The Great Mogul Part 24

But Nur Mahal, quicker than they to distinguish between native and native, cried as she ran with them:--

"My husband's men wear white turbans. All the others are strangers."

They needed no further instruction. When they saw a bare poll, a skull cap, or a dark turban, they hit it, and the battle, equal before, soon became one sided. The presence of Roger alone determined the fight instantly. Kutub-ud-din and the Kotwal had a.s.sured their supporters that the Feringhis were dead, and hinted, in vague terms, that the looting of the Diwan's house would not be too strictly inquired into if the "search" for the Thugs were resisted.

But here was the terrific ma.s.s of the giant looming through the night, and here was his sword sweeping a six-foot swath in front of him. No man who saw him waited for closer proof of his existence. Soon the Garden of Heart's Delight was emptied of the gang save those who were dead or too badly injured to crawl. Then lights were brought.

Nur Mahal was the first to find her husband's body. She threw herself by his side in a gust of tears.

"Alas!" she sobbed, "they have slain him! It is my fault, O prince of men! What evil fate made thee wed me, Sher Afghan? I vow to Allah, though I could not love thee living, I shall mourn thee dead. Jahangir, if thou hast done this thing, bitterly shalt thou rue it! Oh, my husband, my husband, thou art fallen because of an unworthy woman!"

It was with difficulty that Walter could persuade her to leave the corpse of the dead hero. Tears choked her voice, and her self-reproach was heartrending, inasmuch as it was quite undeserved. The distraught girl could not be blamed because a marriage planned for state reasons had not prospered, and even Mowbray, who was prejudiced against her, knew quite well that she was no party to this night attack against her father's house.

Finally, he led her to the trembling serving-women who cowered within, and then addressed himself to an inquiry into all that had taken place.

Piece by piece, the tangle resolved itself. At first, the references of the watchman at the gate, supported by certain wounded prisoners who gave testimony to the presence of Thugs in the garden, were puzzling.

But a Rajput, who knew the ways of these human gnomes, found a smear of oil and dust against the wall of the sahibs' bedroom, and even traced their tracks, to some extent, by similar marks on the floor. None could guess the reason of the Thugs' failure, which was unprecedented, but the remainder of the sordid story was legible enough.

Two hours before dawn, Walter sent word to Nur Mahal that he wished to consult her. She came instantly, and he noted, to his surprise, that she was garbed as for a journey.

He began to tell her what he had discovered, but soon she interrupted him.

"I know all that, and more," she said. "I can even tell you what will be done to-morrow. Jahangir will repudiate the deed, and execute those concerned in it whom he can lay hands on. But you and I are doomed. With Sher Afghan dead, who shall uphold us? We have but one course open. We must fly, if we would save our lives. Let us go now, ere daybreak, and ride to Burdwan. Once there, I can frame plans for vengeance, whilst you shall go to Calcutta, not unrewarded."

The firmness of her tone astounded Mowbray as greatly as the nature of her proposal. When he came to seek Roger's advice he found that his friend had swung round to the view that it was hopeless now to seek redress from the Emperor. The number and valor of Sher Afghan's retainers gave some promise of security, and, once away from the capital, there was a chance of escape.

So Nur Mahal was told that they would adopt her counsel, and it was wonderful to see how a woman, in that hour of distress and danger, imposed her will on every man she encountered.

It was Nur Mahal who instructed certain servants of her father's to see to the embalming of her husband's body and its safe conveyance to Burdwan. It was she who sent couriers to start the caravan of the Feringhis on a false trail back to Delhi. It was she who arranged the details of the first march, forgetting nothing, but correcting even the most experienced of Sher Afghan's lieutenants when he declared impossible that which she said was possible.

And finally, it was Nur Mahal who, after a last look at the face of him whom she revered more in death than in life, rode out again into the darkness, from the Garden of Heart's Delight. But, this time, Walter Mowbray and Roger Sainton rode with her, and those three, as it happened, held the future of India in the hollows of their hands.

