A Prince of Dreamers Part 57

He paced the tent almost in despair. Pride, anger, love, justice, tearing at his heart.

Yes, he must go! He must leave his City of Heirship for ever. He must cast off earthly shackles and live only for the immortal dream.

Birbal's slim figure stealing through the curtains roused him to instant anger, almost as instant patience; since how could he judge of those bound by conventional standards?

"What now?" he asked briefly. Something uncompromising in his tone made the minister begin an excuse. He had been close by, and hearing that Majesty waked----

Akbar walked up and laid his hand on Birbal's shoulder.

"Lie not, friend," he said, "hath the stolen diamond been found? Sh!

hold thy peace. I know the tale. A queen of common sense hath told it to me; and rightly told it. What, she said, was pain but a warning against evil. That is truth; but is the stone found? That is what I ask."

Birbal, whose jaw had almost fallen in his blank surprise, was on his knees, instinct telling him to attempt no excuse.

"Sire! I have it with me now. The madwoman atma Devi----"

"What of her?" asked Akbar fiercely.

Truth was the only resource, so Birbal told it. "She sent a message to bid William Leedes come to her at one o' the night in the Preacher's dhooli; and I, fearing treachery--for I never trusted woman yet without regretting it--went myself. For the safe-conduct given by Majesty to these strangers was a fertile field for the breaking of promise."

Akbar interrupted him impatiently.

"And she met you, where?"

"In truth where there was scant foothold for a goat," said Birbal glibly, trying to get through with confession lightly, "on the wide eave of the turret. Belike she heeded not the danger, being as she said, under sentence of death at dawn. And it was that made her yield the gem to me--'twas her last chance--for she held fast to her promise to give it to none save unto the jeweller's own hand. So she stood there, with death in a falter, administering fearful oaths and----" He had been feeling in his breast and now held forth the Luck of the King "here it is, sire."

In the light of the cressets, the gem glowed familiarly like soft moonshine; but Akbar peremptorily set it aside.

"Thou art under oath to deliver it to none but the jeweller. Traitor!

are women to be more faithful than men?"

Birbal grovelled at the King's feet, but Akbar did not notice him.

He was dully trying to piece the parts into a whole, telling himself he would hear the truth when atma Devi should be brought to him at dawn.

CHAPTER XXVII

_Look lover! Now indeed Love endeth right This is the only road. Oh, learn of me That Death shall give thee Love's best ecstasy Oh! If thou be'st true lover wash not hand From that dear Stain of Love; from worldly brand Of Wealth and Self-love wash it. At the last Those win who spite of Fortune's tempests stand Glad to wreck all for Love--I say to thee I, Sa'adi, launch not on Love's boundless Sea But, if thou puttest forth, hoist sail, quit anchor, To Storm and Wave trust thyself hardily_.

--Sa'adi[15]

[Footnote 15: Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold.]

"The Woman-Charan waits without under guard."

"Bid her in--alone!"

Akbar had been awaiting this it seemed to him for hours. Now that it had come he would have delayed, if he could.

The tent was still dark, but as the outer screen was lifted something paler, grayer than murk-night showed in faint square, grew blurred with moving shades, then disappeared altogether. The cresset light scarce reached into the shadowy corners of the tent, where hung faint clouds of scented smoke; but Akbar's keen eyes pierced the gloom clearly.

"What? Have they bound thee? I meant not so," He stepped to the tall dim figure and unloosed the cord with which its hands were tied.

"Come hither, woman."

The kindly office done, he was back on the throne, his face showing stern in the cresset light. As she came forward she stumbled slightly in her walk. They must have tied her feet also, when they were bringing her to the camp and she was numb and stiff. His heart went out to her in swift pity, then returned to him in swifter justice.

"The ring, woman! The signet that I gave thee," he said peremptorily.

Until that was gone from her finger, even he could not touch her for harm. She held it out to him without a word, then sinking to her knees crouched at his feet. The folds of her star-set skirts clung round her closely, the saffron, pearl-sewn veil hardly hid her beauty of strong supple curves. She had begged to be allowed to die in the steel hauberk of the Charan, but they had jeered at her, saying the race was well quit of such representatives as she. So in her final arraignment she stood as simple woman.

Perhaps by so doing she gained advantage. Anyhow, Akbar who had meant to be sternly judicial, felt, now they were alone together, that this was no question of Culprit and Judge, but of a man and a woman. And with the feeling came, to his surprise, a sense of keen personal injury.

"Why hast thou done this thing?" he asked bitterly.

The long tension of the night, the sight of the man she knew she loved, the very touch of his hands as he undid the knot which had bound her, and now the regret, the pain of his voice, all conspired against calmness, though she fought for it desperately. There was but one refuge--the refuge of race.

"I--I did it for the King," she said mechanically, not realising the full meaning of her words.

He caught at it in a moment. "For the King? Then _thou_ art true."

She gave no answer. What was the use of explanation when she could not explain? When the King must never know aught concerning the theft of the diamond. Silence was better. G.o.d gave the reward of that.

"atma"--she shivered at the name, at the tone, of the King's voice--"I command thee, as King, answer truly. What was there betwixt thee and the Mirza?"

She sighed faintly. By forgetting what really mattered in the purely personal, he had enabled her to obey.

"That which is ever between a man and woman when they both need somewhat, my liege," she said simply. "So now I must die. It will be better."

She had told herself this a hundred times that night. She had done her work. Life might bring difficulties. Death was the only remedy. But she over-reached herself in self-sacrifice.

"Oh! let me die, my liege," she cried kissing the dust of his feet.

"Majesty will forget." This hope was also in her blurred mind.

"It will not forget," he cried pa.s.sionately, "unless it knows the truth. Speak! woman--Blazon out thy shame if shame there be, else I call Birbal with the diamond he took from thee----"

She was on her feet trembling with anger, outraged utterly.

"What! he hath told the Most-High! Oh! traitor, coward! And he swore--he bade me never tell----"

Akbar gave a sigh of relief. He understood now. This woman had been in the conspiracy of silence; and she would have kept that silence until death.