The Path to Honour Part 5

Somwar Mal hung his head. "Alas, sahib! your honour bade me tell him the truth."

"You are right, Muns.h.i.+-ji. Truth is great, and shall prevail. And which of my hidden faults have you discovered to the eyes of the world?"

"Sahib, your honour's credit is safe in the hands of your slave. He bade the youth name one after the other such things as have brought to ruin many wise men, and then a.s.sured him that not one of all these had ever touched your honour. But of that one thing which he has observed----"

"This becomes interesting," said Gerrard. "Speak."

"Nay, sahib, it is for this slave to lay the hand of respect upon the mouth of discretion."

"Not when the mouth of command issues an order. Say on."

"If it is an order, sahib----?" An inexorable nod answered him, and he went on. "Sahib, it has sometimes seemed to the humblest of your servants, who asks forgiveness for presuming to raise his eyes above your feet, that your honour was more occupied in seeking the right way to do a thing than in doing at once what required doing."

"Lack of decision? I see, and you told the youth this?"

Grieved surprise was in Somwar Mal's tone. "I, sahib? I told him that the besetting sin of the Protector of the Poor was a hasty judgment in sometimes acting without thought!"

"Oh, go away, you old humbug!" shouted Gerrard violently, and Somwar Mal retired proudly smiling, while his employer laughed undisturbed.

"Whether it is due to Soomwar Mull's original notions of truth, or to old Pertaub Sing's own favourable impressions, it seems to be certain that I have _made a conquest_!" he wrote to Charteris the next evening.

"I have given up attempting to unravel the Rajah's motives in visiting me incog., and will only hint that if I were told the whole thing was _got up_ with a view to burking the momentous question who should pay the first call I should not be surprised. Do you _twig_? Pertaub Sing has visited my camp, which is one to me; but the visit was not official, and that's one to him. In any case, I thought I should be carrying out Antony's wishes if I paid an official visit to-day, which I did, and was entertained regardless of expense, garlands, ottar, _paun_ and all. The old boy is a _regular brick_, for--now grow green with envy--he has invited me to go a-hunting with him to-morrow.

Hawking, he said--by the way, what would not a certain lady give to be a spectator of that most chivalrous of sports?--but oh, my beloved Bob, there's a _jheel_ which I strongly suspect to be the intended scene of our exploits, and if there ain't pig there, call me a Dutchman.

Conceive my feelings. If we sight pig, will it be my duty to turn delicately away, with a pained expression of countenance, or would it be better style to affect to have seen nothing whatever? Or will there, will there be spears in reserve, and the chance of some glorious fun? After all, my boy, envy me not till you hear how the day ends."

The day began uneventfully enough, though the spectacle of the Rajah's hunt delighted Gerrard's eyes. The old ruler himself and his councillors and Komadans seemed to have donned their brightest garb for the occasion, and the little prince, now known by his proper name of Kharrak Singh, was resplendent in emerald-green velvet, with a blue and silver turban and a broad folded girdle of stiff gold tissue, in which was stuck a huge dagger, large enough for a sword for him. He rode a white pony with a pink nose and a long tail, and on either side of him was an ancient armed retainer, charged to keep him out of any possible danger. The hawking was pretty to watch, but not particularly exciting, and Gerrard found it much more interesting when the innumerable dogs of indescribable breed which accompanied the party started something larger than birds in the brushwood surrounding the swamp. Partab Singh looked at his guest, and read the expression of his face aright. With a smile the old Rajah called up a man who carried a number of spears, and bade Gerrard take his choice. The beaters were wildly excited, declaring that the dogs had roused an old and very cunning boar which had long baffled the hunters of the neighbourhood, and after a brief council of war it was decided that the Rajah should take his stand at one side of the _jhil_ and Gerrard at the other, the beaters keeping watch to prevent the quarry's breaking out across the open ground at the back, and the court officials going to the end of the swamp in case he should take to the water.

