Warriors of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  Curiosity is a potent force. Fronted with a riddle, Jahangir was in no mind to let it pass without explanation. He signed angrily to those who were trying to distract his attention.

  “Speak!” he ordered, and to his followers:

  “Peace! The man has been presented to me in audience. I would hear what he has to say.” “Intrigue and bribery, sire,” began Sir Ralph promptly, “have kept me from your presence. If I had not escaped poison I should not be here.”

  He spoke forcibly, directly. Sir Ralph was at best no courtier, and he had the blunt speech of an English seaman. In the court where he now stood, plain speaking and honesty were an unknown quantity. Yet his only chance lay in arousing the interest of Jahangir.

  “The Portuguese drove me from Delhi when I first came. They won over my interpreter and the ameers to whom I spoke. They whispered to those near you that the English were pirates.”

  He had the attention of the Mogul now. Jahangir was nervously alive to hints of bribery about his person.

  “A hundred years ago the Portuguese first came to India. Two years later a fleet under da Gama captured and slew a shipload of Muslim pilgrims bound for Mecca; later this same envoy of Portugal hanged fifty fishermen seized in the harbor of Calicut.

  “This policy of aggression was followed by Dom Francis Almeida, who broke up and harassed a Muslim fleet off the Gulf of Cambay. In the lifetime of Akbar, your father, the Portuguese operating from Goa, which they had taken, defeated the combined princes of Bijapur, Ahmadnagar and Calicut.”

  Just as the first of the speech had been greeted with a murmur of approbation from the Mohammedans of the court, so now this reference to Goa drew forth a stir from the Rajputs.

  Sir Ralph, now sure of undivided attention, outlined briefly the evils of the Portuguese regime in the empire, the religious bigotry of a people that preached holiness and oppressed captured natives.

  “Only the Mogul should hold power in India,” he said boldly. “Yet these poisoners and intriguers of Goa keep whom they choose from your presence. They have promised riches to the Moguls from their trade. Have you seen those riches?”

  He could guess nothing from Jahangir's face, but the priests were obviously disturbed.

  “The power of the Portuguese on the seas is waning. The flag of England is entering the Indian Sea. Half a lifetime ago there was a great sea-battle between the ships of England and the empire of Philip, of which Portugal is only a part. Our enemies were crushed and lost many thousands. “

  “How may I know the truth of this?” broke in Jahangir.

  Sir Ralph smiled.

  “Nay, I was there. And another who fought the Armada will come to your court. His word will bear out my tale, and he is Captain Hawkins, an ameer of the sea.”

  He swept his hand at the pile of gifts.

  “Here is witness. Nay, I alone with Udai Singh and some Rajputs have stripped the wealth of the Portuguese embassy. Because of my wrongs I have done this. Yet he who is coming after me will do greater things.”

  He faced the scowling Portuguese.

  “Is it an evil thing to avenge a wrong? What says the law of the Prophet? I and those of my country and my king desire to despoil no one. We seek the rights of trade. But an injury we never forget.” “How came the Rajputs to aid you?”

  “In the bonds of friendship. I alone take the blame. They obeyed orders. I brought the message of my sovereign to the Mogul. If I have done ill it is for the Mogul to say. None other.” Something like admiration showed in the handsome face of Jahangir, but also misgivings. A vizier whispered to him. Sir Ralph awaited his reply quietly. When he would have spoken, one of the Portuguese stepped forward with a low salaam.

  “Harken, sire,” the man exclaimed forcibly, “to the word of your servant. Like the warmth of the sun your righteous judgment nourishes the land and its people. Whithersoever the wind blows the uprightness of Jahangir, Conqueror of the World and Ruler of the Earth, is known.

  “An offense has been committed against our countrymen. I ask that you pass judgment upon the offender.”

  He glanced at Sir Ralph scornfully. The early Portuguese in India were not lacking in boldness. But they were political tools, sent to win favor from the broad-minded Akbar and Jahangir. Their accomplishment in India was purely in the way of temporal power.

  “What is this man but a sea-robber?” he cried, his hatred gaining the upper hand. “He is an adventurer, without caste or rank. Before your wisdom answers him I plead that you will hear our speech upon the matter.

