TAKEN BY SURPRISE.
At last the ravine broadened a little, and almost at the moment when
this became evident, voices were heard ordering a halt. It was
difficult to tell where the voices came from, but presently the
travellers distinguished a steel cap and a scarlet turban, and the
barrel of a matchlock, among the rocks on either side of the path.
Halting at the prescribed spot, Murtiza Khan entered into conversation
with the sentries, requesting that word might be sent to the Sheikh of
the arrival of the two ladies, who asked shelter for the night. A
third man who was within hearing was summoned and despatched with the
message, and the travellers resigned themselves to wait. The answer
which was returned after a quarter of an hour had elapsed was not a
gracious one. The Memsahibs and their attendant might enter if they
pleased, but they must put up with things as they found them, and
conform to the rules of the place. As the alternative was a night in
the open, Lady Haigh accepted the offer, with considerable reluctance,
and whispered to Penelope that if they were to be blindfolded on the
way up to the fortress, they must go on talking to one another until
the bandages were removed, to guard against any attempt to separate
them. But this precaution was not called for. It was now quite dark,
and three of the Sheikh’s men took the bridles of the ponies, and
began to lead them along, without the assistance of any light
whatever. The ladies and Murtiza Khan strained their eyes, but could
not distinguish anything in their surroundings beyond varying degrees
of blackness. Nevertheless, their guides seemed to have no difficulty
in keeping to the path, although in some places, judging by the sound
of the stones which rolled from under the ponies’ feet, it led along
the verge of a tremendous precipice. After what seemed hours of this
kind of travelling, the creaking of bars and bolts just in front
announced that a door was being opened, and Murtiza Khan was warned to
stoop. The gateway passed, they were led across the courtyard, and up
to the steps of the keep, where two old women were holding flaring
torches. Between them stood a boy of twelve or so, who came forward
and salaamed with the greatest politeness.
“The Memsahibs are more welcome than the breaking of the rains in a
thirsty season. This house is at their disposal. Let them say what
they wish and it is already done. In the absence of the lord of the
place, let them behold their slave in me.”
“Then the Sheikh-ul-Jabal is away?” said Lady Haigh, interrupting the
flow of compliment. “And you are his son, I suppose?”
The boy answered as though he had not heard the second question. “The
Sheikh-ul-Jabal and my brother Ashraf Ali rode away last night with
thirty horsemen, to attend a sacred feast. My sister Wazira Begum and
I are left in charge of the fortress, and I bid the Memsahibs welcome
in her name.”
Accepting the assurance, the ladies dismounted, and the boy bustled
about with great self-importance, sending one of the old
women-servants to hasten the preparations for the guests’ comfort,
giving the ponies into the charge of the men who had led them to be
taken to the stables, and arranging that Murtiza Khan should be
allowed to sleep in the great hall, so that his mistresses might feel
he was not far off in case they needed protection. He had so much to
do, and so many orders to give, that it almost seemed as if he was
waiting as long as possible before introducing the visitors to his
sister; but at last he appeared to feel that there was no help for it,
and led the way resolutely behind the curtain, guided by the second
old woman with her torch. In the first room to which they came, a girl
was sitting on a charpoy. She had evidently put on her richest
clothes, and her fingers and wrists were loaded with jewels; but her
toilet was not complete, for she was so busy plaiting her hair that
she had no leisure even to look at the visitors. An old woman who
stood behind her was assisting in the hair-dressing, but apparently
under protest, for her young mistress was scolding her energetically.
“O my sister, here are the Memsahibs,” said the boy, with considerable
misgiving in his tone, when he could make himself heard.
“Oh, these are the women?” Wazira Begum vouchsafed them a casual
glance. “This is the first time that Farangi beggars have come to our
door, but Zulika will find them a quilt to sleep on, and there are
plenty of scraps.”
“O my sister, the Memsahibs are our guests,” began the boy
distressfully, but Lady Haigh interrupted him.
