Warriors of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  Here he was stripped and bathed by the attendants. This done, they gave him clean muslin garments and conducted him to the Rajput's tent, where he fell at once into a broken sleep.

  Udai Singh had spoken the truth when he asserted that Sir Ralph was ill. Bad food and the change from the pure air of the hills had inflicted upon him a mild dysentery coupled with fever.

  Throughout the next day he lay in the tent. Udai Singh brought him certain doctored drinks which smelled of herbs and the bel-leaf.

  Once he thought that Krishna Taya came and looked in on him. A slave was sent who stirred the air over him with a peacock fan. From the fan came the faint scent of attar of rose—a favorite perfume of Krishna Taya.

  This care and the Englishman's willpower staved off a more serious illness. By the evening of the second day he was able to go to the pavilion.

  It was twilight. He reflected that at this time Abdul Dost would be performing his evening ablutions before the sunset prayer and Shirzad Mir would be calling loudly for scented wine.

  How had Shirzad Mir fared? What was the situation in Khan-jut? What did Raja Man Singh seek to learn from him?

  He did not know. Nor did he hope greatly that he could win free to Surat.

  He groaned at the thought of Hawkins waiting for his arrival. His delay might work hardship for the sturdy English captain at the hands of the Portuguese.

  He stifled his impatience as best he could, determined to gain his freedom, if it were possible, by his wits. In this frame of mind he joined Krishna Taya at the edge of the tank, where she was seated on some cushions, attended only by slaves. The Rajputs, however, were not far away.

  “Vishnu and Siva have harkened to my prayers,” the girl greeted him, “for Udai Singh says you are nearly free of the fever, although weak.”

  “Udai Singh has been kind.”

  Her glance swept over him inquiringly. She rested her chin on her small hands and gazed out over the water under dark lashes.

  “It is the way of the Rajputs to care for a stricken enemy,” she said softly. “That is the law of those who dwell ever in the shadow of Yama.”

  “So you are my enemy?” he responded bluntly. “There was a time when you sought to serve me—”

  “And you freed me. The ways of the gods are hidden. Who am I but a servant of my clan and its leader, Raja Man Singh? From birth to death we women of Marwar must be ready to take the hand of Yama and pass to the fellowship of the bhanuloka, who are the spirits of the dead.”

  She sighed, and sighing fell to stroking the silk bracelets. When she looked up she was smiling.

  “Ho, Sir Ralph, do you remember the thick-skulled Muslim Abdul Dost and his foolhardy master? They feared that I might do them a mischief. Nay, I am but a poor girl.

  “How fare the men of Khanjut? Are they ready to place the sword of submission on a cord about their necks and yield to the Mogul?”

  The Englishman looked away obstinately.

  “Abdul Dost and Shirzad Mir once allowed you to leave the walls of this same Khanjut,” he remarked grimly, “and by so doing earned the hatred of Jani Beg. Have you forgotten that?”

  “Perhaps. There is a rumor Shirzad Mir is dying. The siege works of the great Persian, Shah Abbas, have reached close to the walls. His cannon have near completed a breach. Prisoners say that food is short in the garrison, although Raja Man Singh doubts.”

  “That I know not.”

  “Doubtless Abdul Dost, who is a warrior of sense, advises surrender?”

  “Doubtless.”

  Sir Ralph was little inclined to tell her what she sought to know.

  “Or you would not have left Khanjut.”

  He remained silent, and she sighed. Her hand touched his arm.

  “Will you not trust me, Sir Ralph?” she whispered softly. “Those who are traitors to the Mogul may not live. You are like one who is walking blindly among snares.

  “I have not forgotten that you saved my life. And I would do you a service. You seek a firman from Jahangir for your countrymen. That you have often told me. See—”

  She loosened one of the fragile silk bands from her arm and placed it in his hand. It was a childlike ornament, fringed with red tassels. He looked down at the smiling girl inquiringly. She clapped her hands and called to the Rajputs.

  “Raja Man Singh ordered that you should be brought to the Mogul court,” she whispered swiftly, while Udai Singh and the others approached. “Pledge me that you will come to the court.” He reflected that this was what he planned to do.

