King Errant Part 8

Clear Crystal Bowl! Thy touch, icy cold, Chills lovers lips that lay overbold Hot clinging kisses on thy bright brim, Crystal Bowl!

What wilt thou bring to him, Love or Despair?

Clear Crystal Bowl! I laugh like thy wine!

Bring me Life's whole! all things must be mine!

Is not the wide world mirrored in thee Crystal Bowl?

I bid thee bring to me Joy, Grief, Life, Death--"

The voice ceased and there was silence for a little while.

But in all the long after-years the memory of those tinkling notes, that thin voice claiming the whole of life, remained with Zahir-ud-din Mahomed.

"Well! G.o.d's peace go with thee," said Poverty-prince brightly at the last; "methinks thy boyhood is about past, and sterner stuff hath to come. But keep the gift of death and if thou lose it--at least remember my poor verses. And, coz--" here the wizened face almost dimpled with laughter, "if thou comest across the frightened maid--I give no names, they are an enc.u.mbrance, remember to make her not frightened of my twin! Farewell."

It was a stirring night. The river had to be crossed silently in the very face of Khosrau Shah's pickets (for he was holding the north bank for his nominee the nincomp.o.o.p) and a stealthy way made skirting the enemy's camp, ere they could reach the hills beyond. Some of the party felt inclined to put Andijan tactics in force, make a rush through the out-posts, give and take a few sabre cuts, and so make off; but Babar, even though old Kasim hesitated, had learnt something besides accomplishments in his uncle's camp; he had learnt that time was long, and that it was well to choose your own. So he rode canny.

It was dawn ere they reached the last vantage ground whence they could see the camp they had left. It lay curiously calm and peaceful. Kasim, more than half-asleep on his horse now there was no chance of a fine fight, yawned, and stretched his arms wide.

"No more of that for me," he said l.u.s.tily. "I am for cut and thrust and a good bellyful of plain food."

"But I am for all things," laughed Babar. He was trying to pick out his cousin's tent, and as he spoke he put his hand into the bosom of his coat to feel for the Crystal Bowl.

He could not find it!

Had it dropped out or what...?

"I must go back," he said, half to himself--"I must, I must!"

"Go back? Wherefore?" asked old Kasim. "What is it, sire--to go back is Death; the enemy is awake by now."

The boy-King looked at him keenly. "Aye!" he said shortly, "and to go on is Life. I must remember, as he said. Forward! gentlemen!"

CHAPTER V

The day of delight has come and the wind brings scent Of musk and rose and lilies and peppermint.

Oh! day of delight pa.s.s slow!

G.o.d's flowers must blow.

The day of despair has come and the wind brings dust To bury the flowers; the song of the birds is hushed.

Oh, day of despair pa.s.s swift!

Let G.o.d's clouds lift.

The days of despair and delight have come; Ah, me! I care not away from my home.

The days of G.o.d pa.s.s swift and slow.

Allah-i-hu--allah-i-ho!

_Ashraf the Exiled_.

Old Isan-daulet, who had been Queen-regent to all intents and purposes during Babar's absence, welcomed him back to Andijan somewhat charily.

She had sent for him in a hurry when news came that the Turkhans of Samarkand had revolted against Baisanghar, captured that prince by stratagem, and put Mirza Ali his younger brother on the throne.

But now the tables were turned. Baisanghar, whom all knew to be wily as a fox, had not only managed to escape, but having somehow gained the sympathy of the townspeople, they had risen tumultuously against the Court-folk and the Turkhans, had besieged the citadel which had not been able to hold out for a single day, and had replaced Baisanghar--why only G.o.d knew!

"'Twill be because of his love odes, grandmother," said Babar gravely; "there is not a house in Samarkand where a copy of them is not to be found."

Isan-daulet sniffed captiously. "I would he would keep his love-songs to himself. There is Dearest-One sick as a magpie still with the shock of his death, and he is not dead, the good-for-nothing."

Babar's lip set. "He is dead to her anyhow," he said, "so no more dreams of that, grandmother. I forbid it, and so I will tell her."

"Hoighty-toighty!" sniffed the old lady; but in her heart of hearts she was glad.

"Look you!" she said to her daughter afterwards, "he spoke for all the world like his grandfather when things went wrong. Lo! he is boy no longer. We must treat him as a man, with wiles."

Such, however, was not Dearest-One's treatment of her brother; nor was his of her, what might have been expected from his peremptory tone to his grandmother. How could it be, when he found her pale and dispirited, despite her joy at seeing him? He beat about the bush uncomfortably for quite a long time, until with characteristic clarity he blurted out: "And, sister, thou must think no more of Baisanghar--he is a worthless scoundrel--"

The girl, ill as she was, looked as if she could have stabbed him with her eyes.