“It strikes me you are making a mistake, young lady,” she said,
marching across the room, and taking, uninvited, the place of honour
on the charpoy, at the hostess’s right hand. “Penelope, sit down
here,” indicating the next seat. “When the Sheikh-ul-Jabal returns,
will he be pleased to hear that his daughter has insulted two English
ladies who sought his hospitality? The English are his friends, and he
is theirs.”
The girl had sprung from the charpoy as Lady Haigh sat down beside
her. “The English are pigs!” she exclaimed. “O Maadat Ali! O Zulika!
who is lady here, I or this Farangi woman? Will ye see her thrust me
from my own place?”
“Nay, my sister, it is thou who art wrong,” returned the boy boldly.
“The women are great ladies among the English, and friends of Kīlin
Sahib, for so their servant told me. Thou art not wise.”
“Then be thou wise for both! I will not stay here with these shameless
ones. Zulika may look to them.”
“You are going to bed?” asked Lady Haigh placidly. “I think you are
wise, after all. And let me advise you to think things over. I don’t
want to get you into trouble, but the Sheikh must hear of it if we are
not properly treated.”
Wazira Begum vouchsafed no reply, quitting the room in such haste that
she dropped one of her slippers by the way, and Maadat Ali, taking the
responsibility upon himself, ordered the old women to bring in supper.
While he was out of hearing for a moment Penelope turned to Lady
Haigh--
“You know much more about it than I do, Elma, but we are quite alone
here. Is it prudent to make an enemy of the Sheikh’s daughter? She has
us in her power.”
“That she hasn’t, I’m thankful to say. She is the little fury that
Dugald and Major Keeling fell in with when they were here, and the
Sheikh made short work of her then. She has some grudge of her own
against the English, evidently, and she thinks this is a good time to
gratify it. Why, Pen, to be prudent, as you call it, now, would make
every native in the place think that the day of the English was over
in Khemistan, and that we knew it, and were trying to curry favour
with them in view of the future. You must be more punctilious than
ever in exacting respect--in fact, I would say bully the people, if I
thought you had it in you to do it. It’s one of the ways in which we
can help the men at Alibad.”
Penelope laughed, not quite convinced, and the conversation was
interrupted by the reappearance of Maadat Ali, heading a procession of
women-servants bearing dishes. These were duly arranged on a small low
table, and the guests were invited to partake, the boy watching over
their comfort most assiduously. When the meal was over he delivered
them solemnly into the charge of old Zulika, adjuring her to see that
they wanted for nothing, as she dreaded the Sheikh’s anger. The old
woman, on her part, seemed genuinely anxious to efface the impression
of Wazira Begum’s rudeness, and bustled about with a will, dragging in
another charpoy, and bringing rolls of bedding. She apologised to Lady
Haigh for not coming herself to sleep at the door of the room; but her
place was always with her young mistress, and she would send Hafiza,
the servant next in seniority to herself, to wait upon the visitors.
Her excuses were graciously accepted, for Lady Haigh and Penelope were
both feeling that after the exertions and anxieties of this exciting
day, tired nature stood much in need of restoration. They tried to
talk for a moment when they had settled themselves in their unfamiliar
beds, but both fell asleep with half-finished sentences on their lips.
They were roused in the morning by the voice of Maadat Ali, in the
passage outside their room, eagerly inquiring of old Hafiza whether
the Memsahibs were not awake yet; and as he gave them little chance of
going to sleep again, they thought it better to get up. Tired and
stiff as they were, it was a little disconcerting to remember that
riding-habits were perforce their only wear. Happily these were not
the brief and skimpy garments of to-day, but richly flowing robes,
long enough almost to reach the ground when the wearer was in the
saddle, and their straw hats and blue gauze veils were also devised
with a view to comfort rather than smartness. Clothes-brushes and
hair-brushes were alike unknown at Sheikhgarh, so that dressing was a
work of some difficulty; and it was rather a shock to find that the
frugal breakfast of _chapatis_ and hard-boiled eggs, which was brought
in when they asked for food, was regarded as a piece of incredible
luxury. After breakfast they went to the curtain which separated the
zenana from the great hall to speak to Murtiza Khan, who had already
been out with some of the Sheikh’s men to look for the deserters of
the night before, but had not been able to find any trace of them. He
brought the news that the Nalapuri army had been seen on its march
round the southern extremity of the hills, moving towards
Alibad--which showed that Sir Dugald had not been wrong in thinking
there was no time to waste. The trooper also desired permission to
reconnoitre in the direction of the town by the usual route, in case
it might prove possible to get through with the news of the ladies’
safety, and this Lady Haigh granted before she turned back into the
zenana with Penelope.
