"She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd;
She's a woman, therefore to be won."
_Shakespeare_, "King Henry VI," Part I.
Nur Mahal was a Persian, not a native of India. In her wondrous face the
Occident blended with the Orient. Its contour, its creamy smoothness,
the high forehead and delicately firm chin were of the West, and the
East gave her those neatly coiled tresses of raven hue, those deeply
pencilled eyebrows, beneath whose curved arches flashed, like twin
stars, her marvelous eyes.
Her supple body was robed in a _sari_ of soft, deep yellow silk,
bordered with a device of fine needlework studded with gems. It draped
her closely, in flowing lines, from waist to feet, and a fold was
carried over her right shoulder to be held gracefully scarfwise in one
hand. An exquisite plum colored silk vest, encrusted with gold
embroidery, covered her finely molded bust, revealing yet modestly
shielding each line and flexure of a form which might have served
Pygmalion as the model of Galatea.
On her forehead sparkled a splendid jewel, an emerald surrounded by
diamonds set _en etoile_. Around her swanlike throat was clasped a
necklace of uncut emeralds, strung, at intervals, between rows of seed
pearls. She wore no other ornament. Her tiny feet were encased in white
silk slippers, and, an unusual sight in the East, their open bands
revealed woven stockings of the same material.
But the daughter of the Persian refugee who had risen to such high place
in Akbar's court was bound neither by convention nor fashion. She
fearlessly unveiled when she thought fit, and she taught the ladies of
Agra to wear not only the bodice and the inner skirt but also a species
of corset, whilst to her genius was due the wonderful perfume known as
attar of roses.
Again, although more than twenty years of age at that time, she was
unmarried, an amazing thing in itself when the social customs of
Hindustan were taken into account.
Suddenly brought face to face with such a divinity, it was no small
credit to Walter Mowbray that he kept his wits sufficiently to turn her
laughing comment to advantage.
The Sultana was graciously pleased to smile.
"If your wares comport with your manners," she said, "you will be
welcome at the palace. We hold a bazaar there to-morrow, and novelties
in merchandise are always acceptable on such occasions. Sher Afghan,"
she continued, "see that the strangers are properly admitted to the Hall
of Private Audience at the first hour appointed for those who bring
articles for sale."
The young nobleman bowed, as did Mowbray and Sainton, though the latter
knew but little of the high-flown Persian in which the Sultana spoke.
Nur Mahal, who appeared to be on terms of great familiarity with her
august visitor, whispered something to Queen Mariam which made the good
lady laugh. Obviously, the comment had reference to Roger, and that
worthy blushed, for a woman's eyes could pierce his tough hide readily,
there being no weapon to equal them known to mankind.
"She's a bonny lass, yon," he murmured to Walter, "and she has
uncommonly high spirits. I never kent afore why a man should make a fool
of himself for a woman, but now that I have seen one who is half an
angel I am beginning to have a dim notion of the madness which seizes
some folk."
"There are others, but why only half an angel?" asked Mowbray with a
smile, for the Queen had turned to address the Diwan.
"Because that is all we have seen. The hidden half is the devil in her.
Mark me, Walter, there will be heads cracked in plenty before that fancy
wench stops plaguing mankind."
Courtesy was urging Sher Afghan to give some directions to the wanderers
he had so greatly befriended, but inclination, always a willing steed,
dragged him to the side of Nur Mahal.
"I came to ask what you needed most for the bazaar," he said anxiously.
"Naught that you can bestow," was the curt reply.
"Sweet one, your words chill my heart. 'Tis but a week since your
father--"
She stamped a foot imperiously and clenched her hands.
"I am not one of those to be dealt with as others choose," she cried,
though modulating her voice lest it should reach the Queen's ears. "Why
do you pester me? Your tall sheepskin cap affrights me. Take it and your
ungainly presence to far-off Burdwan. I mean to abide in Agra."
He bent low before her.
"A blow from the hand of my beloved is sweet as a grape from the hand of
another," he said, conscious, perhaps, of the manifest injustice of the
attack on his personal appearance. Physically, he was a worthy mate even
for such a goddess, and he had already won great renown in India by his
prowess in the field and his skill in all manly exercises.
