MURDER MOST FOUL.
However unwelcome might be the presence of Gerrard and his force, Sher
Singh could not, for very shame's sake, show his feelings, and a host
of servants came down from the fort to point out the best
camping-ground, and to bring the _rasad_, or free rations, necessarily
provided for guests. It was evidently hoped, however, that Gerrard
might change his mind after a night's rest for in the morning the fakir
appeared again with fresh entreaties that he would depart, and not add
to the Prince's self-reproach the burden of feeling that he was
detaining him here. Gerrard replied by another demand for a personal
interview, which was refused in horror, the fakir declaring that three
days and nights of mental agony had reduced Sher Singh to such a wreck
that it was unendurable to him to be seen until he had recovered a
little. Gerrard offered suitable condolences, remarked that the sooner
the Prince recovered the sooner would he himself be able to depart, and
as a fairly clear sign of his intentions, devoted some hours to the
improvement of his camp, to the ill-concealed disgust of his soldiers,
who thought themselves entitled to a long rest after the hardships of
the march. In the evening Charteris rode in, lean and tanned to an
even deeper pink than before, attended by a new bodyguard he was
raising from among his reformed robbers, who looked by no means
reformed, and were Mohammedans to a man. The arrangements of the camp
had to be altered again, to allow these children of nature to encamp
close to their commander's tent, for the double purpose of keeping the
Granthis from interfering with them, and preventing them from attacking
the Granthis. Badan Hazari was highly contemptuous of this new
departure on Charteris's part, and ostentatiously pitched his men's
tents in similar fashion near Gerrard's, to protect him, as he said, in
case those rascally thieves should try to murder him in the night.
Their own Sahib might be able to trust them, since he had nothing they
would care to steal, but the acting-Resident of Agpur was a person of
importance, and his life was valuable.
Having seen their followers bestowed as well as might be, Charteris and
Gerrard settled down to a good talk, in which the present situation, as
was natural, bulked largely. At first Charteris was inclined to think
that things need not have gone so far.
"You'll laugh me to scorn," he said, "but I give you my word I'd have
rode after Sher Singh, just as I was, the moment I heard he had
levanted, and caught him up on the road."
"Or been caught by him, and held as a hostage."
"No, I would have done it before he got to cover here, and brought him
back dead or alive."
"To find that the army and the Durbar had made common cause against the
Rani--perhaps even that she and Kharrak Singh had been judiciously
removed."
"That's what it is to have a mind that sees both sides of a question,"
said Charteris good-humouredly. "Now I should only have thought of
securing Sher Singh, and I'd have done it if I died for it. Whereas
you have left everything in inspection order, and can sit _dharna_[1]
on his doorstep for just as long as he can stand seeing you there."
"My patience has its limits," said Gerrard, smiling. "If the illness
refused to yield to the fakir's treatment, it might become necessary to
send for a European physician from Ranjitgarh, and to blow in the gates
that he might be able to visit his patient. But I hope Sher Singh will
see fit to recover without our using such drastic remedies."
"Oh, you have him in the hollow of your hand--I don't presume to doubt
it. When your letter came, I had a lurking suspicion that it might be
a veiled call for co-operation again, but I see I was wrong."
"You forget it's your turn to call upon me. But I'll tell you where
you can help me, Bob. I want to give these precious troops of mine a
little active work in the way of war-manoeuvres, as the Prussians call
them. The lazy beggars have got abominably soft since Partab Singh's
death, with nothing to do but exhibit their lovely selves in the
streets, and mutiny for increased pay to settle their tavern-scores.
There's plenty of room here, and good scope, and besides, the sight
will be interesting and cheering for Sher Singh. Let's take 'em in
hand."
"I'm your man. But," with a wry face, "what about the tiger-hunting?"