  “Quickly,” she warned. “I know you seek Surat, to gain word of your countrymen. You shall yet do this, but—promise. You are a man of your word.”

  “I shall go to the court of Jahangir,” he assented.

  Udai Singh was near enough to hear.

  “Now, speak freely,” she cautioned under her breath. “Witness this, Udai Singh—” she turned to the leader of her men-at-arms—“witness and tell others what you have seen. I have given the silk bracelet to Sir Ralph the Englishman, and he has taken it.”

  The eyes of the Rajput widened in genuine surprise. Sir Ralph looked at the silk-and-tinsel ornament curiously. It seemed a slight thing to have such an effect on Krishna Taya's warriors.

  “Witness, Udai Singh, that he is now my ram rukhi—bracelet brother. He is bound to my service, for he has taken the token in his hand. In whatever I do, he will aid me. That is the custom of our clan and people, from the time the first queen of Chitore sent the ram rukhi to Privthi Raj—”

  Sir Ralph had heard Shirzad Mir speak of this ceremonial of chivalry by which women of the raj obtained the aid of powerful chieftains when in need. The token he knew was never refused. It was considered more binding than a pledge, by the giver as well as the one to whom it was sent.

  Udai Singh, however, was far from pleased. His dark face was harsh, and he gnawed at his mustache.

  “This is not fitting, Krishna Taya,” he said boldly, and the others murmured assent. “Who should aid you except us? This Ferang was to be bound and brought prisoner to Raja Man Singh—

  “Fool!” cried the girl musically. “Because you wield a sword well do you question in wisdom? Am I not vested in the authority of the raja himself? Does not the law of our people permit the ram rukhi to be sent to any one, slave or king?”

  Udai Singh was silent but plainly ill pleased.

  “And now, Sir Ralph,” went on Krishna Taya, “what do you seek in Surat? It is not the Portuguese.”

  Quickly he pondered what he should answer and decided it was best to be frank. For some reason best known to her the woman seemed anxious to be his friend. Likewise, he was by nature a blunt man who had no love for lies.

  He explained the visit of Captain Hawkins, the plan of the English to occupy Surat in spite of the Portuguese and to win the friendship of the Mogul by bold measures.

  “The sea captain is an ameer in my land,” he said. “He brings gifts and friendship to Jahangir. But his success depends upon me. It was agreed that I should meet him.”

  “Are you also an ameer of the sea, whence you came?”

  Sir Ralph nodded assent.

  Krishna Taya was silent for a long space, whether pleased or not he could not tell. Idly she tossed tiny crumbs of cake from her lap into the pool, where a flurry of silvery fish fought for the dainties.

  “You shall go to Surat,” she decided, “with Udai Singh and his following of six. Nay, you were witless to venture alone. Does a man hunt tigers afoot and without nets?

  “Guide the English emissaries direct from Surat to Kabul,” she commanded Udai Singh. “To the court of Jahangir himself This you may do, but not otherwise,” she added, turning to Sir Ralph. “Udai Singh will see to it.

  She glanced up meaningfully at the sulking Rajput.

  “I give you this as a duty, Udai Singh.”

  She smiled mockingly at Sir Ralph, whose heart had leaped in pleasure.

  “Do not think to escape from my men, Fer
ang, or to turn back from Kabul. You are a prisoner, under pledge. If the pledge is broken you will suffer. Nay, if you are wise you will trust us—for the Uzbeks and Persians will not be so gentle with you. Do not hurry; time is not lacking—”

  “Not so, Krishna Taya,” he said, disarmed by her artlessness. “I must be at Kabul before the citadel falls. The embassy will intercede with Jahangir for the lives of those at Khanjut—”

  He broke off, cursing his plain-speaking tongue.

  “O wise Ferang,” she laughed. “Is not the citadel stocked with food to last for months? Surely you do not fear it will be taken?”

  Caught off his guard by her nimble tongue, Sir Ralph could think of no plausible answer.

