, to shower her favors on him with prodigality. Jahangir, wholly
taken up in affairs of state and his wedding festivities, did not see
his English friends until nearly ten days later. Then he astounded
Walter with the information that King James of England had sent an
Embassy to India, that he, Jahangir, meant to march to Ajmere to meet
the Ambassador, and that he would esteem it a favor if Mowbray and
Sainton would come with him, the journey being a fair measure of the
road to Surat.

But this first surprise was sent spinning by the discovery that the
leader of the Embassy was Sir Thomas Roe.

"Does your Majesty know if the Ambassador hath brought his sister?"
asked Sainton, for Mowbray scarce knew how to account for the rush of
color which bronzed more deeply his well-tanned face.

"There is no mention of the lady in my despatches. What of her?"
inquired the Emperor.

"That is a tale for Mowbray-sahib to tell," said Roger with a wink, and,
indeed, the levity of his manner towards the monarch then, and on many
other occasions, greatly scandalized the punctilious court flunkeys.

Jahangir seemed to be greatly pleased by the fact that Walter regarded
Nellie Roe as his future wife. Being a devoted husband himself, he
naturally told Nur Mahal, and was astonished that she received the news
with indifference. Of course, Mistress Roe did not accompany her
brother, but she sent a very nicely worded acknowledgment of Walter's
letters, together with a small package, which, when opened, disclosed a
very beautiful miniature of herself by that same notable artist, Isaac
Olliver, who had painted Anna Cave.

One day, when Jahangir and the Embassy were met in durbar at Ajmere, the
conversation turned on this very art of painting on ivory, in which the
Delhi artists were highly skilled, and Sir Thomas Roe's "Journal"
contains an effective sketch of the assembly to which the pictures of
the two fair Englishwomen (Anna being then secretly married to Roe) were
brought for comparison with native products.

     "When I came in I found him sitting cross legged on a little
     throne, all cladd in diamondes, Pearles, and rubyes; before him
     a table of gould, on yt about 50 Peeces of gould plate sett all
     with stones, some very great and extreamly rich, some of lesse
     valew, but all of them almost couered with small stones; his
     Nobilitye about him in their best equipage, whom hee Commanded
     to drinck froliquely, seuerall wynes standing by in great
     flagons."

There was some good-humored dispute as to the ability of the Delhi
craftsmen to copy Master Olliver's work, and a bet was made, which both
Roe and Mowbray discreetly lost when the originals were returned with
the reproductions. Yet, the native artists had achieved a better result
than the Englishmen expected, whilst Jahangir was puzzled by his wife's
eagerness to see Nellie Roe's presentment, although she evinced no
curiosity concerning her when first he mentioned the projected marriage.

But the Emperor, still a wine-bibber it is clear, soon ceased to
question the why and the wherefore of Nur Mahal's actions. Each day of
his life he fell more and more under her influence. Soon he practically
made over the government of the state into her hands. At that time,
especially during Mowbray's continuance with the court, she exhibited a
restless activity which found no sedative save constant movement.
Devoted to sport, and showing much skill in using a gun which Sir
Thomas Roe gave her, she shot many tigers with her own hand, and tigers,
even at that distant date, were to be found only in secluded jungles.

A letter preserved in the Addlestone MS, from Sir Thomas Roe to Sir
Thomas Smythe, refers to the Empress's passion for roaming in remote
districts. "I am yet followeing this wandering King," he writes, "ouer
Mountaynes and through woodes, so strange and unused wayes that his owne
People, who almost know no other God, blaspheame his name and Hers that,
it is sayd, Conducts all his actions."

This same disturbing transition from place to place led to the
departure, much against her will, of the Countess di Cabota to Bombay.
Her ladyship found out, what was oft rumored in India, that the
Dowager-Empress, Mariam, mother of Jahangir, was really a Christian
woman of Portuguese birth. The Countess met her, and spoke to her in her
own language, and the incident incensed the Emperor, who feared that his
claim to be another Mahomet might be questioned by the imaums. Roe, a
politic negotiator, took advantage of the hardships and difficulties of
baggage-carrying involved by the daily breaking up of the camp, to
despatch the Countess to the nearest Portuguese port.