  “Let time and wise counsel influence your decision. Do not grant him what he asks now, but later when you may inquire fully into the rights of the matter.”

  Sir Ralph threw up his head.

  “Soft words are the tools of the evil, Conqueror of the World,” he said calmly. “Is it not the law of the Moguls that a visiting ambassador may not be threatened with such a charge? I claim the privilege of an envoy.”

  Jahangir stroked his beard meditatively. He was by no means a weak-minded man. But his position as ruler of a half-dozen nations and as many religions made caution a necessity.

  “I pledge the safety of your person, Sir Ralph,” he responded mildly.

  “Sire,” put in the Portuguese shrewdly, “you are beset by many cares. Tonight is the festival of the harem, which has long been prepared for your delight. Nay, it would be a sin if your honored enjoyment were impaired by this upstart. Postpone the matter until you can weigh both sides.”

  “Time,” objected Sir Ralph, “will not make right a wrong. England asks the open hand of friendship. Will you refuse?”

  But Jahangir was thoughtful. The power of England was still unknown in India, and—he had honored the Portuguese with his favor.

  “I must think upon this,” he decided. “Verily, I will speak with you again. Tonight you will make merry with us. For you are a bold man, and I am fain to like you.”

  With that he rose. The interview was at an end, the papers handed to his courtiers. Sir Ralph bowed.

  He had played his trump card. And it had failed.

  That night the bank of the Amu Daria was transformed into a torch-lit garden. It was the evening of the harem festival, when women could be seen by courtiers half veiled or unveiled, the hour when the charms of the katchanis—the dancing-girls—were bared for all who would to see.

  The shrill music of Hindustan crept from concealed coverts along the bank of the river. The plaint of hidden musicians swept the silk-booths, wherein clustered the women of the harem.

  Among the booths wandered Persian, Rajput, and Muslim nobles. High ameers, arm in arm with sturdy mansabdars, sought out the booths where ornaments, perfumes and trifles of various kinds were bartered with the utmost good nature.

  A bearded Kashmir lord attracted attention to himself by loudly declaring that a jade bracelet offered by the wife of a Khorassan chieftain was worth scarce an ounce of silver, while the woman, nervous yet pleased at the publicity of the occasion, demanded at least two pieces of gold.

  Such was the spirit of the festival—jest and a play of wit.

  The dark-faced Kashmiri raised his price to two ounces of silver, while the begum with great display of dark eyes and flashing teeth insisted that he was verily a thief of thieves, a true Kurd. She cried for gold. The onlookers smiled.

  The noble shrugged his robed shoulders.

  “I will give three pieces,” he laughed. “By the beard of my father, you are a shrewd mistress, begum!”

  And he tossed down three pieces of gold. The watchers applauded, save for a few Mohammedans, who disliked the appearance of women unveiled in public.

  Through the crowd wended slim katchanis, reveling in the music and high spirit which were twin partners of their profession. For the space of the festival they were on an equal plane with the wives and families of the nobles. And Jahangir himself talked and jested with them.

  Such was the evening of the harem—when the Mogul's court forgot intrigue
and ambition in child play. But there were many who did not forget.

  Among the court were certain northern nobles who talked briefly with elegantly dressed Persians. And certain eunuchs who bore messages from those who did not like to be seen conferring with the Persians. Under the mask of light-hearted abandon there ran an undercurrent of suspense and expectation unperceived by Jahangir and his immediate friends.

  The Mogul himself was well content.

  He was playing the part of a gracious host to his court, laughing at the wit of the women and loudly exclaiming upon the by-play of a certain katchani who had made a Muslim merchant pay many times its value for a pair of pearl earrings.

  “Ho,” he chuckled, “here is one who is by breed a getter of profits; yet this sightly maiden has taken him by the ears!”

  The courtiers echoed the good humor of their lord, save for Sir Ralph. The Englishman had been forced to join Jahangir's party by the hospitality of the Mogul. But the scene of that afternoon would not be dismissed from his mind.

  He had made a bold stroke. He had claimed the firman for England from the Mogul. Interference by his enemies the Portuguese had checkmated him. He had no delusions concerning what was in store for him.