  “Harken, Udai Singh,” she chattered gaily, “how the dull Ferang tells me what I wish. Now I know that the granaries of Khanjut are near empty. I know that he has left Khanjut seeking aid for those within, who must be hard pressed. Nay, more he hopes to intercede with Jahangir through the English embassy for his friends.

  “I must hasten to Raja Man Singh with these tidings. There is much to be done at Kabul—”

  She rose lightly to her feet and fled into her pavilion, still laughing gaily. Once within the hangings, however, a change came over her. The mirth faded from her dark eyes and her slight lips trembled.

  She flung herself on the cushions, staring through the sandalwood lattice at the group of men. The pulse in her smooth throat beat swiftly. Long she watched without moving.

  When the men had made their preparations and mounted for the journey, her eyes followed them out of sight among the cypresses. Then she lay back upon the pillows, sighing.

  Her attendants came to light the tapers, but she sent them away impatiently. Twilight merged into darkness. A faint glitter of moonlight showed on the surface of the pool. Still Krishna Taya did not stir.

  The moon was high over the jungle mesh before she slept.

  On the trail to the South Sir Ralph rode silently, angry with himself and the girl. Only once did he speak to Udai Singh.

  “So the pretty play of the ram rukhi was a mockery,” he observed scornfully, “and Krishna Taya played upon me as upon the strings of her guitar?”

  The Rajput reined in his horse sharply.

  “Those words were ill spoken, Ferang,” he stormed. “By Siva and Kali the many-armed, you shall answer for them. Never is the ram rukhi given in false faith. My scimitar will cross with your long sword the day I have brought you safely to the court at Kabul.”

  “I have no sword.”

  Impatiently the other loosened Sir Ralph's blade from his own girdle and thrust it into the hand of the Englishman.

  “Take this, then, and be content. Remember, you fight with Udai Singh the day we reach Kabul. One of us shall slay the other for the words that passed this night.”

  “So be it,” said Sir Ralph shortly.

  He had seriously offended the sensitive pride of the Rajput, but he was not the man to soften his own words, nor—in his present mood—did he greatly care whom he fought.

  Yet the thing puzzled him. Apparently Krishna Taya had cleverly deceived him, while Udai Singh hotly maintained this was not the case.

  There had been a wistful note in the girl's voice when she asked him to trust her. Yet she seemed heart and soul with his enemies.

  However, she had paved the way for bringing the English embassy to Kabul. This meant much to Sir Ralph. He cared not how many quarrels he took upon his shoulders, if he could present Hawkins to the Mogul. As for Krishna Taya—

  He was mystified by the girl. But he was not the only one in India who was curious as to the true character of the Rajput woman.

  Like the breath of wind in the trees, Krishna Taya came and went from camp to camp, laughing at the men who sought to call her to account, and following her own whim. If she played a part, it was well played. If she served a master, no one could name him.

  It was with relief and high expectation that Sir Ralph climbed the hills back of Surat after a short hard ride from the Indus bank. To add to the discomfort that horseback entailed for him, rains had been constant. The companionship of the Rajputs, who resented their errand and were afire to ride back to Kabul, was hardly cheering.

  At Surat, he consoled himself, he would find the adventurous Hawkins and clap eyes again upon good English faces, bearded and weather-stained. He would feel the deck of an aftercastle under his feet and hear the pennon of the king snap in the shrouds overhead; he would have news of London and the court for the first time in close to four years; perhaps even receive a budget of letters.

  So it was with a light heart that he urged his horse to the summit of the rise overlooking the city. The rain had ceased for a space and the sun beat fairly upon them. They had left the green wilderness of bush behind and were out upon the high road again.

  At the top of the rise Sir Ralph drew in his horse, drinking in the sight before him. There were the flat roofs and the temples of Surat. At one side of the city were the storehouse and other structures of the Portuguese trading station. Out in the harbor four ships were anchored.

  Sir Ralph's gaze riveted upon these. He scanned the high, loop-holed fore- and aftercastles, the muzzles of cannon that peered forth amidships and the long pennant stirred by a faint breeze.

  He had keen eyes and was familiar with the lines and rigging of ships of several nations. He even distinguished the coat of arms painted on the stern of one caravel.