She took leave of Roger with copious tears, and wrote him long letters
he could not read, so that Walter was obliged to order his face as he
made known her loving messages, and heard Roger swearing under his
breath the while. Soon she sailed for Lisbon, and the big man, thinking
he would never see her again, did not know whether to be glad or sorry.

Mowbray naturally rendered the greatest service to the English mission.
The whole country was thrown open to British trade, special sites were
granted for factories, and, indeed, Roe's embassy undoubtedly planted in
India the seeds which have borne such million-fold yield. But Walter, to
his great relief, found that Nur Mahal avoided him. He seldom exchanged
a word with her, and then only by way of formal politeness. She moved
like a star, bright and remote. The sole instances of personal favor
which she showed him consisted, in the first place, of the redemption of
the box of diamonds for money, and, secondly, in urging him and Roger to
invest two thirds of their capital in indigo, which, shipped to London,
was worth five times what they paid for it in India.

During an uneventful voyage home, Roger often spoke of his Matilda, and
wondered how she fared. He was sorry a gale blew them past Lisbon,
though it hurried them to the Downs, but his regret merged with other
sentiments when he learned, by advices awaiting Walter from his mother,
that the Countess di Cabota was arrived in Wensleydale, where she had
won much popularity, and was a special favorite of old Mistress
Sainton's.

"Ecod!" roared Roger, when the full effect of this amazing intelligence
penetrated his big head, "that ends it. I am undone! Between them
they'll lead me to the kirk wi' a halter, for my owd mother ever had an
eye for t' brass, and Matilda will have filled her lug wi' sike a tale
that I'll be tethered for life."

His prediction was verified. The Countess married him a week after he
reached Yorkshire. But the only halter she used was the chain of
turquoises and gold which he himself gave her. Never did man have more
loving wife. Her chief joy was to find some wondering listener while she
poured forth the thrilling recital of her husband's prowess, and her
only anxiety was lest his fighting instincts should prove too powerful
to keep him at home during the troubled years of the next reign.

But her wealth, joined to his own very considerable store, made him a
rich man and a landed proprietor. Several little Saintons, too, promised
to be nearly as big as their father, or as pretty as their mother, so
Roger stopped at Leyburn to look after them, siding with neither King
nor Parliament, but making it widely known that he was yet able to break
heads if anyone interfered with him or his.

Of the wooing of Nellie Roe by her constant lover much might be written
of vastly greater interest than many things herein recorded. Yet, such a
history is neither new nor old, being of the order which shall endure as
long as man seeks his mate. So they were wed, in the Church of St.
Giles, at Cripplegate, and, by one of those pleasant actions which
redeem his memory, King James was graciously pleased to forget the
contumacy of his long-lost subjects. On Roe's showing that Mowbray had
done such good work for England that he well deserved the royal favor,
the King bade the newly-married couple invite him to the wedding, to
which he came in great state. He asked for the Ambassador's sword,
averted his eyes, nearly clipped Walter's ear with the blade in
delivering the accolade, and duly dubbed him a knight. Here, also, the
English Solomon met Sainton. Though his majesty was far too sagacious,
in his own estimation, to credit half he was told of the giant's
performances at home and in the domains of the Great Mogul, he
nevertheless asked Roger what he considered to be his most remarkable
achievement.

"Gad!" was the grinning answer, "though I have lopped heads by the
score, and fought wi' strange beasts of monstrous size and fury, I think
the most wonderful thing I ever did was to get off scot free when your
Majesty was ill disposed towards me."

James rubbed his nose dubiously. He took thought, and found that the
retort pleased him. So Roger, too, was ordered to kneel, and arose, very
red and confused, "Sir Roger Sainton, of Cabota Hall, in the County of
York."

