"For her own person,
It beggared all description."
_Shakespeare_, "Antony and Cleopatra."
The road from Delhi, as it neared Agra, wound through a suburb of walled
gardens. Between occasional gaps in the crumbling masonry, or when the
lofty gates happened to be left open, the passer-by caught glimpses of
green lawns bordered with flowers and shaded by leafy mango-trees.
Diving into a ravine scarred with dry water-courses, the road passed a
Hindu shrine and a Mahomedan tomb. On the opposing crest it cut a
cluster of hovels in twain; thence it ran by the side of a long, low
caravansary, and finally vanished, like a stream suddenly emboweled in
the earth, within the dark portals of the Delhi Gate of the chief Mogul
city.
Two Europeans, mounted on sturdy cobs of the famed Waziri breed, drew
rein at the entrance to the caravansary. One of them held up an
authoritative hand to the sumpter train which followed.
"Here we reach the end of a long journey, Roger," said he. "Agra lies
within the gate, the Palace stands beyond the bazaar, and this is the
rest-house spoken of by Rasul, our native friend at Delhi. The hour is
yet early to seek an audience of the Emperor. Let us refresh ourselves
here, make some needed change in our garments, and then hire a guide to
lead us to the house of Itimad-ud-Daula, for they say that he alone
possesseth Akbar's ear."
"That is another way of saying that he shall first possess himself of a
moiety of our goods. Well, be it so. 'Tis a strange land at the best.
Let us cram his maw, and mayhap he will tell us a more homely manner of
addressing him. It passeth my understanding how thou dost mouth this
lingo, Walter. Ecod, I can carry it off bravely with a Mahomed or a Ram
Charan, but when it comes to Iti--what d'ye call him?--my jaws clag and
my tongue falters in the path like a blind man's staff."
So saying, Roger Sainton swung himself off his steed, and straightway
the gapers gathered, for his height was not so apparent on horseback as
when he stood square on his feet.
But the servants tending the pack-animals were accustomed to this
exhibition of popular interest. They warned off the rabble with the
insolence every jack-in-office displays towards his inferiors.
"Away, illegitimate ones! Have ye not work?" cried one.
"Bapre! If ye stand not aside ye shall eat the end of my stick," shouted
another.
"Bring fire and singe their beards," growled a Mahomedan driver.
"Kick, brother, kick!" suggested a humorist, tickling a mule, whereupon
the long-eared one ducked his head and lifted his heels in approved
style, readily clearing a space, amidst the laughter and jeers of the
onlookers.
By this time, Mowbray and Sainton had entered the caravansary. It was a
substantial looking building externally, but its four walls merely
supported an interior veranda, split into sections, where merchants
could sleep if they chose, or cook their food and rest during the midday
hours. In the open square, which occupied nearly all the inner space,
was herded a motley collection of elephants, camels, bullocks, horses,
and asses,--while every conceivable sort of package of merchandise was
guarded by attendants of many Indian races. At first, it seemed that
there was no more room for man or beast, but the requisite amount of
shouting, and a lavish use of opprobrious epithets, couched in various
languages, secured a corner of the square for the friends' cavalcade and
a clear space of the veranda for their own convenience.
Three years of life in the East, not to mention the new experience of a
march of over a thousand miles up country, had accustomed them to such
surroundings.
Whilst they were washing and dressing their servants prepared an
excellent meal of kid and rice, which they tackled with a gusto that
showed appetites in no wise impaired by residence in Hindustan.
They had ridden ten miles that morning, and it is hard to conceive a
more exhilarating or healthful exercise than a march across the great
central plain of India during the early hours of a fine day in the cold
weather. The date was the first day of November, 1611, and, if the two
Yorkshire adventurers had changed somewhat since they sailed away from
Lisbon on board the _Sancta Trinidad_, the change was for the better.
Walter Mowbray had become more manly, more authoritative, less prone to
flash his sword at the first sign of a quarrel, whilst Roger, if he had
increased neither in height nor girth, had gained a certain air of
distinction that was not due wholly to his gigantic proportions.
