Warriors of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  Clouds of dust choked him. When he lagged he heard the impact of Udai Singh's steed at his heels. The sweat poured from his face and chest, and his legs, which had rarely been obliged to bear his weight for long, shook under the strain.

  The attention of others in the cavalcade was attracted to this unusual spectacle, and da Gama's dignity suffered accordingly. When he beheld the mirthful gaze of the purser, smugly seated on a horse, he gave in.

  “The foul fiend take your papers!” he gasped. “I will swear by all the saints that I was tortured.”

  “Nay—” Sir Ralph pulled his camel away—“that sounds ungracious. Of your own will and accord you will do it.”

  The stout Portuguese glared, rocking with unaccustomed fatigue. The mirthful scrutiny of the Rajputs, who had small sympathy for a pampered body, decided him.

  “Have done,” he groaned. “I shall do it.”

  “From very love of me?”

  “Sant. . . From love of you.”

  “Mark, Udai Singh,” observed Sir Ralph, “what a man's legs will bring him to. The fat captive cries that he loves me.”

  That night they pitched their tents within sight of the towers of Kabul. And after the evening meal Sir Ralph sought out the Rajput leader, first making sure that the Portuguese were safely guarded.

  “We are at Kabul, Udai Singh,” he said, sitting on the carpet beside the other, “and it is time you and I settled our quarrel.” The Rajput glanced at him inquiringly.

  “It is not permitted to draw sword at Jahangir's court, Udai Singh. This is our last night, and the ground is fair for sword play. I will keep my promise.”

  Udai Singh did not speak for a long moment.

  “It is well, Ferang,” he responded mildly. “The gods are angered by a broken pledge. Yet I am bound to others.”

  “The quarrel was not of my seeking. I knew not the meaning of the ram rukhi.”

  Udai Singh seemed to be wrestling with a serious problem. “Once, Ferang,” he said, “the Queen of Chitore sent the ram rukhi to Humayon the Mogul and he took it. He mustered twice a hundred thousand spears to ride to the aid of Chitore, which was besieged. Eh, he rode slowly, slowly. He dallied, full of the idea of chivalry. But while he dallied the siege was pressed.”

  Sir Ralph waited, knowing by experience that Udai Singh never talked without a purpose.

  “Chitore was the gem of the Rajputs, Ferang. It was the jewel in the diadem of Marwar. It is like music in the mouths of our children.

  “My grandmother was in Chitore at that time. To hearten her husband she mounted, with other women, and took up a spear. She rode down the cliff and found death on the lances of the enemy. It was well done.”

  He glanced reflectively over the huddle of small tents and the kneeling camels to the evening sky, which was fast changing from purple to a full, blood red.

  “Humayon and his men rode slowly. When was a Mogul swift to aid others? Chitore fell.”

  “And Humayon?”

  “He kept the ram rukhi, for he loved to tell of his chivalry. Eh—could he name back his fathers for thirty-six generations, as we of the Marwar clan of Chitore? Yet he was fond of a good tale.”

  Udai Singh traced patterns idly in the sand with the point of his scimitar.

  “The sin of the sack of Chitore,” he added, “has become an oath of the Rajputs. It was taken by the army of Khorassan.

  “The queen who sent the ram rukhi put on her bridal garments and ran into the johar fire kindled by the women in the vaults of Chitore. Since then the doors of the vaults have been closed. Twelve thousand women followed their queen.”

  Sir Ralph fumbled for words and failed to find them.

  “The men,” concluded Udai Singh tranquilly, “donned the saffron garments of death and painted their faces with turmeric. They ran forth with jewels upon their turbans, and there were none who cared to survive the death of their women. Such is our custom.”

  The picture Udai Singh had painted with a few words was vivid even to the unimaginative Englishman.

  “Why should a man shrink from the halls of Yama, or the hot embrace of the bhanuloka? His name will live in the annals of

  his clan. Few know the heart of the Rajputs. If they knew that, they would read the secret of India.”

  He turned suddenly on his companion.