"Gladly would I bestow on you a whole bunch of such grapes," she said,
turning to follow the Sultana and her father. But a laughing shout from
the interior of the house caused all eyes to seek its explanation.
"Well met, mother! Have you come, like me, to wring another lakh out of
the Diwan?"
A young man, tall and well built and of pleasing aspect, notable for his
broad chest and long arms, and attired in sumptuous garments, entered
the garden. His words would have revealed his identity to Walter and
Sainton had they not met him, two years earlier, at Surat. This was
Prince Jahangir, the heir apparent.
His complexion was a ruddy nut brown, his eyes, if somewhat closely set,
were strangely keen and piercing, and it was a peculiar and noticeable
fact that he wore small gold earrings, in token of bondage to the great
saint Sheikh Salem, to whose intercession, it was said, he owed his
birth.
Jahangir did not trouble to conceal his emotions. His joyous glance,
evoked more by the sight of Nur Mahal, it is to be feared, than by the
unexpected presence of the Sultana, changed instantly to a scowl when he
saw Sher Afghan. Moreover, he discovered the presence of the Englishmen,
and he affected a tone of surprised displeasure.
"How now, Diwan!" he demanded. "Do you admit strangers to the privacy of
your zenana?"
"These are merchants from Ahmedabad. The Queen has commanded them to
show their wares at the palace," was the courteous reply of the aged
Prime Minister.
Jahangir smiled contemptuously. The foreigners in no wise disturbed him.
He knew quite well that his insult had reached the one man for whom it
was intended. Sher Afghan's pale face grew dark with anger.
"Oh, it is matterless," said the Prince, flippantly, and he addressed
Nur Mahal with a ready smile that utterly banished the anger from his
expressive features.
"Fair lady," he said, "I have brought you a present. I know your
fondness for all that is rare and beautiful. See if my gift will earn
your approval."
He clapped his hands, and a servant came, carrying a small gilded perch
to which clung two snow-white pigeons, each fastened to the crossbar by
a short silver chain.
Nur Mahal uttered a cry of pleasure. She ran to meet the man with arms
outstretched.
"They are quite tame," said the gratified Prince. "After a little while
they will come at your call and perch on your wrist."
She took the birds and caressed them softly. Suddenly, yielding to
impulse, she unfastened a chain, and the pigeon, finding itself at
liberty, darted up into the air and flew around in rapid circles, crying
loudly to its mate the while.
"How did that happen?" demanded Jahangir.
"Thus," she answered, freeing the second bird.
"But they are unused to the garden as yet. You have lost them."
"Sooner that than take away their freedom. My heart weeps for all who
are destined to captivity."
"Then you weep for me, as I am truly your captive."
"Ah, my bondage would be pleasant, and, like the birds, you could fly
away when you chose."
At that instant one of the pigeons dropped with angelic flutterings, and
poised itself on the perch which the girl still held.
The other, timidly daring, followed its mate's example, but settled on
the same side.
"See!" cried Jahangir excitedly. "The choice is made. They come back to
their fetters!"
"Your Highness will observe that there are two to dispute the vacant
place," interposed Sher Afghan.
The icy distinctness of his words showed that the significance of the
little comedy played by Nur Mahal had not escaped him. The girl pouted.
Jahangir wheeled about fiercely. A quarrel was imminent, but Queen
Mariam stopped it.
"Sher Afghan," she said, "you, who are a soldier, should not take much
interest in this idle playing with doves. As I return soon to the
palace, go with the strangers and let them exhibit their wares there
after the midday meal. That will better suit my convenience than the
customary hour to-morrow."
Bowing silently, the Persian motioned to Mowbray and Sainton to follow
him. He spoke no word, but a tumult raged within, and, at the gate, when
a servant was slow in opening it, he felled the man with a blow.
Instantly regretting the deed he gave the fellow a gold mohur, but his
face was tense and his eyes blazed as he mounted his horse and rode
silently with the two Englishmen through the midst of the gay retinue
which had escorted Prince Jahangir from the palace. Guessing with fair
accuracy the hidden meaning of the scene just enacted, Mowbray did not
intrude on the sorrowful thoughts of his Persian friend.