CHAPTER XII

"Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?"

_Marlowe_, "Hero and Leander."

Of all the perils encountered by Walter Mowbray since he left his home in Wensleydale, there was none so impalpable, and therefore none so mortal, as the daily companionship of Nur Mahal. She used no wiles, practised no arts--her subtle mesmerism was the unseen power of the lodestone. At first, there never was woman more retiring. Mowbray and Sainton were seldom absent from her side; nevertheless, she spoke only when the exigencies of the journey demanded a few simple words. The horror of Sher Afghan's death seemed to weigh on her heart, and her natural vivacity was almost wholly eclipsed. Yet her face would kindle with a rare smile when acknowledging some trivial act, and the fragrance of her presence might be likened to the scent of roses in a garden by night. It was there, ravishing the very air, whilst its source remained invisible. Though she rode fast during many a weary hour, and bore without a murmur hardships under which her more robust waiting women sank, one by one, until five out of eight were perforce left to recuperate in various small towns pa.s.sed on the way, she never lost that wondrous sense of delightful femininity which const.i.tuted her chief attraction and her most dangerous allurement.

In guiding, counselling, controlling, her intellect was crystal ice, but let any man render her a service, let him help her to dismount or bring her a cup of water, and, with the touch of her hand, the flash of her deep violet eyes, she thrilled him to the core. It was natural that Walter should be her attendant cavalier on many such occasions, a fact greatly to be regretted in the interests of Nellie Roe, whose saucy blue eyes and golden locks were too far away to deaden completely the effect of Nur Mahal's bewitching personality. And, truth to tell, England had a somewhat shadowy aspect in those days. After three years of sojourn in the East, here were Mowbray and his faithful companion no better off than when they rode along the North Road into London one fair summer's afternoon to seek their fortunes. Then they had their swords, some equipment, and a few crowns in their pockets. Their case was even worse in this semi-barbarous land, for their worldly goods were not enhanced, while they themselves were fugitives from the spleen of a vengeful tyrant!

Not even Roger was proof against the magic of Nur Mahal's smile. At the close of the third march, when their leg-weary horses were unable to reach the hamlet of Mainpura, the intended goal of the night, they camped under a tope of trees, lit fires, and proceeded to make themselves as comfortable as circ.u.mstances permitted until the dawn. Nur Mahal, having taken leave of them with her accustomed grace, rested in a small tent which was carried by a pack animal. Mowbray and Sainton sat on saddles piled near a fire, and Roger showed the trend of his thoughts by asking:--

"Is it in your mind, Walter, to tarry long in Burdwan after we have brought my lady thither?"

"How can I answer? We are but a degree removed from beggars. If she gives us the wherewithal to journey speedily to Calcutta, why should we remain at Burdwan?"

"You parry one question with another. I may be much mistaken, yet I doubt if my lady sought our escort for the sake of the journey."

Mowbray, who was striving to burnish a rusted bit, looked sharply at his big comrade, whose broad red face, propped on his hands, was clearly revealed by the dancing flames.

"Out with it, Roger," he cried. "Thou hast not been so chary of thy words for many a year."

"Well, to be plain," said the other, "I think yon bonny head is well dowered wi' brains. Here is a land where wit, wedded to a good sword, can win its way. Were you and she married--nay, jump not in that fashion, like a trout on a hook, else I may deem the fly well thrown--were you and she married, I say, she is just a likely sort of quean to carve out a kingdom for herself. Here you have Mahmouds, Rajputs, Hindustanis, Bengalis, and the Lord knows what hotch-potch of warring folk, each at variance with the other, and all united against a galling yoke such as may fairly be expected from Jahangir! Why, man, were you lord of Burdwan and husband of Nur Mahal, you might run through India like a red hot cinder through a tub of b.u.t.ter."

Mowbray breathed hard on the steel in his hands.