"Oh, we'll get that in. Sher Singh sent word this afternoon that he
hoped I would show my forgiving disposition by deigning to allow him to
provide me with a little sport, and I had his head shikari here just
before you came. He said that owing to Sher Singh's prowess as a shot
on his visits to his father-in-law, tigers are much rarer round here
than I thought, and wanted me to go a day's journey to find a likely
spot, but I told him he must produce one within a decent distance or be
for ever disgraced. So it's a _bandobast_,[2] and the beast is to be
forthcoming to-morrow or the day after."
The next day was spent in military operations, uncheered by any touch
of sport, but on the second day after Charteris's arrival the shikari
brought news of a tiger not unreasonably remote, and the two Englishmen
stopped work early, and went off on the hunting-elephant, attended by
the wild men from Darwan as beaters, lest they should quarrel with the
Agpuris if they were left together. The tiger was duly killed, to the
intense admiration--almost adoration--of the shikari, who entreated
even with tears that the sahibs would allow him to guide them further,
to the spot already mentioned to Gerrard, where, to judge from his
description, tigers were popping in and out of a particular patch of
jungle like rabbits. Charteris was strongly tempted, and urged that
they could make the journey in the night by pressing the elephant a
little, shoot a few tigers before breakfast, and return during the day,
but Gerrard was firm. He did not intend to allow Sher Singh such an
opportunity for tampering with the troops, innocent as he might seem to
be of any desire to do so. They rode back, therefore, squabbling
amicably as to whose bullet had really given the _coup de grâce_, and
discussing whether the skin should be mounted as a rug or merely cured.
Their elephant was descending into the river-bed, and the walls and
towers of Adamkot were dominating in dusky red the landscape to their
right, when Gerrard uttered an exclamation, and pointed out a small
body of mounted men surrounding an elephant, who were approaching their
camp from the opposite side.
"From Agpur!" he said. "Who can be coming? A woman's howdah, too!
Why, it looks to me like Bijli, the best hotty in the stables. I would
have brought her with me if I hadn't known that the others couldn't
keep pace with her. Bob, I'm afraid there's something up."
"You underrate your own importance, old boy. They can't do without you
in the city, and the Rani has come in person to fetch you back."
"Oh, stop your chaff! No, but I daresay Kharrak Singh has insisted on
coming, and she has sent him in a closed howdah, so as to be safer. He
was uncommon set on coming with me. I wouldn't hear of it, but he may
have teased her into giving her consent."
They entered the camp, and descended from their elephant in the space
before their tents, just as the other elephant and its escort were
challenged at the outskirts. Charteris and Gerrard both saw the
curtains of the howdah put aside, and a head, apparently that of a
woman, thrust forth. They could not hear what was said, but the
newcomers were instantly allowed to pass, and staring soldiers began to
gather and follow behind them. All eyes were turned on the two
Englishmen as they went forward, but no one said anything, though it
seemed to Gerrard that there was a feeling of awe in the air.
"It must be either the Rani or Kharrak Singh, for there are Amrodh
Chand and the Rajputs," he murmured to Charteris. "And Rukn-ud-din in
command of a scratch lot of guardsmen from all four troops! What is
this, Komadan-ji?" he inquired of the officer.
"It is an order, sahib, but the mouth of this slave is shut," replied
Rukn-ud-din, wheeling his men apart to allow the elephant to advance.
It knelt down, and two or three zenana attendants, who had been riding
behind, came forward and helped a veiled female figure to descend.
"Is it the Rani?" whispered Charteris eagerly.
"How should I know? I have never seen her," said Gerrard impatiently.
"I shall know when she speaks, I suppose. But look at her cloth, half
brown and half white! Has she gone mad, to show herself to the troops
in this way? No _pardah_, no sheets!"
"Perhaps she will go into one of the tents," suggested Charteris, as
much puzzled as his friend, and Gerrard advanced hesitatingly, unable
to conceive why the troops did not actively resent this unheard-of
violation of etiquette. The veiled figure stood solitary against the
gorgeous trappings of the kneeling elephant, but there were still two
or three women in the howdah, as he could tell by their whispering.