  “Such is the ram rukhi, Ferang. You did not know its meaning, and you do not now. But before you leave India, if it is the will of the many-armed gods that this should come to pass, you will perhaps understand more.

  “You will understand the strength of the bond that unites you with Krishna Taya. Not in the warmth of love, but in the colder tie of honor.”

  “But what need had Krishna Taya of me?” demanded the Englishman awkwardly.

  “Nay, am I the one to say? But she has willed this thing, and it will suffice. What is in her mind you may learn. The shadow of a great happening is in the land. The rumor of war passes over the Mogul land.”

  Sir Ralph stared at his inscrutable companion.

  “Has Krishna Taya said so?”

  As Udai Singh was silent, he pressed his inquiry.

  “Whom does the woman serve?”

  “She serves the Rajputs.”

  “And Raja Man Singh?”

  “He also serves the Rajputs.” Udai Singh glanced around cautiously. “We shall not fight, you and I, Ferang. The gods have willed otherwise. I have thought upon it long; and I will not draw weapon against the ram rukhi of Krishna Taya. The Mogul has left Kabul and is on his way to Khanjut.”

  “And we—”

  “Shall follow. Word has reached me from Krishna Taya. We must make all speed to the pass of Shyr though which Jahangir and his court are now proceeding.”

  Many things raced through Sir Ralph's mind—the difficulty of meeting the Mogul as he had planned, the urgent necessity to reach the court before it gained the Khanjut camp, where he

  would at once be recognized. Udai Singh, however, was a man of one idea.

  “We will not cross swords, Ferang,” he declared, “because Krishna Taya has need of you. It is my task to bring her to you.”

  The Englishman looked up frankly.

  “You and I have fought side by side, Udai Singh, and eaten of the same bread and meat. Why can we not be friends?”

  “That also may come. But only when you have served Krishna Taya.”

  He bent his handsome head nearer.

  “Do not dally with your own thoughts as Humayon did.”

  With that he rose and stalked away through the tents. Sir Ralph gazed after him uncertainly.

  1

  Checkmate.

  VI

  When the Mogul mounts for war the standard of yaks’ tails is lifted; the elephants sound their challenge and lift a knee in the loyal taslim. A million men will follow the standard.

  But in the sight of Allah is the Mogul more than one of the million?

  Muslim proverb

  The narrow pass of Shyr had been transformed by the advent of the camp of Jahangir. The Mogul traveled slowly, taking his ease and attended by the court, men of all ranks and provinces. Midway in the pass Jahangir had received news from Rajput messengers of the coming of the Portuguese embassy.

  He decided, against the advice of his Persian followers, to receive the foreign emissaries in the pass. Being a lover of amusement, he was more inclined to this from the reports of valuable gifts brought by the strangers, and by his intention to hold a festival of the harem at their arrival.

  These festivals were a part of the court life, and one was now due. On such occasions the royal tents were given over to the harem and the katchanis, who received sundry presents from the ameers and mansabdars.

  It was also prescribed by custom that the Mogul should not see the ambassadors until they made their formal entry. In this instance Jahangir arranged a reception of the usual splendor.

  The royal pavilions had been pitched along the clear stretch by the bank of the Amu Daria. A d
ouble line of cavalry extended down the pass. Cannon were sounded as the embassy reached the first of the cavalry.

  A group of ameers rode out to meet the cavalcade that came up the pass. They turned and rode back at the head of the procession. A lane had been cleared through the throngs of onlookers to the royal pavilion, where the elephants were drawn up.

  The beasts were robed for ceremony in their cloth of gold and breast- and head-pieces of gold and silver. The sides of the pavilion were drawn up, disclosing a gallery of carved sandalwood inlaid with mother-of-pearl, wherein sat Jahangir.

  Two railings extended beneath the gallery, the inner one containing the higher ameers of the court—the Persian councilors, northern emissaries, the leading Rajputs and a group of black-robed Portuguese priests who were given this position by special favor.

  Such was the scene that opened before Sir Ralph when he rode up at the head of his men. A setting of splendor in the barren, stony valley, ringed with its sunlit pine slopes.

