THE DISCOVERY.
The Emperor, at the head of his troops, had set out for the north,
and all accounts reported that he was already at some distance from
Agra. Siddha was still waiting for orders to join his detachment,
which had marched among the first; what wonder, then, if he had
sought to shorten the time of waiting by repeated visits to Rezia
Gulbadan! One evening he turned his steps towards her dwelling,
although he could not flatter himself it was with the same eagerness
as formerly. He had begun more and more to distrust her; and these
repeated visits were partly to obtain more knowledge of her secrets
and of the conspiracy. He little suspected that that evening would
disclose to him more than he cared to know. Arriving at the little gate
in the wall, he found, to his astonishment, that it was not shut as
usual, and, in all probability through carelessness, the key had been
left in the lock. He could therefore enter without giving the usual
signal. Carefully closing the door behind him, he ascended the path
with rapid steps. As he drew near the verandah he found fresh reason
for surprise. Just at that moment a man entered, whom, at first, he
did not recognise, but, as he withdrew into the thick shadow of the
many plants, the lamplight showed his uncle Salhana, who, scarcely
greeting Gulbadan, cried in the utmost excitement, "We are betrayed,
shamefully betrayed! The Emperor," he continued, as Gulbadan listened
in terror, "is acquainted with all our plans. How, I know not, but
it is too true. I have positive information from Gorakh, who, as you
know, accompanies the army in disguise. Akbar not only knows of our
undertaking from the beginning, but his spies have informed him of
all the changes that have taken place in our plans. Cunning as he is,
he let it come to our ears that he had seen through our first plan,
without letting us know that he was also acquainted with the second;
allowing us to think that he had fallen into the trap. Now he and his
army have marched as though really for Kashmir. That is all very well,
but he will suddenly turn round, and by forced marches surprise us
here at Agra, when we believe ourselves to be in safety. I am only
just warned in time to prevent Salim, on the settled day, from being
proclaimed Emperor; but that will not avail us much. When Akbar knows
all, he will not spare us, although he may not catch Salim in the
act; and nothing now remains for us but to have recourse to the most
extreme measures."
"And what are they?" asked Gulbadan.
"Gorakh and his followers," answered Salhana, "can aid us, and
they must. Before the Emperor has time to reach Agra his life must
be taken."
At these words a shudder ran through Siddha, and he laid his hand on
the hilt of his dagger, and was about to step forward, but restrained
himself in time.
"Salim must know nothing of this," continued Salhana; "nor must we tell
him when the deed is accomplished. He may, indeed, have his suspicions,
but he will conduct himself as though he knew nothing; nor will he
hold us in less honour. To-morrow I go to the army to arrange all
with Gorakh, who has told me how I may recognise him in his disguise;
and in the meantime you must take care that Salim is warned. I myself
will not visit him, for fear of rousing suspicions. Tell me, on what
footing are you now with him?"
"I have not seen him here for a long time," answered Gulbadan; "and
the reasons for his continued absence are unknown to me. However,
I am not uneasy: I know, cost what it may, he will have me for his
Sultana; and that shall be when he is Emperor, not before."
"And while waiting, you occupy your time with that nephew of mine I
entrusted to your care, is it not so? A brave young man, and one in
whom you seem to find pleasure."
"For a time; but now he begins rather to weary me; and, well
considered, he is not of much use. Without ceasing, one has to
discuss with him over and over again all kinds of ideas of honour
and duty. When he has served our turn, I shall show him the door,
and all the more, as he may stand in the way of my plans with Salim."
"What is that?" suddenly asked Salhana, turning towards the garden
side of the verandah: "I think I hear a movement; is it possible that
some uninvited guest may have found his way in?"
"Impossible," answered Gulbadan; "the door in the garden wall is
locked, is it not?"--Salhana had forgotten that in his haste he
had left it open.--" And from the other side there is no danger,
for Faizi started this morning to join the army. Go by this path, it
will be more prudent, as you might meet Siddha in the neighbourhood
of the garden wall."
