by Harold Lamb
“I knew not of your coming.”
“Nor did others, sire. Save for Krishna Taya. At Khanjut I scented evil in the air. Treachery lurks at the end of the pass—”
“The rebel, Shirzad Mir—”
“Nay, the hill chief is sore wounded in his fortress. By Siva, he was a brave man. The thought has come to me that we wronged him. Was he not the chosen man of Akbar?”
“He took up arms against the Lord of the World,” put in the Kashmiri smoothly.
“Nay, against Jani Beg.” The Rajput turned from the other scornfully. “At Khanjut, Jahangir, I hunted stags in the hills. The Persians and Uzbeks thought that I idled. Eh—I let them think so. And I counted the levies that came down the northern passes
from Ferghana and the Kara Kirghiz. Lord, many thousands of horsemen are mustered before Khanjut.”
“To storm the citadel of Shirzad Mir,” growled the councilor. “Five thousand would have sufficed for that. Three times five thousand are waiting in the foothills of the Koh-i-Baba. For what? Nay, it has an evil look.”
Jahangir stroked his beard in silence. Sir Ralph thought that the girl crept nearer to his side.
“Where falcons wheel and point,” continued Raja Man Singh boldly, “there is game marked for the slaying. Lord, I have followed your standard since I was a boy. I am of the blood of your mother.
“And I smell evil in the air of Khanjut. Jani Beg and Shah Abbas speak smooth words, but they whisper together. Many messengers have been sent back into Persia. Why has the storm of Khanjut been delayed?”
“For my coming,” Jahangir admitted tranquilly.
“In battle many things may happen. How many trustworthy horsemen are with you, lord? Perhaps two thousand, and of these scarce the same number of hundreds are Rajputs.
“Nay, come not to Khanjut. Mount your followers and ride down the pass to Kabul. There you may meet the main Rajput army which hastens north. That is my message.”
Jahangir bit his lip.
Sir Ralph glanced curiously at the keen, delicate face of the Rajput and the stout countenance of the Kashmiri. He understood little of what passed. But he felt the tension in the air.
“Sire—” the councilor bowed servilely—“surely Raja Man Singh has partaken too freely of opium, which is his failing. Jani Beg and Shah Abbas have invited you to their camp. Would they dare molest the Mogul? Is their friendship to be spurned on a breath of suspicion? That would be a serious offense.
“They are loyal now, and they number their followers by the thousands. Trust them, and they will be like a good scimitar in your right hand.”
“Perchance a dagger in your back, Jahangir.” The Rajput folded his arms defiantly. “I have seen what I have seen, and my eyes do not lie.”
All the merriment had fled from the Mogul's handsome, indolent face. Graven lines of care appeared about his brow.
“Nay, Raja,” he temporized, “should I rein my horse from Khanjut now it would be taken for a sign of weakness.”
“Better that than death at the hand of a traitor.”
“The Rajput seeks to place your person in the hands of his army,” sneered the Kashmiri, emboldened by the hesitation of the Mogul.
Raja Man Singh's lean hand shot out and closed about the hilt of the other's scimitar. He whipped out the curved blade and thrust it into the Kashmiri's hand, drawing his own at the same instant. So swiftly had he moved that the other could do naught but stare.
“Another word, O wise councilor,” he whispered, “and your sword will cross with mine. If that happens, look to your life.”
The man's eyes gleamed in the faint light from the brazier and sweat showed on his forehead. He edged back toward the entrance of the pavilion.
Another moment and he had turned, to run swiftly into the darkness. The Rajput sheathed his weapon with a laugh.
“A scimitar tests a warrior's words,” he said shortly. “Come, lord, give the order to mount and ride down the pass while yet there is time. Eh—I passed sentries by the Amu Daria who were newly posted. The nets of the hunters are closing about us. Trust your safety to the sword of Rajputana.”
“If you had proof—”
Jahangir was disturbed. It is possible that he might have followed the advice of his general if he had been allowed to decide the matter for himself. But while he hesitated and Krishna Taya added her voice to that of the raja, there was a commotion without the tent.
The flare of torches showed through the silk. Voices and footsteps came rapidly nearer. Another moment and the pavilion opening was filled with courtiers, eunuchs and ameers. In the front of the group was the stout form of Shah Abbas.
“Greeting, Lord of India, and a myriad blessings.”
The Persian salaamed and stood erect, his mellow eyes taking note of the three others in the tent. Sir Ralph guessed that the Kashmiri had not been slow in bearing news of what was passing to his friends. Likewise, he wondered whether Shah Abbas had been with the party the raja had seen in the pass.
“No longer,” cried Shah Abbas eloquently, “could I restrain my desire to look upon the Presence, unworthy though I am. So I rode hither with a small escort to announce that those before Khanjut await your coming anxiously.”