The women’s apartments were built round a small inner courtyard,
gloomy in the extreme from its want of outlook, but possessing a tank
of rather stagnant water which was called a fountain, and some shrubs
in pots. In the verandahs round this court the whole life of the place
was carried on, the servants--all of them women of a discreet
age--performing all their duties in the open, to the accompaniment of
much chattering. Among them moved, or rather flashed, Maadat Ali,
questioning, meddling, calling down endless explosions of wrath on his
devoted head, but undoubtedly brightening the days of the old ladies
whom he alternately coaxed and defied. When he saw the visitors he
left the servants at once, and after ordering a carpet to be spread
for the Memsahibs, seated himself cross-legged on the ground, with his
back against the coping of the tank, and began to ask questions. His
subject was Major Keeling, whose brief visit more than a year before
seemed to have left a vivid impression. Was it true that Kīlin Sahib
was invulnerable to bullets, that he could make water flow uphill or
rise from the ground at his word, that he could read all the thoughts
of a man by merely looking him in the face? These inquiries and many
others had been answered, when a peculiar look on the boy’s face made
Lady Haigh turn round. Behind her, leaning against the wall of the
house, stood Wazira Begum, twisting a spray of mimosa in her fingers,
and trying to look as if she had not been listening to what had
passed. Lady Haigh rose and saluted her politely, prompting Penelope
to do the same, and after a moment’s hesitation the girl returned the
salutation courteously, if a little sulkily. It was evident that the
meeting of the night before was to be ignored, and Maadat Ali made
room for his sister joyfully at his side.
“I knew she would come when she heard us talking about Kīlin Sahib,”
he said. “She hates him very much.”
“Yes, very much,” echoed Wazira Begum.
“When he came here,” pursued the boy, “she tried very hard to make him
afraid; but he would not be afraid, and therefore she hated him even
more than before. She has part of a tassel that she cut from his
sword----”
“From his sword? Oh, from the sword-knot,” said Lady Haigh.
“And she keeps it wrapped up in linen, like an amulet----”
“Thou liest!” burst forth Wazira Begum furiously.
“But I saw it, O my sister, and thou didst tell me it was to make a
great charm against him, to destroy him.”
“Thou wilt spoil the charm by talking of it,” pouted the girl, but the
angry crimson faded from her face.
“Ask her why she hates him so much,” said Penelope to Lady Haigh,
preferring to rely, as she usually did, on her friend rather than try
to make herself understood in the native dialect.
“I hate all the English,” said Wazira Begum proudly, when the question
was translated to her; “and he is a chief man among them.”
“But what have the English done to you?” asked Lady Haigh.
“Have they not driven us here?” with a wave of her hand round the
courtyard. “Are not my brothers and the Sheikh-ul-Jabal deprived of
their just rights?”
“And no marriage can be made for her,” put in Maadat Ali
sympathetically. “What go-between would come to Sheikhgarh to seek a
bride?”
“You should persuade your father to settle in Alibad,” said Lady
Haigh.
“I am not a sweeper girl, to wed with the scum of towns!” cried Wazira
Begum.
“Isn’t your sister inclined to be a little difficult to please?” asked
Lady Haigh of Maadat Ali. “You are Khojas, of course, but we have
plenty of Khojas, and even Syads,[1] living in the plains.”