Their intervening history may be told briefly. The _Sancta Trinidad_,
touching at the Canaries, might have passed them on to an English ship,
bound for Plymouth, which lay there waiting for the wind to change. But
worthy Captain Garcia had taken a great fancy to the pair of them. He
vowed that such fortunes were to be won speedily in the land of the
Great Mogul that they agreed to sail thither with him. They called at
Table Bay, were nearly lost in doubling the dreaded Cape of Good Hope,
were assailed by pirates off Madagascar, when Roger proved that a
capstan-bar, properly wielded, is worth a dozen swords, and finally
brought to in the harbor of Swally Road, at some little distance from
Surat on the Tapti River. Here, the worthy Garcia realized what his
friendship had forgotten. Englishmen were in small favor with his
grasping fellow-countrymen, and the two encountered many reverses, until
they fell in with an English factor, named Edwards, from Ahmedabad, who
asked them to join him in business.
Though they were wanting in experience of the ways of Indian merchants,
Edwards undertook to teach them, for he was greatly in need of those
whom he could trust implicitly. They learnt the Urdu language, Walter
thoroughly, and Roger with less success; they made the acquaintance of
Prince Jahangir, acting as Viceroy for his father, Akbar, in the west
country, and, ultimately, they and their partner put all their store to
the hazard in an ambitious expedition to the far-off capital.
It was their intent to meet the renowned Akbar at Delhi on his way south
from a summer spent in Kashmir. News of a rising in the Dekkan, however,
had hurried the monarch's movements. They missed him at the ancient
capital of India, so, having learnt, among other things, the eastern
habit of patience, they marched by easy stages to Agra.
And now, refreshed and properly clothed in garments befitting their
position, they mounted fresh horses which had been led during the march.
Preceded by a _chuprassi_, or attendant, they advanced towards the gate.
"Make way there!" shouted the man, "stand aside, you basket-carriers!
Hi, you with the camel, pass on the left! Oh, you pig of a
bullock-driver, do you not see the sahibs?"
Thus, their advent heralded by much unnecessary bawling, they rode
through the center one of the three pointed arches of the gate.
Beyond lay the principal street of the narrow bazaar in which the Agra
merchants conducted their brisk trade. And what a brilliant spectacle
it offered in the glorious sunshine! Lofty houses, gay in tawdry colors
and picturesque in their dishevelment, looked down on a crowd as varied
as any on earth. Caste and color of every sort jostled in the roadway.
Women, erect and elegant, carrying earthen jars on their heads,
returning from riverside or well, moved with graceful carriage.
Merchants, coolies, sweetmeat sellers, and milk-venders rubbed shoulders
with swaggering Rajputs and stately Mahomedans. A Hindu pilgrim, laden
with sacred water from the distant Ganges, paused for a moment to buy a
handful of millet. A white-turbaned Sikh, attracted by the striped and
golden fruit of a melon-seller, tendered a small coin for a rosy slice
and stalked on, eating gravely and with dignity. Crawling snake-like in
the dust, a devotee wound his way to far-off Ajodhia, where Holy Ganga,
if ever he reached its banks, should lave his sins. Near him stood a
snow-white leper, thrusting fingerless stumps into the faces of the
passers-by, and gaining, by his raucous cries and revolting appearance,
a few cowries, or coin shells, from the few who did not remain utterly
indifferent to his appeals. An olive-skinned Brahmin, slender and
upright, bearing on his forehead the marks of his proud descent, and
carrying a brass vessel wherewith to draw the water for his morning
ablution, pulled his red cotton wrapper more closely around him as he
passed the leper. A young Pathan, fair-complexioned, eagle-nosed,
hawk-eyed, stalwart and stately as is the birthright of his mountain
race, pushed through the crowd with careless hauteur. The Sikh, the
Brahmin, the Pathan, were the born aristocrats of the mob.
To add to the seemingly inextricable confusion, pariah dogs prowled in
the gutter, bullock-carts crept along complainingly, stealthy footed
camels lurched through the crowd, palanquins, borne on the shoulders of
chanting carriers, passed swiftly amidst the vortex, and the two
travelers encountered at least one native carriage, painted green and
gold, and drawn by two white Dekkani bullocks, conveying a party of
Hindu women to the temple of Mahadeo, God of Love.
