A Prince of Dreamers Part 3

The pliant forefinger's whirling gave out a continuous boom like distant thunder amongst hills. Deena's drum throbbed a _reveille_, the _rebeck_ thrilled like a cicala--

TO k.u.maN

And he dreamt he was King In the wide, wide, world----

"Enough!" The word came swiftly as Akbar turned with a frown. "The end, woman? The end?"

There was a pause; then from the very dust of his feet rose her reply:

"There is none to the dreaming of kings!"

"There is none--to the dreaming--of kings," he echoed slowly, and his eyes scanned her face curiously as he raised her from the ground. "Who art thou, woman?" he asked suddenly; then as suddenly dropped the hands he held, and said coldly: "Give her gold for her song." But once more a fresh feeling came to make him add: "Nay! not gold--let her choose her own reward--what wouldst thou, sister?"

His face, grown soft as a woman's, looked sympathetically into hers; she stood before him abashed by the quick tie that seemed to have sprung up between them, unable to realise the chance that was hers.

"Quick step!" cried Man Singh brutally. "See you not the Most-Gracious waits? What shall it be? Gold, fal-lals, dresses--the things for which women sell their souls?"

She turned on him like a queen.

"The women who nurture such heroes as Rajah Man Singh mayhap so sell them; but I----" here her recognition of opportunity swept trivialities before it, she drew herself up to her full height and faced both King and court, her voice ringing like a clarion.

"I claim my father's office!" she cried. "Listen, O King-of-Kings! He gave you faithful service when you came to take the crown of India.

What to him was Hindu or Mahommedan? He was the King's herald! Akbar was the King! His eldest son--my brother--died to save the honour of the Rajput chief he served before you came! And little Heera--son of his old age, begot _for you_, died ere his baby tongue had ceased to trip in challenging the world--_for you!_ Lo! I have kissed the words to steadiness upon his childish lips when father grew impatient! Why was I not the son? Hid in this dustlike body lies the spirit of my race. Is it my fault that in the dark months of my mother's womb, Fate made me woman, as she made you man? Give me my father's office, O my King, and if my tongue forgets one word of all my father's lore, or if I fail in guarding the King's honour, treat me as woman then--but not till then."

The dying fall of her words left the court amazed, almost affronted.

Here was a claim indeed! A claim foreign to the whole conservative fabric of Eastern society--which heaven knows had already suffered shock enough at the King's reforming hands!

But Akbar took no heed of the looks around him; he was deep in that problem of s.e.x which was one of the many to claim his quick interest at all times.

"The spirit of thy race is in thee, sure enough, O sister," he said slowly. "Manhood is in the woman, as womanhood is in the man--do I not know the latter to my cost? So take thy gift. Thou art the King's Charan from this day. But hearken! If thou failest in thy task, I treat thee not as woman--but as man."

He turned away, dismissing her with an autocratic wave from sight, even from thought. "Ushers!" he went on, raising his voice in command, "Sound the advance! I go. And my Lord Chamberlain, bid the travelling Englishmen attend me in the Diwani-Khas. Abul! your arm; I would speak with you about this queen--this woman who has stretched her hand out over the seas to meet mine." He gave a quick joyous laugh and stretched out his own--the true Eastern hand, small, fine, but with a grip as of wrought iron in its slender, flexible fingers. "By G.o.d and his prophets I seem to feel it here--a woman's hand close clasped to mine."

A fanfaronade of trumpets, shawms, and drums drowned his words, as with a waving of plumes, a blinding glitter of gold and jewels, the royal cortege of Akbar the Magnificent swept on its way.

"One moment!" cried Birbal to Man Singh who awaited him impatiently, "I must find Smagdarite first."

But both the _rebeck_ player and atma Devi had gone. Only old Deena remained drumming softly; a fitting accompaniment to the murmurs which rose around him, as the immediate _entourage_ of the King disappeared.

"Yet one more insult to Islam," muttered the Makhdum-ul'-mulk spitting fiercely ere he spoke.

"And to honest men!" a.s.serted a jealous old Turk who was suspicioned of having drowned more than one young wife on the sly, "for what is woman but ultimate deceit and guile?"

"What?" echoed one whose calling could best be described as court-pandar; "Why a means for man's making money withal; though the King's virtue steals many a penny out of my pocket. I tell you he is no King--and no man. Would either spend his moneys on duty instead of pleasure?"

Ghia.s.s Beg, the Lord High Treasurer, laughed uneasily. "The money goes nevertheless. Todar Mull as Finance Minister is for ever cutting down state revenues, and the King's private charities----"

"To say nothing of the civil list for five thousand women within the palace walls at whom he never looks," put in Mirza Ibrahim sarcastically.

"Five thousand and one, my friend," laughed a man with a sinister face, "since there will be a pension now for atma Devi, King's Charan, unless Mirza Ibrahim prefers to provide for her himself. I caught a lewd eye appraising her many charms."

The Lord Chamberlain frowned. "I was but following the lead of Khodadad Khan, who hath the quickest sight of any in India for a pretty woman."

"King's pensioners belong to the King," replied Khodadad of the sinister face, "and I meddle not with Majesty."

"So Majesty meddles not with me," remarked Ghia.s.s Beg, "and leaves me my quail[6] curry and my saffron _pillau_, it is welcome to starve an'

it likes on one meal of pease-porridge a day!"

[Footnote 6: Favourite supper dishes on account of their supposed qualities.]

And as he rolled off, good-natured, hospitable, he felt in the heart which lay beneath his fat stomach a pang of regret that the King, in so many ways a prince of good fellows, the best shot, the best rider, the best polo player, the best all-round man and sportsman in his kingdom, should be so marvellously out of touch with his court.

But the princes, his sons, were, thank heaven, different!

CHAPTER II

_For the Lord our G.o.d Most High He hath smote for us a pathway to the Ends of all the Earth_.

_And some we got by purchase And some we had by trade And some we found by courtesy Of pike and carronade_.

--Kipling.

Elizabeth, by the Grace of G.o.d, etc.... To the most invincible and most mightie prince Lord Yelabdim Echebar, King of Cambaya Invincible Emperor--etc.

The great affection which our Subjects have to visit the most distant places of the world, not without good will and intention to introduce the trade of all nations whatsoever they can, by which meanes the mutual and friendly traffeque of marchandise on both sides may come, is the cause that the bearer of this letter John Newbery joyntly with those that be in his company, with a curteous and honest boldnesse, doe repaire to the borders and countreys of your Empire, we doubt not but that your Imperial Maiestie through your royal grace will fauvurably and friendly accept him.

And that you would doe it the rather for our sake, to make us greatly beholden of to your Maiestie; wee should more earnestly and with more wordes require it if wee did think it needful.

But by the singular report that is of your Imperial Maiesties humanitie in these uttermost parts of the world, we are greatly eased of that burden and therefore wee use the fewer and lesse words, onely we request that because they are our subjects they may be honestly intreated and received. And that in respect of the hard journey which they have taken to places so far distant it would please your Maiestie with some libertie and securitie of voiage to gratifie it, with such privileges as to you shall seeme good; which curtesie if your Imperiall Maiestie shal to our subjects at our request performe, wee, according to our royall honour will recompence the same with as many deserts as we can. And herewith we bid your Imperiall Maiestie to fare-well.[7]

[Footnote 7: Copy of real letter.]