The widow's white garments made it probable that the one on the ground
was the Rani, but what was the extraordinary stain which disfigured one
end of her veil? Perhaps her silence arose from horror at finding
herself stranded in public view instead of being properly conducted
from howdah to tent without allowing onlookers a glimpse of the
passage. He spoke with diffidence, keeping his eyes on the ground.
"There are tents at the service of the great one who has arrived. Is
it an order that she be conducted thither?"
"No!" cried the woman fiercely, dashing the veil from her face.
"Henceforth the mother of Partab Singh Rajah's son is no longer
_pardah_, but lives for vengeance the few hours that remain to her.
Avenge me, O Jirad Sahib! avenge me, O soldiers of Partab Singh! avenge
me on the man who has left me childless, the slayer of his brother!"
"But when was this? What has happened?" gasped Gerrard.
"Two days ago at this time. I waited only to burn the body of my son,
and hastened hither for my vengeance."
"But it is impossible, Maharaj. Kunwar Sher Singh has been ill in bed
since he arrived here."
"Has he?" The Rani's laugh rang out shrill and terrible. "It is easy
to deceive some men. Let Jirad Sahib send now for Sher Singh, and see
if he comes."
Gerrard turned hastily, to find himself confronted by the fakir and two
or three of Sher Singh's servants, waiting with downcast eyes. "Why
are you here?" he demanded of them.
"Sahib, we bear a message from our lord, who desired to know what
fortune your honours enjoyed to-day in hunting. Seeing you return so
early, he feared the sport had been poor."
"Go instantly, and bid the Prince return hither with you," said Gerrard
brusquely.
"But your honour knows he is laid upon his bed, and cannot rise."
"Then bring him on his bed. His life depends upon it. If he is not
here in half an hour, I will blow in the gates and come and fetch him
myself."
"It is an order!" said Sher Singh's servants in chorus, and withdrew.
Gerrard turned back to the Rani.
"Your Highness has proof of what you say?"
"This much of proof. Two days ago Sarfaraz Khan--may an evil ghost
haunt him from henceforth!--came to me with a tale that the guards were
discontented by reason of the favour shown to the rest of the army. I
promised to do what I could, and went into the room where my jewels are
kept, to see if I had anything left that might satisfy them. Kneeling
before a coffer, I heard my son shriek without, but when I ran to see
what ailed him, certain of my women--daughters of shame, whose end is
even as they deserved--pushed me back into the room, and held the door
against me. I heard my son fleeing and calling to me for succour, and
the clash of the weapons of those that pursued him in silence. I heard
him cry, 'O brother, slay me not!' and I heard his moans as they
struck. And though I tore at the door until my hands ran down with
blood, I could not move it, until the murderers were safely departed.
Then the door yielded suddenly, and I came out, to find my son lying
dead in his blood. I called my own servants and swore them to
vengeance, dipping in the blood their swords and this cloth of mine,
which I will wear until the innocent blood is washed out in the blood
of him that shed it, and first I bade them slay the women that had
befooled me and held me back from dying with my son. Then I gave
orders for the burning of my son's body, for fear the murderers should
be minded to add insult to their crime, and I called together the
Durbar and the heads of the army, and bade them search the city for
Sher Singh, and offer a reward for him, dead or alive. But they
refused, and mocked me, saying that Sher Singh was now Rajah, and their
obedience was his. Then I reviled them to their faces--speaking
unveiled, as one minded to mount the pyre and be consumed with the body
of my son, could I but be assured of vengeance--and called upon those
who remained faithful to follow me. This man Rukn-ud-din and these few
sowars were all that came, and when we had burnt the body of my son, we
took up his ashes and departed--many desiring to stop us, but no man
caring to strike the first blow--to ride hither and demand justice on
Sher Singh. And this, O Jirad Sahib, was Kharrak Singh, my son."