"All, then, is settled, is it not?" said Salhana. "You undertake Salim
and those here in Agra, and I charge myself with Akbar; and if I am
fortunate, we and his people will shortly be freed from his rule."
With a slight greeting Salhana then disappeared behind a curtain,
taking a side path unknown to Siddha, so that to follow him, according
to his first impulse, was impossible.
The best course now was to return at once, and ensure the failure
of the plot by warning the Emperor before the conspirators suspected
anything. But his longing to show Gulbadan that he had ceased to be
her despised tool was too great to be resisted, and with one bound
he was in the verandah and standing before her.
"Cursed snake!" he cried, "you caused me to become a traitor; but
do not flatter yourself that your accursed plot and that of yonder
ruffian will succeed. I, who begin to weary you, will hinder it."
"Ha! you have been listening, then," said Gulbadan, an expression
of hate and malice crossing her hitherto gentle face, depriving it
of all its beauty; "and now you intend to betray us,--but that shall
never be." Before Siddha could guess her intention, she flew towards
him, aiming a blow at his heart with a dagger. He half-mechanically
sought to ward off the blow, but his arm fell helpless to his side
at the sight of a figure that appeared to rise from the ground behind
Gulbadan, and who seized the murderess' hand in an iron grasp.
Gulbadan turned round hastily, and sank with a cry of horror to
the earth. Behind her stood Faizi, and behind him two servants with
drawn swords.
"Mercy!" she implored, returning to her senses, while Siddha stood
motionless, gazing at the scene before him.
"Mercy, my lord and master!" And with her head bowed down so that her
dark locks swept the ground, she crept on her knees towards Faizi,
who stepped back as she strove to approach him more closely.
"Back!" he cried; "do not touch me. Bind that woman," he said,
turning to his followers, "and take her to my castle of Mathura. There
let her be closely watched; and should she ever make an attempt,
however slight, to enter into communication with the outer world,
then carry out the sentence from which to-day I spare her. Never
again will I see her, nor a single hair of her guilty head." Then
he turned and spoke to the fallen one who knelt at his feet; but his
words were not such as to lighten her punishment. "Hope gives life,"
he said; "and you, whose name will never more pass my lips, perhaps
flatter yourself with a vain expectation. You think you can reckon
on the protection of one more powerful than I, or who will one day be
so. You think that Salim will stand by you, and release you from your
imprisonment. This is a vain hope. He whom you have also deceived
imparted to me your connection with yonder man; and this was Salim
himself, whom you imagined safe in your toils."
As he spoke, Gulbadan had raised her head, and listened with attention;
but at his last words, with a cry she sank senseless to the ground,
her arms stretched out in front of her.
"Do your duty," said Faizi to his followers. And she was hastily
conveyed from the apartment. "And now you," said he, approaching
Siddha, as he drew his sword from the scabbard.
"I have forfeited my life," replied Siddha. "Strike! I ask nothing
better than death from your hands."
"That I understand," said Faizi, thoughtfully, and letting the sword
sink slowly back into its sheath; "and I am not inclined to fulfil
your wishes. Others in the same case would think differently. A
Musalman would lay your head before his feet; a Hindu would have you
strangled; and a Frank, most foolish of all, would challenge you to
fight. But I choose none of these. You may live, and depart unharmed
from hence. Live, with the remembrance of the ill you have done,
and of the manner in which you, who call yourself a nobleman, have
repaid a true friendship. The remembrance of this shall never leave
you, though you may become famous and rise high in rank; and however
highly you may be honoured and respected, yet you will always cast
down your eyes before any honourable man, remembering how in your youth
you treated a friend. This is the punishment I lay upon you! Now go."