"We are in luck's way, Roger," he said quietly. "We have escaped the
Diwan and won the door of the Queen's apartments. If the good lady be as
ready to pay as she is to buy, this bazaar to-morrow should ease us of
all our goods."
"In which event we shall turn our faces westward?" asked Sainton.
"Assuredly. We must settle with Edwards, else I would take the river to
Calcutta."
"Ecod! From the manner in which you gazed at that hoity-toity lass in
yellow silk I thought you were minded to dally in Agra."
For some subtle reason the remark nettled Mowbray.
"We have already met two who are willing to come to blows about her,"
said he, tartly, "but I fail to see why you should hold me capable of
the folly of making a third."
"Nay, nay," said Sainton, with irritating composure. "I credit thee with
wisdom beyond thy years, but if Solomon, who had three thousand wives,
could go daft about yet an extra woman, there is small cause why thou,
who hast no wife at all, shouldst not be bitten by the craze. I warrant
you Prince Jahangir hath a bevy of beauties in his private abode, and
this chuck who hangs his head so dolefully may have half a score or more
waiting his beck and nod at home, yet they both are keen to fall to with
sword and dagger to dispute the possession of the quean we have just
quitted. 'Garden of Heart's Delight,' i' faith! The flower they all seek
there is of a kind that stings in the plucking."
Mowbray, conscious that the dethronement of Nellie Roe in his mind was
but momentary, regained his normal good humor.
"You are in a mood for preaching this morning," he cried. "Now, had
your tongue run so smoothly when the Sultana was present, you might have
won her favor, as all the women have an eye for you, Roger."
"A murrain on the barbarous words that trip my speech! I could talk to
her Majesty in honest Yorkshire, and I can make some headway in the
language of the common folk hereabout, but when it comes to your pretty
poesy of Shiraz I am perforce dumb as a Whitby mussel."
Here, Sher Afghan, rousing himself from a mournful reverie, began to hum
a verse of a well-known Persian love song:--
"O love! for you I could die;
'Tis death from your presence to fly;
O love! will the pain never end?
Will our hearts ne'er in unison blend?"
They were crossing the bridge of boats at the moment, and the singer,
more occupied with his thoughts than with external events, did not
notice that a laden camel, advancing down the center of the swaying
roadway, gave the party little enough room to pass on one side.
Walter drew his attention to the fact. The Persian, disdainful of the
lower orders as were all of his class, spurred his mettlesome Arab
forward, caught the lounging _unt_ by the halter and imperiously swung
the beast to one side.
A shriek rang out wildly from behind the camel, whose load of firewood
had struck a native woman walking on the side of the bridge. She
staggered and fell. The infant she carried was jerked out of her arms
into the river.
Walter, who saw what had happened, sprang from his horse, jumped into
the water, which was deep enough at that point to drown a man, and
caught the little naked child as it rose, struggling and gasping for
breath. With a vigorous stroke or two he reached the side of the nearest
pontoon. Roger leaned over, seized the collar of his friend's jacket,
and lifted him and the baby back to the firmer footing of the bridge.
The distraught mother flung herself at Mowbray's feet and wound her arms
around his ankles, thereby embarrassing him greatly, as he was soaked
from head to foot, and the dense crowd which gathered with extraordinary
speed threatened to block the bridge for an hour.
Sher Afghan, who was divided between wonder that a man should take so
much trouble to rescue a wretched infant and amazement at Roger's feat
of strength, for Sainton had lifted Walter clean over the rails of the
bridge with one hand, now awoke to actualities.
He beat a path through the gaping mob, extricated Mowbray from the
extravagant gratitude of the Hindu woman, and quickly led the two
Englishmen to the open road beyond the river.
"Did you not know that the Jumna swarms with crocodiles?" he asked, when
they were all mounted again, and riding onward at a sharp pace.
"Yes," said Walter.
"Then, by the tomb of the Prophet, you did that which I would not have
done for the sake of any brat in Agra."
"I gave no thought to it, or perchance I should have hesitated," was the
modest reply.
The incident served one good purpose. It effectually banished Sher
Afghan's love vapors, and he exerted himself so well in behalf of his
new acquaintances that they and their packs (Walter having donned dry
clothing) were admitted to the palace at the appointed hour, and
marshaled past countless officials who would otherwise have barred their
path.