She swept aside the discoloured veil, and showed a brazen vessel filled
with ashes, which she carried clasped to her breast. "This was my son,
Jirad Sahib and soldiers of Partab Singh. Foully has he been cut off,
before he could raise up a posterity to perform his funeral rites. By
the innocent blood and the dishonoured ashes, I call upon you for
vengeance."
"If it can be shown that Sher Singh has committed this murder, justice
shall indeed be done upon him, Maharaj," said Gerrard. "But I think
you will find that he has not left this place."
"Then to whom did my son call out 'Brother'?" she demanded fiercely.
"You will not find him."
"The Prince!" burst from the surrounding soldiers, and all turned
towards the gateway of the fort, where a little group of men could be
seen. A palanquin was brought out, and the bearers carried it swiftly
down the winding path. Almost unconsciously the crowd below pressed
forward to the foot of the cliff. The palanquin reached the bottom and
stopped, and the fakir, who had followed it, opened the curtains and
helped out a bent figure--unmistakably Sher Singh. A shriek broke from
the Rani.
"He has outridden me and reached this place first!" she cried. "See
his weakness, his deathly aspect. What but four days and nights of
riding could account for it?"
Disregarding her words, Sher Singh turned with dignity to Gerrard.
"What does my friend Jirad Sahib require of me?" he asked mildly. "At
his command I have risen from my bed, weak and faint with illness
though I am. My servants tell me that my brother is dead. Is my blood
desired also?"
"Your brother died calling upon you to spare him," said Gerrard.
"And is the life of a man to hang upon the cry of a terrified child?"
asked Sher Singh, with the same dignified meekness. "Nay, if he cried
out 'Brother!' would he not say the same to any man of Granthi stock?
Jirad Sahib knows our customs, and that it is our wont to speak thus to
one another."
"The matter must be properly tried," said Gerrard. "Your Highness
sees"--he turned to the Rani--"that there is no proof against the
brother of your son. Let me entreat you to retire to the tent prepared
for you, and rest."
The Rani waved him back with a contemptuous gesture. "I have asked for
no trial," she cried; "I demand justice. Here to his face I accuse
Sher Singh of having ridden secretly to Agpur and murdered my son, his
brother, and then returned hither in haste that he might give the lie
to my words. Who is on my side? Who will slay this wretch for me?
Jirad Sahib?"
"Maharaj, I can do nothing until the whole matter has been inquired
into and fairly decided."
"Oh, words, words! such as the English ever speak, and do nothing until
it is too late! You then, soldiers of Partab Singh Rajah! Will you
see your king's son murdered unavenged? Avenge me on his murderer!"
No one moved, but from the back of the crowd a murmur arose which
swelled into a cry, "Sher Singh Rajah! Sher Singh Rajah!" The Rani
started as if she had been stung.
"Will you set this wretch before my eyes on the _gaddi_ from which he
has swept his father and his brother?" she shrieked. "Can the heavens
look down on such a sight of shame, and not grow black?"
The soldiers cowered before her, but a short thick-set man pushed his
way to the front. "I am not wise," he said, and a laugh answered him,
"but a plain man may ask questions that the learned cannot answer. Her
Highness desires us to slay Sher Singh. For whose benefit? say I. She
says he is a murderer, but even if it were so--which I see no cause to
believe--he is the last of Partab Singh's house. To whom should the
kingdom fall, if he were slain? To her Highness herself--who might
then be less desirous of death? To her friends the English? perhaps to
Jirad Sahib--who would not be the first to owe a throne to a woman's
favour. Not one of these has any cause to desire the death of Sher
Singh, of course--I lay my hand upon my mouth for having even uttered
the thought--but who then does desire it? Not the soldiers of Partab
Singh, say I."
"And thou sayest well, brother!" burst from the soldiers. "Sher Singh
Rajah! We will set him on the _gaddi_, and by the might of the Guru!
if the English interfere, we will fight them." Out of the tumult in
the ranks a high thin voice rose above the rest. "Back to the zenana,
shameless one! Wilt thou disgrace thy lord, as she of Ranjitgarh doth
daily?"