Rather to his annoyance, Gerrard found that the little prince, instead of accompanying his father, preferred to remain with him, in dangerous proximity to the track through the underwood along which the boar would probably come. Horribly afraid that the quarry would break out in his absence, he seized the white pony's bridle, and in spite of Kharrak Singh's vehement opposition, led him back to his guardians and bade him stay with them. As he cantered back to his post, the child's shrill voice made him look round, and he saw him striking furiously with his sheathed dagger at the hands of the two servants, who held the pony on either side. Satisfied that the boy was in safety, Gerrard waited, spear in hand, watching the movements of the bushes, which showed that some heavy body was making its way through them. From the yapping and yelping of the dogs at a discreet distance behind, he felt certain that this was the boar, and listened eagerly for the crackling of the brushwood as it came towards him. Then it burst into the open--the finest tusker he had ever seen--and made for him as fiercely as he rode at it. But to his utter astonishment, just as it met the iron it swerved violently--so that the spear merely inflicted a long gash from shoulder to flank--and charged on at something behind him.

Nearly thrown from the saddle by the absence of the expected resistance, Gerrard recovered himself and wrenched his horse round, to behold a sight which made his heart stand still. A white pony, with streaming mane and tail, was in full flight, and on the ground lay a vivid green and gold bundle, with two small feet kicking in the air.

Kharrak Singh had evidently been thrown sideways from the saddle as the pony turned tail, and the boar's rush had carried it beyond him, but it had already transferred its attention from the terrified horse to the nearer foe. The two retainers, uttering cries of horror as they rode towards the fray, were hopelessly distant, and there was no one else at hand. Two things a.s.sociated themselves in Gerrard's mind, without any volition on his part--the blood-stained spear in his hand and Kharrak Singh's broad golden belt, and some vague a.s.sociation with Somwar Mal was present as well. He and the boar charged simultaneously for the prostrate child, but before the cruel tusks could reach him, the spear had pa.s.sed under the stiff golden folds and swung Kharrak Singh ignominiously into the air and across Gerrard's saddle. The astonished horse, accustomed to pig-sticking, but not to having the prey placed on his back, took the bit between his teeth and dashed furiously away, with the boar in full pursuit--so Gerrard gathered from the chorus of yells and shrieks that arose. One hand was fully occupied with the reins, the other with holding the child, and it was impossible to disengage his spear while going at this pace, though the handle collided with half the trees they pa.s.sed, and threatened to jerk Kharrak Singh from his grasp.

"Hold fast, little brother!" he called out.

"Not your little brother!" The words reached him faintly, and he smiled, for at least the child was not much hurt. Venturing to glance round to see whether the boar was continuing the chase, he found that it had given up, but to his astonishment all the hunt, mounted and on foot, were pursuing him with wild cries. "Maro! maro!" [1] they yelled, and two of the Komadans, who were drawing ahead of the others, had one of them a spear in rest, and the other his sword drawn. Like a flash of lightning it broke upon Gerrard that to a distant observer his action must have had all the appearance of a peculiarly cold-blooded murder, and that before he could explain to these avengers that his spear had merely lifted the child by his girdle, they would have cut him down from behind. To check his horse was impossible, for the sounds of pursuit stimulated it continually to fresh efforts, and he had no means of defending himself while he explained matters, since his spear was still entangled in Kharrak Singh's golden waistbelt.

A second time the pleasing sense of proving Somwar Mat a false prophet came over Gerrard as he jerked his horse violently to the right, where an irrigation channel, leading from the swamp, crossed his course. The pursuers evidently thought it would prove an insurmountable barrier, for he could hear by their shouts that the two foremost were separating so as to ride against him from either side, when he would be caught between them and the main body behind. But his horse was a noted jumper, and that fact saved him. He felt it rise to the leap, and though the channel was too broad, and it fell on its knees on the slope of crumbling earth at the farther side, he contrived to twitch himself and Kharrak Singh out of the saddle in time to prevent its slipping back into the muddy water. Once on his feet, he was able to disengage the spear without difficulty, and as the horse also struggled up he caught it and set Kharrak Singh in the saddle, then turned to confront his astonished pursuers. They had halted in sheer amazement, and were gazing at him with various expressions of stupefaction, old Partab Singh himself, the spear in his iron hand shaking like a leaf; at their head. Kharrak Singh hailed their astonishment as a tribute to himself, for some reason or other, and clapped his hands and cried "Shabas.h.!.+"

until he was tired.

"Is the child unhurt?" the foremost Komadan ventured at last to ask, rather unnecessarily.

"Fool! who should have hurt me?" cried Kharrak Singh.