The great fortress, in the center of which lay the royal apartments,
was a city in itself. Its frowning walls of dark red sandstone, sixty
feet in height and defended by many a tower and machicolated battlement,
surrounded a low hill. This was crowned by the famous Moti Musjid,
or Pearl Mosque, an edifice as celebrated to-day for its perfect
architectural proportions and refined taste in embellishment as it was
when the Great Mogul, during his daily orisons, occupied the small
floor slab nearest to the northwest, and, behind him, six hundred and
forty-nine nobles bent in devout homage towards Mecca.
The Hall of Public Audience, a splendid structure, was separated from
the mosque by a large garden. Near this rallying ground for all having
business with the court stood the smaller but even more impressive Hall
of Private Audience, to which there was direct access from the Emperor's
personal apartments. The Zenana, marked by its exquisite Jasmine Tower,
containing the Sultana's boudoir and giving a far-spread view across
the Jumna, lay beyond.
These buildings, and many another, constructed almost exclusively of
white marble and decorated with scrollwork festoons of flowers wrought
wholly in precious stones, shone in the rays of the afternoon sun as the
Englishmen passed through the somber depths of the great City Gate and
entered the open space surrounding the palace.
That they were the cynosure of many eyes goes without saying. But here,
curiosity was restrained. The grave courtesy of an Eastern court was
blended with the iron discipline enforced by a powerful ruler like
Akbar.
"The King's order!" said Sher Afghan, and before the King's order every
head bent.
Thus, avoiding the crowd which thronged the path leading to the spacious
Hall of Public Audience, where the Emperor in person was then dispensing
justice with that even-handed promptitude which won him the respect of
all his subjects irrespective of class or creed, Sher Afghan led them to
a secluded stairway.
Certain formalities needed fulfilment before the strangers or their
goods were allowed to ascend. Guards with drawn swords stood there, and
even Sher Afghan himself was compelled to satisfy the high-pitched
questions of a gorgeously robed eunuch ere sanction was given to
advance.
Mowbray and Sainton, eager to witness the successful end of their twelve
hundred miles' journey, were more concerned, doubtless, to display
their silks and spices, their rich store of Arabian and Persian goods,
than to note the marvels in sculptured stone with which they were
encircled. A mosaic pavement worth a monarch's ransom was to them only a
fine space for opening out bales of cloth cunningly bedizened with gold
thread, whilst a balcony of carved marble served excellently as a
counter.
At last, when all was ready, a messenger was despatched to the Sultana.
Queen Mariam came promptly, and with her were many ladies of the court.
They were all veiled, as was the strict rule when the Emperor was near
at hand, but among them Sher Afghan, and perhaps Mowbray, looked in vain
for the sylph-like form of Nur Mahal.
The scrutiny commenced at once. "Shopping" was as dear to the heart of
those Eastern dames as to their sisters of other climes and modern days.
The babble of tongues waxed eloquent, and the two traders, comparatively
new as they were to the occupation, saw with gratification that the
Sultana was as loud in her appreciation of the novelties spread before
her eyes as was the youngest lady in her train.
All was going well; Queen Mariam had asked the value of the whole
consignment, and Mowbray, with some trepidation, had added half a lakh
to the lakh of rupees with which he would be well content--expecting,
indeed, to obtain no more than the latter sum at the close of the
bargaining--when a sudden hush, a drawing together of the women, a
protest suspended in its utterance by the Sultana herself, announced
that the elderly man dressed solely in white muslin, who entered the
hall from a raised veranda at the further end, could be none other than
the Emperor.
His appearance was at once engaging and dignified. Not so tall as his
eldest son, he was even broader in build. Possessed of prodigious
muscular strength, due to the great breadth of his chest and his long,
sinewy arms and hands, Akbar looked a ruler of men both in physical and
intellectual properties. His eyes were full and penetrating, with
eyebrows that met in a straight line over his well shaped nose. His
face, a ruddy brown in color, was firm yet kindly in expression. His
forehead was high and open, and in the front folds of his white turban
lay a single large ruby in which the sun kindled a fiery glare.