"That he is not," she said proudly; "thou art like the rest of them,--even the Kwaja--yea! I have talked with him concerning it and he knows, mayhap, more than thou dost--who confound the sinner with the sin. But look you, Zahir-ud-din Mahomed, were there no man on earth but Mirza Baisanghar I would not have him; and yet I love him dearly, dearly." She sank back on her bed, hid her face in the quilt, and sobbed.

Babar stood aghast, yet feeling as if he could cry too.

"I wish thou had'st known Cousin Gharib," he said suddenly, causelessly. "He would have understood. I cannot--not yet."

Then he turned and left her. What was the use of trying to comfort anyone when you did not know the cause of their sorrow? And Joy and Grief, Life and Death had to come if one were to live.

Then life was so full just at the present. The very story of Baisanghar's escape was enough to make one's heart beat. Under sentence of death, and such a death! To be taken with pomp and ceremony to the foot of the throne in the Gokserai--the Green-palace--that wonderful palace, four stories high, built by the Great Timur in the citadel, where every kingly descendant of his must be enthroned, where every kingly descendant of his must die--and there to be strangled! With _that_ before him, to have the nerve in a few minutes to unbrick a closed door, run to the bastion, fling himself over the parapet wall, and so find shelter in Kwaja Kwarka's house--the holiest man in the city! A thousand pities, indeed, that Baisanghar had sunk so low. Aye! Dearest-One was right. One could condemn the sin, and yet do justice to the sinner. Yet there was a lack of kingliness too that was inexcusable. To allow his brother Ali to escape also was perhaps to err on the side of mercy, but to submit to be beaten by him in battle immediately afterwards was distinctly unnecessary!

It complicated matters, too, most dreadfully. For here was Baisanghar, acclaimed by the people, more or less imprisoned in the City of Samarkand, and Ali-Mirza, nominated by the Court, beleaguering him from the Bokhara side, while Khosrau Shah, relieved from the necessity of defending Hissar for his nincomp.o.o.p by the withdrawal of Sultan Hussain back to Khorasan, was hastening all he knew to put in his oar for _his_ nominee from the Hissar side!

This being so, and neither of the three claimants having a shadow of right beside his, Babar's, there was nothing for it, but to be on the spot at once.

So kettledrums were beat and pennons unfurled, while Nevian-Gokultash saw to his young master's coat of mail, and the latter pored over the memoirs of his great ancestor Timur to see what wrinkles he could pick up in regard to the disposition of troops in a real fine fight; for, being a born general, he was dissatisfied with what he had seen, even with Uncle Hussain's smart soldiers.

Only Dearest-One took no interest in the military preparations; she embroidered no flag with crinkled gold. She sat on the roof and watched the young King ride out in all his bravery and then she prayed G.o.d for his safety, and also for the safety of that other one, who deserved none.

And, for a time, both her prayers were answered. The summer pa.s.sed on to winter and still Samarkand, the protected city that has never really fallen, sat gaily secure in its wide suburbs and vast network of fortified gardens. Scarcity, indeed, pressed harder outside the walls than within. Then the nincomp.o.o.p whose only object apparently in advancing on Samarkand had been to pursue his mistress, the daughter of a high Court official, succeeded in marrying her, and so retreated.

Thus Babar found himself confronting Baisanghar supported by the populace, and Ali by the Court. They waited and looked at each other for some time; and then one morning, after preliminaries, Babar moved his army some twelve miles down the right bank of the river Kohik, and Ali-Mirza moved his down the left. So, with their armies behind them (though it would seem, somewhat helpless either for support or protection) the two young Princes each with five followers rode from their own side to the middle of the stream and with the chill water just touching their horses' bellies, agreed that if the summer came again they would harry Samarkand together.

After which solemn ceremonial Ali returned to his side of the river, and Babar to his; whence he set off to Ferghana.

It was not a very distinguished campaign but it was his first. Perhaps it was as well it was uneventful for he was busy working his small army into something like discipline. Therein, he saw clearly, boy as he was, lay success; without it, there was nothing but one long succession of isolated raids, incoherent, useless, leaving the people ready, as they had been in the beginning, for a new, and yet another new conqueror.

It was something, therefore, when in the next spring, he found himself able to restrain his troops and to punish severely many straggling Moghuls who had been guilty of great excesses in the different villages through which they had pa.s.sed. It was an unheard-of idea, but it had a marked effect; for shortly afterwards when his camp was close to a place called Yam, a number of persons, both traders and others, came in from the town to buy and sell, and somehow, about afternoon prayer-time a general hubbub arose during which every shop and every stranger was plundered. Yet an order that no person should presume to detain any part of the effects or property thus seized, but that the whole should be restored without reserve before the first watch of the next day was over, resulted in not one bit of thread or a broken needle being kept by the army!