"The Feringhee," answered every one together.

"Surely ye are all mad, O people. I would have killed him with my dagger!" and the boy clapped his hand to his girdle, only to discover that the precious dagger had dropped by the way. Turning immediately upon Gerrard, he began to beat him with his fists. "Where is my dagger, O fair man? Hast thou stolen it? Give it back!"

"_Choop!_" said Gerrard unceremoniously, for Partab Singh had ridden to the edge of the bank opposite.

"O my friend, was this well done--to endanger your own life and the child's, and cause all my people to believe you a murderer, for the sake of a moment's jest?" asked the old man.

"Maharaj-ji, there was no jest. The child lay on the ground, in the path of the charging boar, and I could save him in no other way----"

"He caught me up on his spear, as a kite s.n.a.t.c.hes up a kitten!" cried Kharrak Singh proudly. "I felt the breath of the unclean beast on my leg!"

Partab Singh turned to his guards. "Bring hither the heads of the liars who spake evil of my friend Jirad Sahib, and lay them before him." Then to Gerrard, "My face is black, O my friend. When justice has been done, I shall be less abashed, and able to speak to you."

"I entreat your Highness to pardon the men. Their eyes deceived them, and they thought they spoke the truth. If I am indeed your friend----"

"They shall live. Their eyes alone shall pay the forfeit, for I have no use for eyes that deceive their owners."

"Nay, let them go free. I ask nothing else of your Highness."

"This is in very deed my friend's will?"

"In very deed."

"I had sooner you had asked for half my treasury, but the wretches shall go free," grumbled Partab Singh, and two very badly frightened men were ignominiously sped with kicks and cuffs to the rear. The nearest cultivators were then summoned, and forced to break down the ca.n.a.l-banks, and make a temporary causeway for Gerrard to cross, in the midst of which the Rajah met him and embraced him, and insisted that he should forthwith mount his own splendid horse, with its gold-encrusted trappings, and saddle-cloth flas.h.i.+ng with gems. Thus they rode back, the Rajah on a humble pony, with Gerrard on the great horse on his right, and Kharrak Singh, extremely discontented with Gerrard's plain saddle, relegated to his left. In the course of the ride, Gerrard learned that he was immediately to visit the Rajah at the city of Agpur, that the inestimable service he had rendered the state might be properly acknowledged and proclaimed, and that if he desired the life or property of any man in the province, he had only to ask for it.

Colonel Antony's amba.s.sador could have desired no better proof of the complete success of his mission.

The evening was spent in Partab Singh's camp, where all his officers and officials came by command to pay their respects to Gerrard and congratulate him upon his exploit. It seemed absurd, as he rode back to his own camp at night, to realise by what a chain of accidents he had been led to his present position of favour, and he reflected sagely that accidents might as easily dethrone him, so that it would be well to report the state of affairs at once, in case Colonel Antony should wish to take immediate advantage of it. He had got rid of his full-dress uniform and the garlands with which he had been decorated, and was writing busily by the light of a smoky lantern, when the Granthi commander of his escort came to say that they had caught a man trying to make his way unperceived into the camp, who said that he was a Sirdar who had urgent business with the Sahib.

"Tell him to come in the morning," said Gerrard.

"He comes from one of the states newly included in the Company's territory, sahib, and has a pet.i.tion to present. Moreover he dares not come by day, for fear of the Rajah here."

"A British subject? I suppose I must see him, though why he should be skulking in Agpur territory---- Bring him in, Badan Hazari."

A tall man much m.u.f.fled in a large cloak was ushered in, and at Gerrard's invitation, sat down on the floor. When Badan Hazari was gone, he lowered the cloak a little, and looked at Gerrard as though he expected recognition, but there was none.

"I place my life in your hands, sahib. I am Sher Singh."

"There are many of that name," said Gerrard, puzzled.

"Not many who are also princes of Agpur."

"You are a relation of the Rajah's, then?"

"Merely his eldest son, sahib." The man glanced round fearfully as he spoke, as though listeners were to be dreaded.

"What! the son who was sentenced----?"

"The discernment of the Sahib is wonderful. Yes, these are the eyes that were to be presented on a golden plate for my father to gloat over."

"But why are you here? You must know that your life-----"

"Is in danger? True, but I seek for justice from the Protector of the Poor."