The Bronze Bell Part 36

She rose and moved impatiently down the walk and back again, bangles tinkling, jewels radiant on wrist and brow, ankle and bosom. The man watched her with sulky eyes until she turned, then bent his head and stood glowering at the earth and twisting his moustache. She paused before him, hands on hips, and raised her eyes in silent inquiry. He pretended not to notice her. She sighed with a pretence of humility thinly disguised. "Thy trouble, my lord?" she rallied him.

"I have wondered," he said heavily: "will he pa.s.s?"

"If not, it were well for thee to die this night, O Heaven-born."

"That was my thought."

"Thou hast little need to worry, lord." Woman-like she shifted to suit his humour. "He is a man: I answer for that, though ... he is no fool.

Still, when the hour strikes, what he must, that will he endure for the sake of that which Naraini hath promised him."

"Or for another," Salig Singh growled into his beard.

"I did not hear."

"I said naught. I am distraught."

"Be of good heart," she comforted him still further. "If he doth fail to survive the Ordeal--Har Dyal Rutton hath died. If he doth survive--"

"Har Dyal Rutton shall die within the hour," Salig Singh concluded grimly. "But ... I am troubled. I cannot but ask myself continually: Were it not wiser to confess failure and abide the outcome?"

"How long wouldst thou abide the outcome, my king, after thou hadst informed the Council of this deception to which thou hast been too willing and ready a party?... He who misled you died a dog's death. But thou--art thou in love with death?"

"Unless thy other name be Death, Naraini ..."

"Or if the Council should spare thee--as is unlikely? The patience of the Body is as the patience of Kings--scant; and its mercy is like unto its patience.... But say thou art spared: what then? How long art thou prepared to wait until the Members of the Body shall again be in such complete accord as now? When again shall all Hindustan be ripe for revolt?... _Aho!_ Thou wouldst have sweet patience in the waiting, Salig Singh!... Let matters rest as they be, my lord"--this a trace imperiously. "Leave the man to me: I stand sponsor for him until the Gateway shall have received him and--and perhaps for a little afterwards."

"Thou art right as ever." He lifted his gaze to meet hers and his eyes flamed. "I leave my life on your knees, Naraini. I love thee and ... by all the G.o.ds, thou art altogether a woman!"

"And thou ... a man, your Highness?" she countered provokingly. "Nay!"

she continued, evading him with a supple squirm, "be content until this affair be consummated. Wait until the time when an empress shall reign over all Bharuta and thou, my lord, shall be her Minister of State."

The man's voice shook. "That hour is not far off, my queen. Thou wilt not keep me waiting longer?"

She gave him the quick promise of her eyes. "Thou shouldst know--thou of all men, my lord.... But see!" It was necessary to distract him and she seized hastily upon the first pretext. "The last day of the old order dawns ... and the dawn is crimson, my lord, as with blood!" Her soft scarlet lips curled thirstily and showed her teeth, small, sharp and white as pearls. "I think," she added with somber conviction, "this omen is propitious!"

She swept away from him, toward the parapet. He took a single step in pursuit and halted, following her with a glance that was at once a caress and a threat.

She paused only when she could go no further, and stood in silent waiting.

Deep down in the valley the city was stirring from its sleep; the dull and peaceful humming of its hived hordes rose to her, pulsating in the still air. Above the eastern ridge the sky was hot and angry, banded with magenta, scarlet, and cadmium, and shot with expanding shafts of fierce radiance, like ribs of a fan of fire. In a long and breathless instant of suspense the hilltops blushed with the glare and threw down the light to the night mists swimming in the valley, rendering them opalescent, as with a heart of flame.

With eyes half-veiled by long languorous lashes the woman threw back her head until her swelling throat was tense. She raised her arms and stretched them wide. The sun, soaring suddenly, a crimson disk above the ridge, seemed to strike fire from her strange, savage beauty as from a jewel. Bathed in its ruddy glare she seemed to embody in her frail, slight form all that was singular to that cruel, pa.s.sionate land of fire and steel. Her face became suffused, her blood leaping in response to the ardour of the sun.

Her parted lips moved, but the man, who had drawn near enough to hear, caught two words only.

"_Naraini!... Empress!_"

CHAPTER XVII

THE WAY TO KATHIAPUR

Gall and wormwood in his mouth, more bitter than remorse, Amber became conscious. Or perhaps it were more true to say that he struggled out of unconsciousness, dragging his ego back by main will-power from the deep oblivion of drugged slumber. One by one his faculties fought their way past the barrier, until he was fully sentient, save that his memory drowsed. His head was hot and heavy, his eyes burned in their sockets like b.a.l.l.s of live charcoal, a dulled buzzing sounded in his ears, his very heart felt sore and numb; he was as one who wakes from evil dreams to the blackness of foreknown despair.