The occupants were young and pretty, too, clad in silks and laden with
jewels, as could be readily seen by a peep through the folds of the
_chudda_, left carelessly open, and they laughed musically as they
caught sight of the Englishmen's eyes turned towards them.
"'Tis clear enough that Akbar is a strong ruler and a just one," said
Walter, his white teeth showing in a smile at the merry party of girls.
"Such is his repute," answered Roger.
"Repute may belie a man. Here is ample proof. In a Mahomedan city I find
Hindus in excess. Amidst a strangely assorted crowd, pretty women drive
abroad in brave display of gold and gems. I reason that every man knows
he is protected by the law and a woman need fear no insult. 'Tis not so
in another great city we wot of."
"Ecod, I was just thinking of London. Not that I know much of the place,
but the babel of the bazaar brought to mind the Fleet. Ah, Walter
Mowbray, 'twas a queer gate we opened when you drew on my Lord Dereham
and I heaved him over the wall."
"We were heedless youths then. Now we are grave merchants and must
comport ourselves as such. I fancy it would better become our peaceful
character had we left our swords at the caravansary."
"I' faith, I differ from you. Some chuck might have a notion to measure
our bales by our blades, and I like ever to give a man an ell for a yard
by that reckoning."
So saying, Roger significantly tapped the handle of the tremendous
weapon fashioned for him by an armorer at Ahmedabad. Slung from his
right shoulder by a baldric, the sword was nearly four feet in length,
perfectly straight, double-edged, and strong in the forte. Probably
there was not its like in all India, as the expert native swordsman
finds delight in manipulating a curved scimitar, with razor edge and
tiny grip. The Indian uses the sword to cut, the lance and the dagger to
stab.
Mowbray shook his head.
"There is so much at stake on this venture," said he, "that I hope we
may keep clear of quarrels. Remember, I wrote to Nellie Roe telling her,
if fortune smiles on us, we should return to England by the first ship
that sails from Surat after we have adjusted accounts with Edwards. Let
us sell our silks and spices as best we may and haste back to the coast
with lighter and speedier convoy."
Roger laughed, so loudly and cheerily that many an eye was turned
towards him.
"By the cross of Osmotherly!" he cried, "that letter hath made thee a
parson. Yet I heard naught of this when Suraj Mul barred the way at
Ajmere, and you and I rode down his sowars as if they were painted men
and not bewhiskered knaves of flesh and blood, though of the black
sort."
"Mayhap the near end of our journey hath made me serious minded."
"Now, I think with you, but I arrive at the same end by a different
road. Our swords have done us good service. Let them keep in use and
they may earn us hilts of gold. But how now? Do we leave the city?"
Their guide had led them to the bank of the Jumna, where a bridge of
boats spanned the stream. In reply to a question by Walter, the man told
them that the house of the Diwan, or Prime Minister, lay on the other
side of the river.
They followed him, crossed the shaking bridge which made their horses
nervous, and climbed the steep bank opposite. Away to the right, on the
city side of the Jumna, they could see the high piled red sandstone
battlements of the palace, with some of its white marble buildings
glistening in the sunlight over the top of the frowning ramparts. A
winding road led towards the castle along the left bank of the river,
and, in the far distance, they could distinguish a gay cavalcade of
horsemen, whose burnished ornaments and arms shone in the sun with
dazzling gleams.
"What pageant may that be?" asked Walter of the guide.
"The King of Kings may ride forth in state, sahib, or Prince Jahangir
may go to the chase. I know not. At this season such spectacles are
common in Agra."
"'Tis a brave show," muttered Roger. "This Agra must be a grand place to
loot."
They lost sight of the cortege and halted in front of a strong but
exceedingly beautiful gateway, fashioned in a Saracenesque arch of white
marble, and bedecked with scrollwork wrought in precious stones, with a
text in Persi-Arabic over the porch.
Whilst the guide spoke to a guard, Walter deciphered the script:--
"'May Allah prosper all who enter and all who leave this dwelling!' A
most noble wish," he said, "and one which I reciprocate to the full."
"These Mahmouds have a way of uttering a prayer when they cut your
throat," growled Roger. "They never kill a duck but they chant a verse
of their scripture to mark the beheading. Now, I'll warrant me this is a
canting rogue at the best."