Obeying an imperious sign from Faizi, and bowed down with shame,
Siddha turned, and with faltering step took his way through the
garden and still open door. For a time he wandered on unconscious
of all around him. In spite of the lateness of the hour, he saw some
labourers busy lading a boat; and as though it were his own affair,
he stood narrowly watching their every movement, now wondering how
they would manage to convey in safety some heavy bale over the plank
that connected the vessel with the shore, and now shaking his head
at their awkwardness. Then some soldiers attracted his attention,
who sat drinking and playing dice by the wavering light of a torch,
and he began to wish to join them in drinking and playing. But at that
moment one thought drove out all others, the remembrance of the plot
to murder the Emperor. Had Faizi heard all, so that he could warn
Akbar? But these questions he was unable to answer. Then why not
go himself, without a moment's further waste of time? Salhana was
to start the following morning, and another starting at once could
easily precede him.
Siddha wasted no more time in thought, but hurried to the quarter of
the city where his detachment was; and giving over the command to
another officer, he turned to his own dwelling, and ordered Vatsa
to saddle the bay--the bay given him by Faizi, and which, after
discovering Rezia's true name, he had never dared either to ride
or return, though now, in the service of the Emperor and empire,
he mounted it.
"Prepare to follow me to the army," he said to Vatsa, as he led the
horse out, "but at some distance. Start in an hour's time, ride hard,
and if necessary deliver the message with which I entrust you." He then
imparted to him as much as was necessary touching the plot against
the Emperor, and ordered him to seek Akbar at once if he should not
find his master with the army. Having said this, he struck spurs to
his horse, and set off at a gallop.
A hurried journey, neither allowing himself nor his horse necessary
repose, soon brought him to the army; and no sooner had he reached
the camp than he sought an audience with the Emperor, which, after
a short delay, was granted him.
"What do you do here?" asked Akbar, in a stern voice. "Who has given
you leave to desert your post in Agra? It may go hardly with you if
you cannot answer to my satisfaction."
"Sire," replied Siddha, "if I had nothing worse than this to answer
for, I might call myself happy; but I come to accuse myself of the
greatest crime a soldier can be guilty of against his prince--that
of treason."
"I suspected as much," said the Emperor, "and therefore gave you
orders not to leave your post; and now you yourself come to assure
me of your treachery. Good; speak further."
As shortly as possible, without withholding anything, Siddha recounted
how, led away by Gulbadan, he had deceived his friend and benefactor,
and become a traitor to his Emperor. During this recital Akbar paced
up and down with slow steps, his countenance expressing nothing of
what his feelings might be; but as Siddha ceased, he stopped before
him, and said, sternly, "Your crimes deserve death."
"That I know well," was the answer; "and I come to receive my
punishment at the hands of your Majesty,"
"Why did you not seek safety in flight, when you suspected that your
treason was discovered?"
"Crimes demand their penalty; and how can I go forth into the world
while it remains unpaid, an object of contempt to myself and others?"
"But how is it that you have come so suddenly to this
determination? For this there must be some cause. I suspect you have
not told me all; something is still wanting to your story."
"You are right; but what I have still to tell could not be said until
my doom was pronounced. Now I can proceed. The power which, in spite of
myself, that woman so long had over me was suddenly broken. The bandage
fell from my eyes, and at last I saw clearly what I was, of what I had
been guilty, and what punishment I deserved." And now followed more
in detail the description of the scene that had taken place on the
last evening he had seen Gulbadan, and of the plot he had overheard.