  Sir Ralph reflected grimly that the setting was different from that of his first visit to the Mogul. Then he had got no nearer the peacock throne than an audience with certain high ameers of the Persian party and an unpleasant encounter with Portuguese priests.

  He could not be sure that some of the men who had seen him at Delhi were not now in the pavilion of the Mogul. If so, they would be likely to recognize him in spite of his change of costume.

  But they would scarcely identify him until he stood before Jahangir. He had studied the etiquette of the court, and he knew that once he had been presented in person to the monarch no one would presume to interrupt the ceremony.

  By now they had reached the twin lines of waiting elephants. Behind the beasts the imperial kettledrums sounded a roll, beaten by musicians who squatted in the dust. Sir Ralph cast an appraising glance over his cortege.

  The two Portuguese rode close behind his horse. They were scowling, but appeared in no mind to make trouble for him, especially as Udai Singh in all the finery that he could muster was within arm's reach, mounted on a splendid Arab that danced playfully under touch of spur.

  Udai Singh seemed impassive, but the Englishman knew that the Rajput was keenly nervous at the importance of the coming ceremony and the part he had to play therein. However, Udai Singh had his orders from some one—perhaps Krishna Taya—and was prepared to aid Sir Ralph at all cost.

  Behind the remaining Rajputs shepherded the led animals with the presents, attended by a company of slaves mustered by Udai Singh from somewhere.

  So it was that Sir Ralph came to the audience with Jahangir that he had sworn he would obtain—came with an escort of two captive Portuguese and gifts plundered from his enemies. And the court that he approached was beset with his foes. Not easy circumstances for any envoy, but doubly difficult for the Englishman, who was known to have sided with the rebels of Khanjut.

  In his favor were three things. He was reasonably sure that his caravan under Udai Singh's guidance had outstripped any couriers sent from the Portuguese fleet. He had laboriously acquired a knowledge of Turki and so was able to speak direct with the Mogul. And he alone of the assembly knew what course of action he was going to follow.

  This last was a vital point. Neither the Portuguese priests nor the Persian councilors could prevent his speaking to the Mogul now. This opportunity was what he had craved.

  For the moment the priests believed him to be the envoy from the fleet, arrived with unexpected speed. The chirurgeon and the purser behind him knew better, but—Udai Singh had his orders.

  For the moment the cards were in his hand. He asked nothing better. Afterward would come recrimination, opposition, a storm of protest. Yet he had the opportunity to play his trump and win the favor of Jahangir.

  He dismounted a dozen paces from the pavilion entrance. Within the shadow of the awnings he could see the watching throng and the gallery of the Mogul.

  Over the head of Jahangir was a canopy of velvet and silk. From the feet of the sitting monarch a carpet stretched from gallery to floor and led between the lines of courtiers out to where he was standing.

  A glance showed him that the two Portuguese and Udai Singh were afoot. He strode forward and paused at the pavilion entrance. A buzz of expectancy went through the crowd, who were waiting to see whether he would perform the prescribed low salaam or risk the displeasure of Jahangir by a European salutation.

  Sir Ralph did neither. He spoke in a low aside to a watching mansabdar who was acting as captain of the guard. The officer took his message to a councilor of the outer railing, who in turn repeated it to a vizier directly beneath the balcony. This official spoke the message to Jahangir.

  “The envoy, sire,” he whispered, “begs that you will grant him leave to make the salutation of his country.”

  At Jahangir's assent Sir Ralph swept off his plumed hat and made a courteous bow. He advanced to the first railing and repeated it. Here he waited until Jahangir signed for him to advance to a spot directly in front of and below the gallery.

  With another bow the Englishman complied. He had learned his lesson in court etiquette. The Portuguese imitated him clumsily. Udai Singh salaamed in the customary manner, but with a splendid swagger which was pardoned in the Rajputs.

  Jahangir glanced down with pleased expectancy. He was a broad man with slender wrists and ankles, richly robed, wearing the small turban with plume and tiara of the Moguls—a full-bearded, calm-eyed man, somewhat bored, vain, yet instinct with courtesy and a genuine desire to play the part of a benevolent monarch despite his self-indulgence in powerful stimulants and the vices of the age.