  He could not tear his gaze from the ships. These were what he had come across half the Mogul Empire to see. He remained sunk in a muse so long that the Rajput stared at him curiously.

  The four ships were Portuguese.

  IV

  So long as the hills endure, a Rajput will keep his word.

  Illness leaves its mark on a man's spirits, as it saps his strength. Sir Ralph had passed through an attack of dysentery coming on the heels of his long journey. His vitality had been drained more than he was aware while he was buoyed up by the prospect of meeting with Hawkins.

  Now he knew that the English fleet had not appeared at Surat. Udai Singh made inquiries in the town and reported that the Portuguese had no knowledge of Hawkins, or of any vessels except their own along the west coast of India.

  Sir Ralph had calculated that Hawkins would have arrived a month or two before. It was not likely that he would come during the Winter season.

  Instead—so Udai Singh learned—a Portuguese fleet bearing envoys with letters and gifts to Jahangir had put into Surat some two weeks ago. There had been rejoicing at the trade station at this, and the newcomers were being dined nightly pending their departure into the interior.

  It was the irony of fate, thought the Englishman, that an enemy squadron had put in an appearance on a mission like that of Hawkins. The arrival of the Portuguese—the first envoys from Europe to greet the new Mogul, Jahangir—would strengthen the hold of the Lisbon adventurers on India and would nullify Hawkins's mission when the latter arrived.

  “We will wait,” he told Udai Singh. “My companion may be delayed by storms.”

  “It was the word of Krishna Taya to return straightaway to Kabul,” retorted the plain-spoken Rajput, who entertained no expectation of seeing an English fleet appear out of the sea.

  They occupied a deserted caravansary on the slope overlooking the seaport. Sir Ralph deemed it best to keep out of sight of the Portuguese, and sent the Rajputs to the city bazaars for food. As he still wore a Rajput turban and the native garments he had donned perforce at Krishna Taya's pavilion, the peasants who sometimes came in sight of the caravansary did not suspect the presence there of a Ferang.

  His companions, out of humor from their fruitless trip, returned from the bazaars with tales of the Portuguese, their supernatural power of sailing the seas to India, their lavish promises, the influence of their padres at Agra, and the glories of great Goa.

  In all India, they reminded Sir Ralph skeptically, there was not another Englishman. The prom
ised ameer of the sea had not appeared. They believed their own eyes, which told them that the Portuguese ships, not the English, were bringing gifts to the Mogul.

  “Moreover,” they said, “the low-born Portuguese at the trade mart have a tale that the king is not fit to wipe the dirt from their own boot soles. Verily, they are a race without caste. Are not all Ferangs merchants? If so, there are none of the warrior caste in all Ferangistan.”

  “Wait for a space,” counseled Sir Ralph, keeping his temper, “and if the ameer of the sea comes you will behold a warrior among many.”

  “But you have said that you also are an ameer of the sea. Yet you have neither the garments nor following of a noble. How may we then believe?”

  “What your eyes behold, you may believe.”

  “We see no ameer of the sea. Naught but a prisoner, poor as a Gulf Arab, and friendless save for—”

  He broke off moodily.

  In this manner they grumbled. Idleness was irksome to the hard-fighting, opium-eating Rajputs, who scented activity at Kabul and were loath to remain. Sir Ralph spent most of his time on the hill overlooking the town, where he could watch the coming and going of the men from the ships.

  The sailors were conveying the cargoes ashore—bales of broadcloth, as nearly as he could judge. Each night a banquet was held at the trading-station. The Portuguese factor was in no hurry to see his distinguished guests depart. Tales were circulated from the storehouse of the splendid gifts brought for the Mogul.

  It was not a pleasant watch that Sir Ralph kept. He searched the horizon against his better judgment for sight of an English sail, and thereby fretted himself the more.

  “God'slove!” he cried to himself. “Shall I go here hence empty-handed, to become a pawn on the Mogul's chessboard?”

  He brooded on this thought, oppressed by the heat and his own ill health. The sight of the hybrid sailors who held revelry in the town of nights wore on his frayed temper, as did the prospect of the stout pursers and trade clerks who were carried about in pomp in native sedan chairs.