Still no expression was visible on the Emperor's countenance; but,
as he again walked up and down, his step was more hurried. When the
story was ended he remained for some time silent, and then said,
"With reason you seem to have thought that your last communication
might have some influence over the sentence that I had to pronounce
on you. You have rendered a great service to me and to my kingdom,
and you are mistaken if you imagine that the sentence I pronounced
was an irrevocable one. To say that a crime deserves death, is not to
say that no mercy can be shown to him who is guilty of it; and yours
is a case in point. Without your further communication, I might have
recalled what I said, and shown you mercy. You have sinned deeply,
Siddha, against me, and certainly not less against my friend. You are
not a criminal, you have been the victim of an overwhelming temptation,
and I know myself what it is to be so tried. But your feeling of honour
was not destroyed, and sprang again into life as soon as you awoke
from your dream. I do not in the least palliate what you have done,
nor consider your fault a light one; but I am of opinion that you do
not belong to the class incapable of improvement, and who, for the
sake of society, cannot be allowed to live. I believe that your future
actions will wipe away the memory of your misdeeds, and your conduct
of to-day assures me that you will never again be guilty of treachery
towards me. I therefore give you your life, and leave you in possession
of your rank. Do not let me be deceived in you a second time."
For some moments Siddha found it impossible to reply, but knelt before
the Emperor and kissed respectfully the hem of his robe.
"I thank you, Sire," he said at last, as the Emperor signed to him
to rise, "not for life, that was no longer of any value in my eyes,
but for the opportunity granted me in some measure to make up for the
ill I have done. And if I may ask another favour, it is that I may
at once be allowed to take part in the war that is now being waged
in the north against the robber bands."
"This favour I will also grant," said the Emperor; "but first I
will entrust you with another task. Some of the most faithful of my
own life-guards shall be placed under your orders; go with them to
meet Salhana, seize him, and bring him here in the greatest secresy,
so that Gorakh may know nothing of his arrest."
At a sign from the Emperor the audience was at an end; and no sooner
had Siddha received the command of his troop of guards than he was
again on the road. Sooner than he had expected, he met his uncle, who
appeared to have travelled in great haste, and was accompanied by two
followers. These were soon disarmed and prisoners. Salhana defended
himself for some time, but was at last overpowered, and, to his anger,
pinioned by order of his nephew, whom until that moment he had held in
such contempt. A veil was flung around his head, so that no passers-by
might recognise him, and he was hurried by his captors to the camp.
In the Emperor's tent his bonds were loosened, and he was left alone
with Akbar and Siddha.
"Your treachery, Salhana," said the Emperor, "and your latest plans
are known to me; your nephew has told me all. Prepare to die,--the
executioners await you."
Flinging a glance of rage and hatred towards Siddha, Salhana threw
himself at Akbar's feet, touching the ground with his forehead. "Spare
my life," he implored. "Punish me, gracious Prince, as you will;
but let me live, and I will confess all, and tell all that I know."
"Salhana," replied the Emperor, contemptuously, "I knew that you were
a traitor and a villain; but I had still to learn that you were also
a coward. As for your confessions, they are worthless; I already know
all that you can tell me excepting one thing, where and how is Gorakh
to be found?"
"This I can tell you," cried Salhana, welcoming with joy this ray of
hope; "I can tell you exactly how to find him, and then----"
"I will grant you a shameful life; but should your information prove
false, then, you understand, the sword awaits you."
Salhana now eagerly gave all particulars by which Gorakh might be
recognised in his disguise.
"Have this man closely watched," commanded the Emperor, turning to
Siddha; "and you yourself, with your men, go in search of Gorakh,
and when you have found him, hang him on the nearest tree."
This order was executed without delay. They were soon on the track
of the Durga priest, and before long he was their prisoner.
"Ha! my young friend," said he, with his hateful laugh, recognising
Siddha; "and is this the way you repay the interest that I have shown
in you? However, let it be; but show me one courtesy, that can cost
you nothing. Tell me, who is my betrayer? It can only be Salhana;
am I not right?"
"You are," answered Siddha; and then, turning to his followers, he
said, "Forward! take this man outside the camp, and carry out the
sentence pronounced by the Emperor."
"And what is the sentence?" asked Gorakh.
"The halter," was the reply.
"Good," he said; "that is in my line."
It was needless to bind him, for, without the slightest attempt at
escape, he calmly walked between two soldiers.