"Roger," he said, "had you not eaten half a kid an hour gone I would have dosed you for a fever."

"Aye, aye, make a jibe of it, but there's many a true word spoken in jest. If King Cophetua could woo a beggar-maid, the devil seize me if it be not more likely that the beauty tucked up under yonder canvas should make pace with a fine swaggering blade like thyself."

"Thou art too modest, Roger. If she wants a hammer wherewith to beat out an empire, where could she find a mallet to equal thee? And is it not reasonable to suppose, if such were her intent, she would have furthered the aims of our poor friend, Sher Afghan? He was of her own people, and would soon find a backing."

"It seems that any man will suit her needs save the one she fancies,"

said Roger drily, and, to Mowbray's exceeding relief, he pursued the matter no further.

Yet the notion throve on certain doubts which it must have found imbedded in Walter's own mind, and, next day, with memories of Nellie Roe very tender in his heart, now that all chance of wedding her was lost in gloom, he avoided Nur Mahal as thoroughly as politeness would admit. She gave no sign of discontent, but suffered him to go his new gait in silence. Once, indeed, when he made to help her onto her Arab horse, she sprang to the saddle ere he could approach, and, at night, when she parted from him and Roger with a few pleasant words, a fold of her veil screened her face.

It were idle to pretend that Mowbray was in his usual happy vein during this part of the journey, and when, at the next evening's halt, Nur Mahal signified that after Sainton and he had eaten she would be glad of some conversation with them, he was, if not elated, certainly much more cheerful.

She received them with smiling gravity, and bade them be seated on stools which her servants had procured in the village where their little camp was pitched. She herself reclined on a number of furs which served as a couch when she slept. They noticed that her dress, which, by some marvel, was white and fresh, was devoid of ornament. Indian widows wear purple, but the exigencies of the hour might well excuse this neglect of custom, and, for that matter, Nur Mahal was not one to pay any heed to such ordinances.

"I have fancied," she said, addressing Roger, "that you are not wholly satisfied with this present journey, Sainton-sahib."

Now, Roger was so taken aback by this side stroke that he blurted out:--

"In the name of your excellent prophet, Princess, why do you charge this to me?"

She flashed her star-like eyes on Mowbray.

"Perhaps I am mistaken. Is it you, Mowbray-sahib, who would gladly be quit of my poor company?"

The attack on Roger had prepared him, as, indeed, Nur Mahal may have meant that it should.

"Your Highness," he said, "has some good motive in stating a belief which would otherwise be incredible. What is it?"

She sighed, and answered not for a moment. Maybe she wished Walter had been more confused and, by consequence, more lover-like. But, when she spoke, her sweet voice was well controlled. The affair was of slight import from all the index that her manner gave.

"A woman's mind is oft like a smooth lake," she said. "It mirrors that which it sees, but a little puff of wind will distort the image into some quaint conceit. Let that pa.s.s. My object in seeking your presence has naught to do with idle thoughts. To-morrow, an hour after sunrise, we reach that point on the road whence one track leads to the Ganges, and to Calcutta, and the other to Burdwan. It will, I do not doubt, be better for you to make your way to the river, and leave me and my wretched fortunes to the hazard which the future has in store. I am greatly beholden to you for all that you have done in the past, and it grieves me sorely that this journey, taken so unexpectedly, leaves me so short of money that I can only offer you a sum which is barely sufficient for the expenses of the voyage down the Ganges. But I have in my possession a goodly store of jewels, and in Calcutta, or in your own country, there are merchants who will buy them at a fair price. Take them, and be not angered with me, for I would not have you go away thinking that my acquaintance had brought you naught but ill luck."

From beneath a fold of her _sari_ she produced a small cedar wood box which she offered to Walter. He sprang to his feet, with face aflame.

"I may be only a poor merchant, Princess," he cried, "but I have yet to learn from your own lips what word or deed of mine leads you to believe that I would rob a woman of her diamonds."