The Great Mogul Part 37

"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 p.r.o.nunciation 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 pa.s.swords, 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 encompa.s.sed 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 Rajputana, yet such fidelity is worthy of reward. It shall not be long delayed."

The coa.r.s.e 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 n.o.bles.

"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 p.a.w.n 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 Peac.o.c.k 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 detour, 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 ident.i.ty, 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 c.u.mbersome _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 Peac.o.c.k 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 cus.h.i.+ons 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 circ.u.mstances, have brought a laugh to Walter's lips.

The friar, wis.h.i.+ng 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 s.p.a.cious 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 e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns. 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, coa.r.s.e brown robe and hood, white cords and rough sandals of St.

Francis d'a.s.sisi, 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 a.s.sistance 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.

"Hus.h.!.+ 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."