The two Englishmen and their followers moved towards the Rani to
protect her, but she waved them back with measureless contempt, then
turned upon the jeering soldiers with eyes glowing like live coals.
"Truly Jirad Sahib spoke well when he warned me that you, for whom I
have stripped myself of the very jewels of my marriage-portion,
designed only to play me false. Ai Guru! what a lot is mine, to dwell
in a land where the men are as women, even as those that sell
themselves for gain! Hear then the curse of the widow, the childless
one. Behold the unavenged ashes of my son!" she thrust forth the
brazen urn. "As I cover them from your unworthy sight with the cloth
stained with his innocent blood"--sweeping her veil over it--"so shall
the blood of Agpur extinguish the burning embers of her houses. As you
have cried shame upon me, seeking to avenge my dead, so shall your
childless mothers and your widowed wives find shame in seeking to
avenge you, and the death of honour shall be denied them. For innocent
blood shall the doom come, though my eyes shall not behold it, and
through these two Feringhees"--she indicated Gerrard and
Charteris--"who shall execute justice on the murderer in the day when
they shall make a road for a corpse through the great wall of Agpur."
"The doom is easily averted, if only by slaying the two Feringhees and
the woman here and now," said the short man who had stood forth as Sher
Singh's champion, but this time his words did not meet with the former
ready response.
"Aye, do so," said the Rani coolly, "and bring the English down upon
you to fulfil the curse as soon as it is uttered."
She faced the ready weapons defiantly, but Sher Singh, who had been
sitting drooping upon the edge of the palanquin, apparently too weak
either to defend himself or to interfere to prevent a massacre, now
summoned strength again and interposed.
"The army has spoken truth," he said. "I am Rajah, grievous as is the
cause that brings me to the _gaddi_, and evil as shall be the fate of
the murderers of my brother. Against Jirad Sahib I bear no malice for
his doubts of me, for he has been led astray by the bitter tongue of a
woman crazed with grief. She demands vengeance; I will be her avenger,
as is fitting, since my father was her husband. In my house she will
receive due honour as his widow, and it will fare ill with any man who
speaks of shame in connection with this day. Let her Highness be
conducted back to her elephant and carried into the fort, where a
suitable reception awaits her."
"Not unless she wills it," said Gerrard firmly. "Where does your
Highness choose to dwell?" he asked of the Rani, who stood waiting
impassively.
"I have no desire to live save for vengeance, but my life would last
but an hour or two within those walls," she said calmly.
"Where would your Highness prefer to go?"
"I would fain entrust my son's ashes to Mother Ganga, and visit Kashi
in pilgrimage. That is my desire."
"It shall be done. Will your Highness permit Lieutenant Charteris to
escort you to Ranjitgarh?" He looked round for Charteris, intending to
present him, but he had slipped away a moment before. "At Ranjitgarh
the Resident will charge himself with your safety."
"What Jirad Sahib suggests is impossible," said Sher Singh with
determination. "My _izzat_"--a convenient term, covering most things
from self-esteem to family honour--"would be destroyed if my father's
wife wandered away from my house."
"The choice lies with her Highness," said Gerrard. "Let her servants
decide whether they will serve her or Sher Singh Rajah."
The Rajputs stepped over to their mistress's side at once, and so did
Rukn-ud-din and most of his troopers, but some even of these who had
accompanied the Rani from Agpur preferred to worship the riding
[Transcriber's note: rising?] sun. Sher Singh smiled unpleasantly.
"Since I am so many, and he so few, Jirad Sahib will not force me to
defend my _izzat_ with the sword?"
"I begin to think that it needs a good deal of defending," said Gerrard
meaningly, "but that will not be done by attacking me. I shall attend
the Rani Sahiba to Ranjitgarh myself."
[1] Starving oneself to force a debtor to pay.
[2] Fixture.