“If that were all!” cried the girl contemptuously. “But for a princess
of Nalapur, as I am----”
“O my sister!” gasped Maadat Ali.
“Nay, I have said it, and these unbelievers shall be convinced.” She
sprang up and stood before the visitors, drawing herself to her full
height. “My father was the Amir Nasr Ali Khan, not the
Sheikh-ul-Jabal, and my brother Ashraf Ali should now be sitting in
his father’s place. But the English took the side of the murderer and
usurper, and we are banished to this desert.”
“You three are Nasr Ali’s children!” cried Lady Haigh. Then, regret
succeeding astonishment, “Why in the world didn’t your father--the
Sheikh, I mean--let Major Keeling know this before? He would have had
you back at Nalapur long ago.”
“These are words!” said Wazira Begum. “My uncle judges the English by
their deeds. His own wife and sons and our mother were among the dead
in the Killa at Nalapur, and he would not have us murdered also.”
“But, dear me! he ought to know Major Keeling by this time,” said Lady
Haigh impatiently. “He had no share in the massacre, and has been most
anxious to right the injustice ever since it happened. But he thought
there was no heir of Nasr Ali left, so he could do nothing.” She
stopped, for a curious smile was playing about Wazira Begum’s mouth.
“My uncle has found a way of doing something,” she said. “Even now he
has taken my brother Ashraf Ali, who was fourteen years old six weeks
ago, to show him to the faithful followers of our father’s house, that
they may raise an insurrection in his favour in Nalapur.”
“Then your uncle has acted very unwisely--to say no more--in not
confiding in Major Keeling,” was the warm response. “I suppose he
means to reach the capital while the Amir Wilayat Ali is with his army
on the frontier? And so he has weakened his garrison, and withdrawn
his distant patrols, and allowed Gobind Chand’s army to get past him
and threaten Alibad. There must be spies all round you, for it’s clear
his movements have been watched--I suppose the men we saw in the
mountains were there to keep an eye on him--and he will never be
allowed to reach Nalapur. And if he was, it wouldn’t be much good to
proclaim your brother Amir if the enemy cut him off both from this
place and from Alibad.”
“I cannot tell,” said Wazira Begum sullenly. “My uncle is a wise man,
and will do according to his wisdom. As to Kīlin Sahib and the
English, I will trust them when I see a reason for it,” and she
marched away with great dignity.
Maadat Ali remained, obviously ill at ease on account of his sister’s
revelation, but relieved that his true dignity need no longer be
concealed; and from him Lady Haigh learned that the wife of the Amir
Nasr Ali, suspecting treachery on the part of her brother-in-law, had
intrusted her three children to the two nurses, Zulika and Hafiza, the
night before the storming of the city. In the disguise of peasants the
women had contrived to escape from the palace, and on the arrival of
the English had been suffered to depart. They made their way to the
Sheikh-ul-Jabal, who had succeeded in crossing the frontier into
safety, and he had conceived the idea of bringing up the children as
his own, knowing that, much as he himself was hated by Wilayat Ali and
his Vizier, nothing could protect the heirs of Nasr Ali if they were
known to be living.
The day passed slowly to Lady Haigh and Penelope. Maadat Ali was their
constant companion, but his never-ceasing flow of questions became
rather wearisome after a time. Wazira Begum seemed unable to make up
her mind how to treat the visitors. She would come and engage in
friendly conversation, then suddenly turn sullen or flare up at some
imagined slight, and depart in dudgeon. Lady Haigh decided that she
was ill at ease about her uncle and her elder brother, whose plans had
been so signally deranged by Gobind Chand’s move, and that she would
like to discuss future possibilities, but was too proud to do so.
