The Great Mogul Part 32

In that way they could make sure of intercepting the fugitives.

"How came you to slip so quietly away from the camp of Nur Mahal?" he asked, but to this they replied vaguely, so Mowbray concluded that the Chief Eunuch had bribed them to silence, in which event it were best not to tell them of Fateh Mohammed's admission.

They said, frankly enough, that had any chance led them to miss the Hughli contingent, the first intimation of the Emperor's wishes would only have been forthcoming at Allahabad, where the Kotwal must have recognized the sahibs. Walter reflected ruefully that, had he bribed this man to silence, he might have despatched the messengers on a hopeless chase by river. It was now too late. Although so much depended on Jai Singh's journey to Nur Mahal, he was bound irrevocably to go on to Agra, and must veto the rescue which the gallant Rajput would undoubtedly attempt should matters at court be not to his liking.

It was an inglorious end to an undertaking which opened so auspiciously.

The sole consolation Mowbray could derive from soul-wearying thought as to the future arose from the certain relief he had given to the unhappy captives. From the depths of misery the Portuguese were raised to a level of comparative comfort, whilst Fra Pietro had a.s.suredly been s.n.a.t.c.hed from the very jaws of death.

So, at last, Walter resolved to abandon useless gropings against the veil which shrouded the days to come. He made himself as agreeable as might be to Fateh Mohammed, and so played upon the latter's ambitious dreams that not even the hostile Kotwal of Allahabad was able to disturb the arrangement into which they had mutually entered.

The column crawled up country at a slow rate, for such a mixed company travels perforce at the pace of its most dawdling units. Fifteen miles was a good day's march, and, where a river barred the road, many hours were wasted in safely transferring men and animals from bank to bank.

And now, for the first time in his life, Roger Sainton fell under petticoat dominance. _Buen principio, la mitad es hecha_--"Well begun is half done"--says the Spanish proverb, and certainly the Hathi-sahib made a good start.

The Countess di Cabota professed that she never felt safe from the perils of the way unless the big Yorkshireman held her mule's bridle. He beguiled the hours by improving her English, of which language she already had a fair knowledge; she repaid him by many a bright smile, and displayed a most touching a.s.siduity in mastering the broad vowels and quaint phrases of his speech, for Roger's slow diction was the pure Anglo-Saxon which yet pa.s.ses current in his native dale.

They were thrown together the more that Walter sought distraction from troubled reverie in learned discourse with Fra Pietro, and for this sort of talk Roger had no stomach. Once Mowbray rallied the giant on the score of the attention he paid to the buxom Countess, but Roger countered aptly.

"I' faith," he said, "she is a merry soul, and not given to love vaporings like most of her s.e.x. She tells me her heart troubled her somewhat before she married, but the fit pa.s.sed quickly, and now she will be well content if the Lord sends her home to wholesome fare and a down pillow. After that, commend me to a fat woman for horse sense. Your scraggy ones, with saucer eyes, would rather a love philter than a pint of wine, but set down a stoup of both before her Ladyship and I'll wager our lost box of diamonds that she'll spill the potion on the ground and the good liquor down her throat."

"At last, then, you have found a woman who marches with your humor?"

"I'm not one to judge such a matter quickly," murmured Roger with a dubious frown. "They're full of guile at the best, yet I vow it pleases me to hear Matilda say 'Caramba!' to her mule. It minds me of my mother rating a lie-abed maid of a Monday morning. 'Drat you for a huzzy,' she would cry, 'here is six by the clock already! To-morrow's Tuesday an'

next day's Wednesday--half t' week gone an' nowt done!'"

"So the lady's name is Matilda?"

"Aye! She has a lot more, but I fancied the sound of that yen."

"Surely you do not address her so familiarly?"

"And why not? Gad! she calls me Roger, pat as a magpie with a split tongue."

"This is news indeed. Yet you tell me she is not inclined to tender pa.s.sages?"

"Tender fiddle-de-dee! She laughs like a mime if I tickle her ribs with my thumb when the mule stumbles. My soul, Walter, you are grown so used to every woman making sheep's eyes at you that you think they'll treat a hulk like me after the same daft fashion."

"In truth," said Mowbray, sadly, "my courtships have been all too brief, and threaten to end in aught save laughter."

"Nay, nay, lad. Let not thy spirits fail. I cannot but think that you and I shall scent the moors again together. We have driven our pigs to queer markets; mayhap we shall sty them yet, despite this cross-eyed Emperor and that fly-by-night, Nur Mahal."