  It mattered little that Jahangir had sworn that his person would be inviolate. The Portuguese of the court entourage had delayed Jahangir's answer. They were even now probably comparing notes with the two Portuguese he had taken prisoner. For neither Udai Singh nor his charges were to be found.

  Time would serve his foes. Pressure would be brought to bear upon ameers and eunuchs close to Jahangir. He would be painted as little better than a pirate. Other presents would be hurried from Surat to the court. Bribes would not be spared.

  His attempt to win Jahangir's favor had been foolhardy. If it should fail, as seemed likely, he would endanger the success of Hawkins's embassy when that should arrive.

  Sir Ralph was moody. He suspected rightly that many of the ameers who were most attentive to him were leagued with the Portuguese.

  Outwardly he was smilingly observant of all that went on. But he missed Udai Singh. In fact he saw few Rajputs in the throng.

  Jahangir, who seemed to have lightly dismissed the affair of the afternoon, drew him toward the katchani's booth.

  “Verily, Sir Ralph,” he whispered heartily, “here is a beauty whose face is like a rose, who is a stranger to my harem. She wears the dress of a Rajput, although the women of Marwar and Oudh are not of the katchani caste.”

  He pointed out the woman who had just sold the pearl earrings. Sir Ralph followed him perforce to the booth, while other courtiers pressed around.

  “Ho, Pearl of the Harem!” exclaimed Jahangir in high spirits. “Have you a bracelet that I may buy? Nay, I am but a poor man, and I can pay no more than some few copper coins.”

  “Then you can do no business with me, O Poverty-Stricken Dweller of the Exalted Throne,” she chattered, and the courtiers, scenting the interest of their lord, applauded. “My bracelets are those of Oudh, and their worth is beyond price.”

  Sir Ralph started. Until then in the faint light he had not looked fully upon the face of the woman. But he knew well the voice of Krishna Taya.

  “Take pity upon me, Nightingale of the Twilight,” smiled the monarch. “I must have a bracelet. Perchance there is some poor ornament of silk—”

  “Nay, would you have what cannot be bought?”

  Krishna Taya's white teeth flashed. Sir Ralph thought she cast him a warning glance.

  “Surely you would not buy for gold a ram rukhi!”

  Again the flicker of the dark eyes seemed to caution him not to recognize her.

  “Such as the Ferang at your side has in his girdle?”

  “By the splendor of Lakshmi!” swore the surprised Mogul. “Has the Ferang envoy bought a ram rukhi?”

  Curious glances turned toward the straight figure of Sir Ralph. He was silent, pretending he had not understood, and wishing for the presence of Udai Singh.

  That Krishna Taya was acting a part he knew. But what part? And what was her purpose in calling Jahangir's attention to the pledge he carried?

  “Nay, Lord of the World,” she responded swiftly. “The bracelet was given. The Ferang is the bracelet brother of the Rajputs. There is a service he must perform for the woman that gave it.” Even the keen wit of Jahangir could not quite fathom whether the woman jested. He looked curiously at Sir Ralph.

  “What grain of truth is in this?” he asked. “Have you truly the silk bracelet?”

  Krishna Taya nodded imperceptibly.

  “Aye, sire,” said the Englishman.

  He showed the silk ornament, and Jahangir fingered it with a frown. The pretty ceremony of the ram rukhi was not lightly bestowed, especially upon a foreigner.

  “Where got you this?

  “At Marwar.”

  “From whom?”

  Sir Ralph thought swiftly. “From a woman of Raja Man Singh. I know not her rank.”

  Again Krishna Taya signaled almost imperceptible approval. “'Tis a riddle!” The frown had not left Jahangir's broad brow. “Eh, you also are a riddle, Ferang—an English pirate who dares to

  confront me with stolen gifts and demand the royal firman—who makes grave charges against those high in my trust—”

  “Who is a consort of rebels, sure,” put in the Kashmiri as if in jest.

  “And a ram rukhi of a noble Rajput woman, sire,” smiled Krishna Taya, twisting an errant lock of dark hair into place behind the silver band across her forehead.

  “And envoy of the King of England, sire,” amended Sir Ralph quietly.