Murtiza Khan came back from his reconnaissance, and announced that the
Nalapuri army had emerged from the hills in the early morning and
threatened Alibad, but had been driven back in confusion by a small
force with two field-pieces posted on the canal embankment. In spite
of their numbers, Gobind Chand’s men refused to remain in the plain,
and had retreated into the hills. They were now occupying the broken
country extending from the frontier to the track on the south by which
they had made their circuitous march, and were in force between
Sheikhgarh and Alibad; but the trooper thought it might be possible
for him to get through to the town, and relieve Sir Dugald’s mind, by
using by-paths only known to the men of the Mountains. Lady Haigh was
very much averse from the idea, but Murtiza Khan was so anxious to be
allowed to try that she consented to his making the attempt after
dark, guided by one of the brotherhood.
The evening seemed very long in coming, not only to the eager trooper,
but to the two ladies, who could scarcely keep their eyes open after
the fatigues of the day before. They sat side by side on a charpoy in
the room in which Wazira Begum had first received them, with Maadat
Ali cross-legged on a carpet opposite, pouring forth a flood of
questions which still seemed inexhaustible. A brazier of glowing
charcoal supplied warmth and a dim religious light, and Wazira Begum
wandered restlessly in and out. The day had been hot, for the sun beat
down with great force on the unshaded walls and courtyards of
Sheikhgarh; but the evening was cold and even frosty. Suddenly through
the chill air came the sound of a horn, and Maadat Ali leaped up as if
he had been shot.
“Some one comes!” he cried. “I will bring thee news, O my sister.”
He rushed out and under the curtain, and was lost to sight. The
women-servants came crowding into the passage, and listened to the
confused sounds which reached them from the gateway. Presently Maadat
Ali came rushing back.
“O my sister,” he gasped forth, “it is our uncle, sorely wounded. He
and his troop were attacked by the accursed one, the usurper.”
“And our brother--Ashraf Ali?” shrieked Wazira Begum.
“They said nothing of him, but they are bringing the Sheikh in a
litter, and those that have returned with him are relieving the men on
guard, that they may gather in the great hall and receive his
commands. I must go back.”
“Won’t you send the servants to light the hall with torches?” asked
Lady Haigh of Wazira Begum, as the boy ran away; but she shook her
head.
“Nay, no woman must be present when the Sheikh gives his commands to
the brotherhood. They will bring their own torches. We should not even
be here; but I cannot go back into the zenana without knowing what has
befallen my brother. It is forbidden, but I cannot.”
The women were all gathered at the curtain now, peering through holes
which long experience had shown them where to find, and Lady Haigh
laid an encouraging hand on Wazira Begum’s shoulder. To her surprise,
it was not shaken off. The girl was trembling with anxiety, and her
breath came in sharp gasps. Outside the curtain Murtiza Khan stood
rigid, partially concealed by the recess in which it hung. With
admirable good-breeding, he feigned to be absolutely unconscious of
the crowd of women who were pressing and whispering so close to him.
At last the sound of feet was heard, and the gleam of white and
scarlet was revealed by the light of a smoky torch at the doorway of
the hall. Eight men in the dress of the brotherhood carried in a rude
litter, and were followed by others, all bearing marks of fighting.
Behind them came the men who had been guarding the walls, and with
them Maadat Ali; but a sob broke from Wazira Begum as she realised
that her elder brother was not there. The litter, still covered with
the mantles of the men who had carried it, was placed in the middle of
the hall, and the members of the brotherhood proceeded to arrange
themselves in their proper ranks; but there was some confusion, as if
all did not know their places. Lady Haigh’s hand gripped Penelope’s,
and she directed her attention to the back of the hall. Behind the men
in scarlet and white crept a silent crowd of figures in ordinary
native dress, and these were dividing in the semi-darkness so as to
line both sides of the hall. Almost at the same moment two cries broke
the stillness. Wazira Begum sprang up from her crouching position, and
shrieked with all her strength, “Treachery! treachery! sons of the
Mountains!” and Maadat Ali, who had contrived to make his way
unobserved to the side of the litter and lift the covering, dropped it
in amazement, and cried shrilly, “It is not the Sheikh-ul-Jabal at
all!”