  Sir Ralph glanced up at him confidently, eagerly, holding his excitement under iron restraint.

  He extended his documents to a waiting eunuch, who conveyed them abjectly to the hand of Jahangir. The Mogul took them, opened the scrolls and glanced at them impassively.

  They were in Portuguese, but Jahangir recognized the crest. He beckoned to a second attendant.

  “Clothe the envoy in a serapah,” he commanded.

  Sir Ralph allowed himself to be robed in a brocade vest, a silken sash ornamented with gold, and a turban. While this was being done he glanced back at his companions.

  The Portuguese had caught the eye of the watching priests. A nudge from Udai Singh had restrained any impulse on their part to speak, but the priests within the railing had scented something amiss.

  Perhaps they had failed to recognize the officials; perhaps Sir Ralph's un-Portuguese appearance had stirred their suspicions. They were frowning and whispering among themselves.

  Clad in the robe of honor, Sir Ralph turned and nodded to Udai Singh. The Rajput signed to the waiting slaves, who advanced bearing the gifts.

  The Portuguese had chosen their presents well, with a knowledge of the fancy of Jahangir. Gold or jewels would hardly have appealed to the man who owned in person the treasure of a hundred kingdoms.

  But the quaintly wrought clocks, the engraved comfit-boxes and the illuminated volumes aroused his keen pleasure. He fingered the silver images of the saints and the silver-chased pistols with satisfaction.

  He received the painted portrait of a Portuguese monarch with critical complaisance. The art of portraiture was well known in India, where the artists were almost as skilled as in Europe. The Flemish tapestries and the brass cannon likewise met with his approval.

  Sir Ralph then took from his throat the crucifix, which was handed to Jahangir as the personal gift of the envoy. This completed the ceremony of the presents.

  “Will the Conqueror of the World1 receive my letter and read what is written therein?”

  A murmur went through the assembly. Few had thought that the envoy would speak fluent Turki.

  “It will be a pleasure greater than words can paint to read what is brought from without the World Empire.”

  Silently the Englishman extended a missive which he took from his girdle. A eunuch broke the seals and held it for the Mogul to read. There was a
n involuntary craning of necks behind Jahangir, who studied the letter intently.

  Once his brows went up and he stroked his beard. Surprise and bewilderment were slowly mirrored in the faces that read over the monarch's shoulder. The missive, which had been written in Turki by Sir Ralph himself, was readily understood.

  Jahangir glanced from the letter to the waiting envoy, from Sir Ralph to the letter.

  “By all the gods,” he exclaimed involuntarily, “this is a riddle. This letter is from one who calls himself the king of England. It asks for a trade alliance between my empire and the distant kingdom of England.”

  Sheer bewilderment held the throng of courtiers silent. The priests, who had caught what was said, pressed nearer the gallery, scowling. The two Portuguese behind Sir Ralph looked on blankly. They knew no word of Turki.

  “Nay, sire,” Sir Ralph said instantly, “I am the envoy of my sovereign the king.”

  “Of England or Portugal?”

  “Of England.”

  A Persian councilor who had been listening closely attempted to whisper to the Mogul, but Jahangir motioned him impatiently aside.

  “This is verily a riddle,” he frowned. “I was told that the embassy from the Portuguese, who are my friends, waited speech with me. Did my ameers seek to deceive me?”

  “Nay, sire. I am come from the Portuguese fleet. I have placed in your hand the credentials of the Portuguese. But my message is from one who would be your friend, who desires your good will and amity. From my lord of England.”

  At this point one of the black-robed priests raised his hand and endeavored to gain the attention of Jahangir. The Mogul, however, was waxing curious. Sir Ralph had carefully planned the effect of his words.

  “I know naught of the English,” he exclaimed irritably. “They live beyond all the seas. They have sent no embassy to my court. The Portuguese have said that they are evil-souled pirates—” “Sire,” Sir Ralph broke in audaciously, “will you grant me leave to explain my presence? Two years have I waited to address the World Conqueror. I bear tidings that have been kept from you—that should reach your ears.”