The gate was thrown open. Between its portals was revealed a vista
of a most delightful garden, where roses hung in festoons and all
manner of beautiful shrubs gave shade to pleasant lawns or were
reflected in the placid depths of clear lakes. Half hidden among lofty
trees they saw the low towers of a mansion built wholly of white marble,
and decorated, like the gate, with flower-like devices wrought in topaz,
and carnelians, and blue, red, and green gems that sparkled with the
fire of sapphires, rubies, and emeralds.
"The inmate may have the heart of a rogue, but he has the eye of an
angel," said Walter. "Is this the house of Itimad-ud-Daula?" he went on,
in Urdu.
"It is, sahib," answered the guide.
"And how is it called?"
"Bagh-i-dilkusha, sahib."
"The Garden of Heart's Delight!" He turned to Roger. "And well named,
too. If ever a place deserved such title methinks we are looking at it
now."
"I vow he has been dreaming of Nellie Roe all night," growled Roger to
himself as they dismounted. "I never knew him in such mood. Gad! he is
either sickening for a fever or he will write a set of verses ere
sunset."
They were asked to wait in the _baramada_, or porch, until a messenger
took particulars of their errand to the Diwan. But fortune smiled on
them that day and carried them far. The man had scarce set out towards
the house when the clatter of a horse, hard ridden, announced the
approach of some cavalier in hot haste.
The animal was reined in with remarkable celerity without, and the rider
entered the garden hurriedly. He checked his speed, however, when he saw
strangers, and not even the well-bred hauteur affected by the Persian
nobles of Akbar's court enabled him wholly to conceal the surprise with
which he beheld Sainton.
Walter stepped forward and bowed.
"We are English merchants," he said, "and we seek an audience of the
illustrious Itimad-ud-Daula. These servitors are dull-witted and may not
explain our errand. Perchance, if you have affairs with his Excellency,
you will be good enough to convey to him our request."
The newcomer, a handsome, noble-looking man of thirty-five or
thereabouts, laughed with a certain frankness that bespoke an open
character.
"Traders!" cried he. "Had you said soldiers I might have better
understood you. In what commodity do you deal? Is it aught to eat or
drink? If so, on my soul, your friend gives good warrant of its
virtues."
"Unhappily our land is too far distant to permit us to produce other
than a sample of what our meat and wine can achieve. But we have ample
stock of rare silks and rich spices of Araby and Gondar. If the ladies
of this charming city are as fair to behold and as richly adorned as all
else we have seen then our journey from Surat to the court of Akbar
shall not have been made in vain."
Mowbray's easy diction and the distinction of his manner astounded the
hearer quite as much as did Roger's proportions. The Persian, a born
gentleman, well knew he was talking to his equal of another clime.
"You and your wares could not have arrived at better season," he said
gravely; "but I never yet met merchant so unlike a merchant as you and
your gigantic companion."
Walter's quick intuition told him that here was one who might be a good
friend. It was important to stand well with him and leave room for no
dubiety. So, in a few well-chosen sentences, he told how it came about
that he and Roger brought a pack-train to Agra. The mere mention of
Edwards's name cleared up the mystery so far as his hearer was
concerned.
"Edwards!" he cried, "a fat man, who struts as he walks and coughs
loudly to command respect?"
Mowbray admitted that the description fitted his partner sufficiently
well.
"You know he has been here himself in years past?" went on the Persian.
"Yes. The knowledge he gained then led to the proper selection of our
merchandise."
"Did he not tell you what befell him?"
"Little of any consequence."
"He carried himself so ill that he bred a low repute of your nation. He
suffered blows from porters, and was thrust out of many places head and
shoulders by base peons without seeking satisfaction. Yet he showed some
judgment in choosing you two as his agents. Name him to none. Strive to
forget him until you rate him for sending you hither without warning."
No more unpleasing revelation could have been made. Walter was fully
aware of the difficulties which faced Europeans in India at that date.
The vain and proud Orientals lost no opportunity of humiliating
strangers. A cool and resolute bearing was the only sure fence against
the insults and petty annoyances offered by minor officials. It was,
therefore, vexing to the uttermost degree that Edwards had endured
contumely and not even prepared them for a hostile reception. For the
moment, Mowbray felt so disturbed that he was minded to retire to the
caravansary to consider his next step, when Sainton, who understood the
latter part of the conversation well enough, strode forward.