  Jahangir threw up his hand in mock bewilderment. Nevertheless, there was acute uncertainty in the long look he cast at the Englishman.

  In the brief interval since that afternoon, Portuguese money had begun its work among his followers. The favorable impression made by Sir Ralph's bold words at the reception was being rapidly effaced.

  Sir Ralph could not fathom why Krishna Taya had called attention to the ram rukhi, unless it was to show Jahangir that he was allied after a fashion with the Rajputs.

  The girl was as much a mystery to him as ever. He felt that he was a pawn, a piece moved hither and thither on the chessboard of intrigue.

  More and more he began to sense the byplay of great political forces in the trifling events of the evening. And the feeling grew on him that Krishna Taya was disposed to be his friend.

  “Can a man serve two mistresses?” demanded Jahangir, looking from him to the woman.

  “Aye, when both have one heart,” responded Krishna Taya promptly. “Have you forgotten, O Lord of the World, that your mother was of the Rajputs?”

  Seeing Jahangir's frown deepen, her tone changed swiftly. She clapped her hands as if at a delightful thought, and became again the light-minded katchani. She was a woman who could play many parts.

  “Is this a riddle, sire?” she chattered. “Nay, will you know the answer? In a pavilion behind this booth is a wise prophet of

  Hindustan, one who can trace the shadow of the future on the scroll of fate.

  “He will answer your questions. Your heart will be gladdened by sight of him.

  “Come, then. Take my hand, and all mysteries shall be unveiled for the sight of the World Lord!”

  Boldly she caught Jahangir's arm and drew him laughingly into the booth. Some of the attendants started forward, but Krishna Taya waved them back.

  “Nay, the Lord of the World will come with me alone.”

  She seemed animated by the spirit of the festival, even perhaps by an overdose of bhang. Yet it was a serious matter for the Mogul to go unattended anywhere.

  Jahangir followed her half-curiously, half-distrustfully. He motioned to the bearded Kashmiri.

  “Attend me,” he said curtly.

  Krishna Taya cast a mocking glance over her shoulder.

  “Then shall the Ferang come,” she smiled. “Is he not the man of mystery?”

  Jahan
gir nodded. The three followed the swaying form of the girl. It was a jest to Jahangir, who was more than interested in the wilfulness of Krishna Taya. The Kashmiri stalked after his lord with a dark glance at Sir Ralph, who kept pace with him.

  They passed through the scented darkness behind the booth to the riverbank where a small tent loomed in the shadow under a giant willow. Into the tent Krishna Taya disappeared.

  “Come, Monarch of Asia,” she called from within. “Come; for here is one who will delight your heart—a prophet of prophets, a master of the secrets of evil. Come, do you fear?”

  Jahangir motioned the Kashmiri into the tent ahead of him. The warrior strode forward alertly, hand on sword. The Mogul and Sir Ralph followed curiously.

  The interior of the pavilion was scantily lighted by a single brazier, from which came scent of ambergris and sandal-paste. A cloaked form stood behind the brazier, its face concealed as it made the low salaam.

  Then the figure cast aside the cloak. It was Raja Man Singh.

  Krishna Taya's laughter echoed musically.

  The Rajput stood at ease before Jahangir, his elegant attire bearing no sign of the hard ride that had carried him from Khanjut. He greeted Sir Ralph with calm courtesy, seeming not a bit surprised to see the Englishman. He lifted his dark head jauntily, looked full into Jahangir's eyes, and smiled.

  “No soothsayer or magician am I, Lord of Asia,” he said directly, “but a bearer of grave tidings. It was best that we should speak alone”—he glanced once significantly at the Kashmiri— “hence the pretty trick of the katchani, who is a servant of the Rajputs and may be trusted.”

  “Greetings, Raja Man Singh.”

  Jahangir overcame his surprise.

  “This man is a councilor of the Persians. You may speak before him.”

  Raja Man Singh hesitated briefly, then bowed.

  “Let the Kashmiri look to his ears then,” he said plainly. “Here be only friends and we seek no wolf's friendship. Harken, Jahangir. I rode down the pass from Khanjut in the space of a single watch. Others who were on the way, I passed.”