He surveyed the scene in silence for a moment. Then, as his glance dwelt
on Sainton, a somewhat prepossessed smile gave place to a look of
genuine surprise. He turned and uttered some comment to one behind, and,
as he strode forward, they saw that he was accompanied by the Prime
Minister, Itimad-ud-Daula.
Every man present, save the armed guards and the two Englishmen, dropped
to his knees and bent his forehead to the ground, but Mowbray and Roger,
not accustomed to genuflection, contented themselves with bowing deeply.
The Emperor was in no wise offended. He smiled again, showing his teeth
plainly.
"They told me you were a big man," he said to Sainton, "but are you a
strong one? Big men are oft like long-backed horses--they bend when the
strain comes."
Luckily, Roger understood him, and, though his Hindustani was rude, be
sure it never lacked point.
"I do not think," he said, "that my back is too long for my height, your
Majesty. Be that as it may, they tell me there is no better judge of
strength, whether of man or horse, than your Majesty in all India."
"By the shade of Nizam-ud-din, this giant is no fool!" cried Akbar,
whose voice, though loud, was very pleasant. "Were I younger I would
test thee, Elephant, but that day is past. Tell me, couldst thou shear
two tigers' heads with a single stroke?"
"Yes, if your Majesty first tied both heads together."
"Allah, here is a spark after my own heart! What is thy name?"
"Roger Sainton, may it please your Majesty."
"Raja Sainton! If you be of noble rank why do you come hither in the
guise of a trader?"
Sainton was puzzled, as Akbar's elegant diction rendered the mistake
difficult to understand, so Mowbray, in a few well-chosen words, set
things right.
The Emperor gave a quick glance at Walter, and seemed instantly to
appreciate the relation between the two. But he addressed himself again
to Roger:--
"You have traveled far, and are welcome. To-day I am busy, or I would
discourse with you further. Be here to-morrow, two hours before sunset,
and we shall give each other entertainment. Meanwhile, what can I do
for you and your friend?"
Sainton, filled with the sense of _camaraderie_ which makes men of
kindred sympathies quickly known to each other, realized that Akbar
would not resent a little familiarity.
"Sir," he said, "if you buy our goods and give us good cheer we shall do
that which those in your court ought to do every day, but fail therein
most scandalously, I fear."
"And what is that?"
"We shall pray to God for your health and happiness."
Akbar grasped him by the shoulder.
"List, all of you," he shouted. "Here is our Elephant showing his
wisdom. By the Prophet's beard, I regret, for once, that there is peace
in our dominions, else you and I, Elephant, should go to the war ere
ever you sailed away to your distant land. But we shall find sport, or
my wit fails. You, sir," he went on, speaking to Mowbray, "shall tell us
something of the ways of your country when the Elephant and I have
wearied ourselves. Meanwhile, the Sultana will buy your wares at your
own rates. I judge as much by the cackle of women's voices I heard as I
came hither."
By way of a joke he gave Sainton's shoulder a farewell squeeze that
would have dislocated many a man's bones. Roger, pretending he had not
felt it, stooped and picked up a small brass jar which he grasped around
its narrow neck.
"Let me give your Majesty a reminder of to-morrow's meeting," he said.
The Emperor, seeing more in the words than their mere purport, took the
jar. Roger had bent the brass cylinder into a double fold.
"Thanks, friend," he said, quietly. "'Tis well it was not my neck which
received that grip, else there would be a new ruler in India. And, by
the Koran!" he added under his breath, "I am minded now of another
matter."
He looked around until he caught sight of Sher Afghan, standing somewhat
apart from the listening crowd.
"My young friend," cried he, "I have been discussing you with my trusted
Diwan. He agrees with me that you should provide his beautiful daughter
with a careful husband. Marry her forthwith! To-night, if you be so
minded! And lest anyone should dispute the prize with you take a troop
of horse to escort you to Burdwan."
Bombs were hardly known in India at that period, but the explosion of a
live shell in the midst of the company would have created a sensation
little more profound than Akbar's words. Nur Mahal, that fiery beauty,
to be wed forthwith to Sher Afghan! What would Prince Jahangir say?