A great deal of water had flowed under London Bridge, and under the
bridge that spanned the Jumna at Agra as well, when Sir Roger rode up
the Vale of Ure one day to dine and sup with his friend Sir Walter. With
him, in a carriage, came Matilda, Lady Sainton, and the special purport
of the visit was to hear news lately received from India.

Fra Pietro had written, as was his yearly custom, giving them the
annals of life in far-off Agra. The Franciscan would not abandon his
people, and he remained with those who elected to settle in the capital
rather than return to Hughli. There, owing to the patronage of Jahangir
and Nur Mahal, he established a thriving colony. In course of time, by
teaching his flock to eschew politics and stick to trade, he made the
Franciscans a greater power than the Jesuits.

Divested of the quaint phraseology and varied spelling then in vogue,
some portion of his epistle is worthy of record.

     "Each year it becomes more established," he said, "that the
     Empress rules in Jahangir's name. Truly she is a good and wise
     woman. She hath effected a beneficial change in his cruel
     disposition, and put a stop to his savage outbursts of temper.
     Not only does he drink less wine in the daytime, but he is
     ashamed to be seen by her if his evening potations are too
     indulgent. She still retains her habit of going unveiled among
     all classes, and, indeed, it would be a wise reform were other
     women of the country to do likewise, for the Creator never
     intended one half the human race to remain invisible to the
     other half. Herein, however, she has failed, though it is said,
     as a quip, that were her own features less noteworthy she would
     not be so free in their exhibition.

     "Nevertheless, she is the most accomplished woman of her age
     and clime. She rules this land with moderation and firmness,
     encourages education and good living, and gives freedom to all
     men to worship God as seemeth best to them. I am reminded, by
     these last words, that one who sought unfairly to impose his
     will upon others, Dom Geronimo to wit, died recently in the
     Convent here. He had been partly demented for years, but you
     will be glad to learn that his final hours were peaceful. His
     soul was restored to consciousness when the weak body failed,
     and he departed this life sincerely regretting the excesses to
     which he was led by unmeasured zeal. Perhaps I err in judging
     him thus harshly. 'Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth
     take heed lest he fall.' I Cor. x. 12.

     "The Emperor kept his word touching the record of my good
     Roger's mighty deed in slaying the elephant. Within the Ummer
     Singh Gate of the Palace he hath erected another gateway called
     the Hathiya Darwaza, or 'Door of the Elephants.' It stands on
     the summit of a steep slope, and bears on its two flanking
     towers life-size models of two elephants, one of which has a
     man's head. Fra Angelico, of the Blessed Order of St. Francis,
     newly come here from Barcelona, has a gift in painting, and, at
     my wish, he has made two oil drawings, which I send herewith,
     one of which shows the noble design of the structure.

     "The other will be equally foreign to your eyes. You will
     scarce credit that the splendid marble edifice drawn by my
     worthy brother in Christ is the tomb of Itimad-ud-Daula, father
     of the Empress, and erected by her on the site of the house in
     the Garden of Heart's Delight. Jahangir wished the place kept
     as an evening retreat for the days of spring flowers, but Nur
     Mahal would hear of no other end than the monument. So there
     stands the mausoleum, a noble building truly, yet a grave. Who
     knows what unfulfilled desires lie buried with the unheeding
     bones of the old Diwán! I sometimes think the Empress, who,
     with all her wisdom, remains a wayward woman, was not wholly
     swayed by filial piety when she moved the remains of her
     excellent father to that lovely garden. Once, by chance, I met
     her there. She spoke to me, and I gave her such meager
     intelligence of my English friends as I possessed. She was
     pleased to hear that Roger and you were honored by the King.
     She sends her greetings. Jai Singh leader of the body-guard,
     also places his turban at your feet.