For some time Siddha did not turn to look at him, nor did his guards
observe his actions very closely. But as they left the camp, and Siddha
turned to give some orders to his followers, he saw the Yogi busied
in marking characters on a long leaf that he held in his left hand,
and must either have picked up on the road, or have had concealed in
his clothes. In another moment he held it high in the air, waving it
as though it were a fan.
"Come," cried Siddha, impatiently, "leave that juggling alone, it can
help you no further, and throw that leaf away; we have had enough of
your magic."
Gorakh obeyed, but not before he had laughingly made two more signs
in the air. He then threw it on the ground, and they proceeded on
their way. A few moments later the lifeless body of the priest hung
from the bough of a tree.
In the meantime two men, from their appearance the servants of some
nobleman, had witnessed the arrest, and, unnoticed, had followed
at some little distance the troop that was conducting the doomed
man to his place of punishment. As soon as the soldiers had passed
the place where Gorakh had flung away the leaf, the two men sought
eagerly in the sand, and soon found the object of their search. It
was a dry leaf, on which were hastily written a few words with some
sharp-pointed instrument. After reading it together, one concealed
it carefully in his garment, and they hurried back to the camp.
There, as soon as the news of Gorakh's death reached the Emperor,
Salhana received the promise of his life; but was given in charge to
some soldiers, who were to guard him closely. When the war was ended,
then should it be decided what was to be done with him. Imprisonment
in some fortress or other, he understood well, would be his lot so
long as Akbar reigned. But when Salim ascended the throne, without
doubt he would be set free; and then, perhaps, too, he would have an
opportunity of wreaking his vengeance on Siddha.
He was not so closely watched but that it was possible to approach him;
and one evening it happened that the servant of a splendidly dressed
person that passed by, slipt a rolled-up leaf into his hand. What
could it be? A secret communication from one of his friends, from
Gulbadan perhaps, pointing out some means of flight. "Salhana," ran
the hastily written note, "the Emperor who has doomed me shall not die
to serve you; Durga chooses for her victim you, who have betrayed me."
With a cry of terror, Salhana's arms fell helpless to his side, and
the leaf dropped to the ground. He knew but too well the meaning of
those few words, and he knew that his sentence was irrevocable. The
last order of the Durga priest would not be neglected; rather
hundreds of his followers would be sacrificed than leave that command
unfulfilled. Was there indeed no hope, no chance for him? In truth,
as good as none. If he were but in Agra or in some fortress! where
it might not be so easy to penetrate to him as here in the open
field. But he was in the rear of the army, which only progressed
slowly. He implored his guards to keep good watch by him, as his
life was threatened by assassins; but they only laughed at him, and
he heard them say to each other, "That would be no great loss." Then
he prayed to be allowed to have a light at night, and this request
was only met with ridicule at his cowardice. He had not another
peaceful moment. During the march he imagined that behind every bush
he saw some dark figure lurking, that watched and followed in his
footsteps. When they halted to rest he remained on his guard, keeping
his eyes on the jungle and trees around. And then the night--the
long, frightful, endless night! He did his best to remain awake,
listening to every sound, and feeling around him in the dark; but at
times sleep overcame him, and he awoke with a start of terror, and
felt his throat, thinking he could not breathe. Sometimes he fancied
the cord was round his neck, and about to be drawn tight; then he
had to convince himself, by feeling with his fingers, that it was
only imagination; and at last to put his hand to his throat became
quite an involuntary movement. Then the question rose before him,
whether he should not take his own life, and so end his martyrdom;
but he dared not, his courage was not sufficient to plunge a dagger
into his own heart; and then there was still the hope, however slight,
that he might arrive safely at Agra. But slowly and still more slowly
marched the army. At last the Thugs took upon themselves the task
Salhana dared not perform, and freed him from his suffering. Early
one morning his guard found him lying dead in the tent that had been
pitched for his shelter during the night.