He lay for a time without moving. Because it was dark and his memory not working properly, time had ceased to be for him, and to-day was as yesterday and to-morrow. The ceiling-cloth above him was blood-red with light from the sepoys' fire in the compound, and all was as it had been when he had first lain down the night before. And yet....

Suddenly he raised himself upon the charpoy and called huskily for the khansamah. Promptly the squat white figure that he remembered appeared in the doorway. "Bring lights," Amber ordered, peremptory.

"Bring lights quickly--and water." And when the man had returned with a lamp, which he put on the table, Amber seized the red earthenware water-jug and drained it greedily. Returning it, empty, to the brown hands, he motioned to the man to wait, while he consulted his watch. It had run down. He thrust it back into his pocket and enquired: "What's o'clock?"

"Eight of the evening, sahib."

Amber gasped and stared. "Eight of the ... Let me think. Go and bring me food and a brandy-peg--or, hold on! Bring a bottle of soda-water and a gla.s.s only."

The khansamah withdrew. Amber fell back with his shoulders to the wall and stared unwinking at the lamp. He distinctly remembered undressing before going to bed; he now found himself fully clothed. He felt of his pocket, and found the emerald ring there, instead of in its chamois case. Then it had not been a nightmare!

He had a bottle of brandy which had never been uncorked, in his travelling-kit. Rising, he found it and inspected the cork narrowly to make sure it had not been tampered with; then he drew it.

The khansamah returned with the gla.s.s and an unopened bottle of Schweppe's, and prepared the drink under eyes that watched him narrowly. While Amber drank he laid a place for him at the table. When he left the room a second time the Virginian produced his automatic pistol and satisfied himself that it remained loaded and in good working order.

In the course of a few minutes the native reappeared with a tray of food and pot of coffee. These arranged, he stood by the chair, ready to serve the guest. Then he found himself looking into the muzzle of Amber's weapon, and became apparently rigid with terror.

"Sahib--!"

"Make no outcry, dog, and tell me no lies, if you value your contemptible life. Why did you drug me--at whose instance?"

"Sahib!..."

"Answer me quickly, son of vipers!"

"By Dhola Baksh, hazoor, I am innocent! Another has done these things--he who served you last night, belike, and whose place I have taken."

Now the oaths of India are many and various, so that a new specimen need not be held wonderful. But Amber sat bolt upright, his eyes widening and his jaw dropping. "Dhola--!" he said, and brought his teeth together with an audible click, staring at the khansamah as if he were a recrudescence of a prehistoric mammal. He caught a motion of the head and a wave of the hand toward the window, warning him that there might be an eavesdropper lurking without, and rose admirably to the emergency.

"That is a lie, misbegotten son of an one-eyed woman of shame! By the Gateway at Kathiapur, that is a lie! Speak, brother of jackals and father of swine, lest my temper overcome me and I make carrion of you!"

"My lord, hear me!" protested the man in an extremity of fright. "These be the words of truth. If otherwise, let my head be forfeit.... Early in the morning you returned from the lake, heavy with sleep, and so soundly have you slept since that hour that no effort of mine could rouse you, though many came to the door, making inquiry. I am Ram Lal, a true man, and no trafficker in drugs and potions."

"Even so!" said Amber, ironic. "But if, on taking thought, I find you've lied to me ... Go now and hold yourself fortunate in this, that I am not a man of hasty judgment."

"Hazoor!" Like a shadow harried by a wind of night, the khansamah scurried from the room. But on the threshold he paused long enough to lay a significant finger upon his lips and nod toward the table.

Amber put away his pistol, sighed from the bottom of his soul, and, seating himself, without the least misgiving, broke his long fast with ravenous appet.i.te, clearing every dish and emptying the coffee pot of all save dregs. Then, with a long yawn of satisfaction, repletion, and relief, he lighted a cigarette and stretched himself, happily conscious of returning strength and sanity.

From the khansamah's quarters came an occasional clash of crockery and pattering of naked feet. Outside, in the compound, the sepoys were chattering volubly; their words were indistinguishable, but from their constantly increasing animation Amber inferred that they were keenly relishing the topic of discussion. He became sure of this when, at length, his curiosity roused, he went to the window and peered out between the wooden slats of the blind. The little company was squatting in a circle round the fire, and a bottle was pa.s.sing from hand to hand.