"Where be the peons you spoke of, friend?" said he. "'Tis fine weather,
and the exercise you spoke of, if practised on me, will give them a zest
for the midday meal."
This time the stranger laughed as heartily as etiquette permitted.
"No, no," he cried, "such minions demand their proper subject. Now, do
you two come with me and I shall put your business in a fair way towards
speedy completion."
Talking the while, and telling them his name was Sher Afghan, he led
them through the garden towards the house. The deep obeisances of the
doorkeepers showed that he was held of great consequence, and none
questioned his right to introduce the two Englishmen to the sacred
interior. They passed through several apartments of exceeding beauty and
entered another garden, in which, to the bewilderment of the visitors,
who knew what the close seclusion of the zenana implied, they saw
several ladies, veiled indeed, but so thinly that anyone close at hand
might discern their features.
Courteously asking them to wait near the exit from the house, their
Persian acquaintance quitted them and sought a distant group.
He salaamed deeply before a richly attired female and pointed towards
Mowbray and Sainton. Then he explained something to a dignified looking
old man, robed in flowing garments of white muslin, whose sharp eyes had
noted the advent of the strangers the moment they appeared.
With this older couple was a slim girl. When the others moved slowly
across the grass towards the place where Mowbray and Sainton stood, Sher
Afghan hung back somewhat and spoke to the girl, who kept studiously
away from him, and coyly adjusted her veil so that he might not look
into her eyes. He seemed to plead with her, but his words fell on
heedless ears.
Indeed, ere yet the aged Diwan had conducted Queen Mariam Zamani,
sultana of Akbar and mother of Jahangir, heir to the throne,
sufficiently apart from her attendants to permit the strangers to be
brought before her--the rank of the august lady enabling her to dispense
with the Mahomedan seclusion of her sex--Sher Afghan's gazelle-like
companion ran forward and gazed fearlessly at Mowbray, wonderingly at
Sainton.
"Their skins are not white but red!" she cried joyously. "Nevertheless
one of them must come from the land of Tokay, which is famed for its
white elephants."
Hastily conquering his air of dejection the younger nobleman signed to
the Englishmen to approach. They obeyed, without haste or awkwardness.
Grasping their sword hilts in their left hands and doffing their hats
with the elaborate courtesy of the age, they stood bareheaded before
the elder pair, and certainly the kingdom of James I. had no cause to be
ashamed of its latest representatives in the Mogul capital.
Roger Sainton had not his equal in height, in thickness of bone or
strength of sinew, in all the wide empire governed by the most powerful
of Indian monarchs, while Walter Mowbray's splendid physique was in no
wise dwarfed by the nearness of his gigantic comrade. They were good to
look upon, and so the girl found them notwithstanding her jest.
She herself was beautiful to a degree not often seen even in a land of
classic features and exquisitely molded figures. Her deep, violet eyes
were guarded by long lashes which swept rounded cheeks of ivory tint,
brightened by little spots of color which reminded the beholder of the
gold and red on the sunny side of a ripe pomegranate. Her lips were
parted, and her teeth, dazzlingly white, were so regular and large that
they appeared to constitute the chief attraction of a singularly mobile
and expressive mouth. Again she laughed, with a musical cadence that was
quaint and fascinating:--
"May it please your Majesty," she said, addressing the Sultana, "these
are not merchants but courtiers."
"May it please your Majesty," said Walter, instantly, "we would fain be
both."
His apt retort in high-flown Persian was unexpected. His eyes
encountered those of the girl, and they exchanged a glance of quick
intelligence. She was pleased with him, and he offered her the silent
homage which every young man of proper spirit pays to a beautiful and
sprightly woman.
Her brilliant orbs said: "I will befriend you."
In the same language he answered: "You are peerless among your sex."
And such was the manner of the meeting between Walter Mowbray, son of
him who fell on board the _San Jose_, and Nur Mahal, the baby girl who
was saved from death in the Khaibar Pass twenty years earlier.
It was a meeting not devoid of present interest, and of great future
import, yet it is probable that if Nellie Roe had witnessed it she might
have been greatly displeased.