"I have dreamed of home in my sleep of late. Methought I saw my mother weeping."

"'Tis well. They say dreams go by contrary. Were it otherwise, has she not good cause to greet? By the Lord Harry, when we show our noses in Wensleydale, my auld dam will clout my lugs. 'Roger, you good-for-nowt,'

she will say, 'I tellt ye te keep Master Mowbray frae harm, and here hev' ye led him tiv a pleace wheer t' gra.s.s grows downwards and t' foxes fly i' t' air. I'm fair shammed on ye!' Eh, man, but I'll be glad to hear her tongue clack i' that gait."

And with this cheerful dictum Sainton strode away to bewilder and amuse the Countess di Cabota with his amazing lingo. Although they were now enjoying the glorious cold weather of India, the absence of wind and the brilliant sun of the Doab served to render the midday hours somewhat sultry. Her Ladyship, being plump, complained of weariness.

"You have a most excellent color," said Roger, eyeing her critically.

She sighed.

"It may be," said she, "that as we are near Agra my heart droops. What manner of man is Jahangir? Is he of a generous and princely disposition?"

"If he takes after his father he should be open-handed with other folks'

money. I know him to be a fine judge of a woman, which is a right royal attribute; but he drinks freely, a better quality in a sponge than in a king."

"Sancta Maria! A spendthrift, a libertine, and a sot! What hope have we of such a one?"

Roger laid a huge paw on her shoulder, and his merry eyes looked down into hers although she was riding a fair sized mule.

"Be not cast down, Matilda!" he cried. "If the sky were cloudy you would not vow the sun would ne'er shine again. I observed it was hotter in coming to the Line than under the Line itself. Here, Got wot, it is hottest of all, yet fear and fancy may be worse bogies than fact."

For some reason, his hopeful philosophy did not console the lady that morning. She leaned a little against his arm, and glistening tears suddenly dimmed her vision.

"Alas!" she sobbed, "we are all going to our death, and you, good Roger, have risked your life to no purpose."

"Then shall I die in good company, a thing much to be commended. He that went to the grave with Elisha recovered his breath owing to his lodging."

She straightened herself in the saddle.

"I like not this talk of dying," she snapped.

"Gad, it is not greatly to my mind on a fine morning after a hearty meal. When I can strike no longer may I fall handsomely, say I. Yet I thought you were bent on chewing the unsavory morsel, though, to be sure, you mainly use your teeth to vastly better purpose."

She glanced up at him, clearing her eyes defiantly.

"You make no allowance for a woman's feelings," she said. "Did I not know the contrary, I should believe you held women of no account."

"I' faith, that would be doing me an injustice. When a woman says 'Lack-a-day,' my tongue wags in sympathy. If she weeps, my heart grows as soft as a fuzz-ball."

"Fuzz-ball! That is a word you have not yet taught me," she said.

"It much resembles a round mushroom, and when dry, it bursts if you squeeze it."

"Oh, go to! I never before met your like."

She laughed, though there was a spice of irritation in her mirth, but Roger gripped her round the waist, for the mule, more perceptive than the man, stumbled at the right moment. To comfort her, he gave her a rea.s.suring hug.

"There is naught of the fuzz-ball about thee, Matilda," he vowed, and the Countess laughed again. But she blushed, too, and murmured in her own language:--

"After all, the truest romance is more than half a comedy."

One night, when the cavalcade was halted in the very village whence Nur Mahal had turned northwards with such quick vagary, an owl hooted from the depths of a _nim_ tree. The weird note thrice boomed unheeded through the air, for all in the camp were weary, but, when the mournful cry rang out for the fourth time, one of Sher Afghan's Rajputs raised himself quietly from his bed of leaves and listened.

At the fifth hoot he glanced around and saw that none other was disturbed. He rose and sauntered quietly towards the tree, in whose deep shade he was lost for a little while. He returned, and with him now walked another Rajput. The two reached the camp fire around which lay their clansmen, and conversed in whispers with others whom they awakened. Then the newcomer, following directions, strolled towards the tent occupied by the Englishmen. Entering in the dark he was seized by Walter, who was lying sleepless, thinking of the possible outcome had he given Nur Mahal a different answer when they last stood together in the millet-field so near at hand.

Jai Singh had said that the place was bewitched, and lo, here was Jai Singh himself wriggling in his clutch! As for Roger, the sound of the scuffle roused him, and both Mowbray and he were vastly surprised when the old Rajput gasped:--