     "And, in this connection, I am reminded of that verse in the
     XXVth Chapter of Proverbs: 'As cold waters to a thirsty soul,
     so is good news from a far country.' Write to me, therefore, my
     good Walter. May it please the Lord that these presents shall
     find you and yours in good health and abounding in happiness!
     They tell me I am growing gray, and thinner than ever, so
     assure me, I pray you, that Sir Roger is adding width to his
     inches and thus adjusting that proper balance between the
     extremes by which nature at times leaves the common level.

     "It will be of interest to his lady, best known to me as the
     Countess di Cabota, to learn that recently, while on a journey
     to the Nasirabad mission, I turned aside and visited the
     deserted city of Fatehpur-Sikri, built, as you know, by Akbar.
     In Queen Mariam's house I found wall-paintings representing the
     Annunciation, and other scenes in the history of Our Lord and
     His Blessed Mother, thus proving that the unhappy woman, long
     since dead, was an apostate. May she have found grace and
     repentance even at the foot of the throne. It would be a great
     delight to me if I could win Nur Mahal to the faith. She and
     Jahangir are ready enough to reason the matter, but they remain
     obdurate. I trust yet to prevail."

The Franciscan then branched off into such trading information as he
thought might be useful to them or their friends in the city of London,
and concluded by expressing the hope that, if ever he returned to
Europe, they might all meet; though, said he, "I expect little more than
that my own bones shall rest in the small graveyard we have established
at no great distance from Dilkusha."

Nellie, who had heard the letter when it reached her husband, listened
to it again while he read it to Roger and Lady Sainton.

"What an influence Nur Mahal seems to exert on all who meet her!" she
said, thoughtfully, when Walter laid down the last closely written
sheet.

"Aye, a witch, and a bonny one at that!" muttered Roger.

"Was she really so beautiful?" asked Nellie, and Walter felt that her
eyes were on him though her question was addressed generally.

"She was so beautiful," he said, caressing her fair head with a loving
hand, "that once, when I wished to be complimentary, I told here there
was only one prettier woman in the world, to my thinking, and her name
was Nellie Roe."

"Gad! Was that what you said to her in the field of chick-peas?" cried
Roger.

"Some words to that effect."

"But no woman would take that as a compliment," said Nellie, dubiously.

"I could fashion no better at the time," he answered, and he picked up
Fra Angelico's sketch of the Garden of Heart's Delight. The cypresses
were there, and the smooth lawns, with the white marble pavilion shining
from the green depths, whilst the artist-friar had cunningly depicted a
gold mohur tree, in all the glory of its summer foliage, to cover one
corner of a tower where the sheer lines were too harsh.

Roger rose ponderously, having lost that ease of movement which was wont
to be so deceptive when an enemy deemed him slow because of his size. He
looked over Walter's shoulder.

"'Tis a gaudy picture," he growled, "but 'tis not the place I dream of
at times when a pasty is too rich or the beer a trifle heavy."

"I oft wish I had seen the garden as you knew it, Walter," said his
wife.

"May the Lord be thanked your wish was not granted!" he said, drawing
her nearer and kissing her with a heartiness that was unaffected. "'Twas
no fit habitation for you, Nellie, or for any Christian woman. Ask my
Lady Sainton. She knew it, only too well. The Empress is right. It was
best fitted to hold a tomb."

And, indeed, while the men went forth into an English rose-garden, to
indulge in the new fashionable habit of smoking tobacco-leaf, Matilda
assured her young friend, for the hundredth time, that, notwithstanding
the undoubted charms and barbaric elegance of the Persian princess,
Walter Mowbray treated her very cavalierly. So, for the hundredth time,
Nellie drove the wrinkles of thought from her brow, smiled delightedly
when Matilda vowed that the man's face on the stone elephant was not a
quarter as handsome as Roger himself, and thus effectually banished the
dim but lovely and ever fascinating wraith of Nur Mahal.




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Transcriber's note:

Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise,
every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and
intent.