“I am honored, Shah Abbas.”
Jahangir bent his head gravely. The coming of his courtiers seemed to have reassured him. He was a man of infirm purpose.
“Tomorrow,” continued Shah Abbas, pressing his advantage swiftly, “Jani Beg hopes to welcome your standard. The day after we have prepared a goodly spectacle for your pleasure. Nay, it will be finer than a score of elephant contests or the hunting of a hundred tigers. The rebel stronghold will be laid low and the Mogul will ride his elephant into Khanjut.”
For the first time he seemed to take notice of Sir Ralph.
“By the ninety-nine holy names of God!” he swore. “How is this? The Ferang dog at the side of the Mogul! Why, this scoundrel is escaped from Khanjut! He is a man with blood upon his head— the one that slew a score of Jani Beg's men.”
Jahangir glanced at Sir Ralph uneasily. The Englishman realized the seriousness of his position. Shah Abbas had known of his presence in Khanjut—a fact which Raja Man Singh, for reasons of his own, had seen fit to overlook.
The Persian's nimble wit let slip none of his advantage. His visit to Jahangir had been decided upon when he and Jani Beg
learned through their spies that Sir Ralph had appeared in the Mogul camp.
The Persian had seen a chance to deal a shrewd blow for himself. His craftiness was the one thing needed to swing Jahangir's decision.
If Shah Abbas had not visited the camp in the Shyr Pass that night the trap at Khanjut could not have been sprung; and the bloody scene before the Iron Gate, as Khanjut has been styled in Indian history, could not have been enacted.
“I have been told, sire,” cried Shah Abbas, “that this rebel is masquerading as the ram rukhi of a Rajput woman. Nay, I have myself seen him on the walls of khanjut.”
A clever stroke this, for it coupled in Jahangir's mind Sir Ralph with the Rajputs, and by implication cast suspicion on the latter.
“It seems to be true,” the Mogul admitted.
He wheeled impatiently on Raja Man Singh.
“Proof! Give proof of what you have whispered, and then I may believe. Not otherwise. Shah Abbas is our ally.”
The Rajput's hand went to his sword. But Krishna Taya stepped forward.
“A woman of mine, sire,” she cried, “joined the slaves of yonder Persian. She overheard the talk between Jani Beg and Shah Abbas. Straightway—so important did she deem it—she fled to the tent of Raja Man Singh. But Shah Abbas struck her down when she was about to breathe her message. Ask him why that was done.”
But Shah Abbas was not to be taken by surprise.
“Eh,” he muttered, “so this is Krishna Taya, who was once the slave of Sir Ralph. Jani Beg has said it. Perchance she is also his ram rukhi?”
He glanced coolly
at the startled girl.
“A woman without caste, a wanton—” he continued blandly.
“Nay,” growled Raja Man Singh furiously, “she has honor in the Marwar clan—”
“And sees fit to consort with rebels?”
The Persian waved a jeweled hand amiably.
“I question not the honor of the Rajputs. Yet why is this woman dressed as a katchani? Surely her tale is wild. Doubtless she has drunk much bhang during this festival. The slave girl she mentions I slew for—a theft.”
He smiled triumphantly at Raja Man Singh.
“As for this Ferang,” he added swiftly, “the Lord of the World will surely not permit him to go free. I have heard it said he should be tried as a pirate for an offense against your good friends the Portuguese.”
“Jahangir,” said Sir Ralph, “has pledged my safety. I came to his court as envoy.”
Shah Abbas's brows went up, and he fingered his scented beard daintily.
“As envoy from Shirzad Mir?”
“From England.”
“I have not heard of that khanate.” Shah Abbas turned deferentially to Jahangir. “I have a thought, sire, that this man is dangerous. We know naught of the tribe of England. But we have seen his sword drawn against you from behind the walls of Khan-jut. Nay, your word is sacred. But surely he may be confined as prisoner until his story can be examined?”
Jahangir glanced at his courtiers dubiously. A murmur of assent greeted the words of Shah Abbas, who seemed to have many friends present. At a sign from the Mogul two soldiers stepped to Sir Ralph's side and bound his arms tightly behind his back.
“When we have dealt with the traitors of Khanjut,” added the Persian smoothly, “this man may be tried. Jani Beg waits to welcome you. Surely you need not doubt the Uzbek who has taken up your quarrel with Shirzad Mir. Have I not shown good faith by coming hither alone?”
“Nay, I doubt you not, Shah Abbas.”
Jahangir lifted his broad head with sudden decision.
“There is peace between Persia and Delhi. Tomorrow I ride bridle to bridle with you to Khanjut that all may know you are dear to me as my own blood.”
“Your words, sire, are like drops of water upon a parched garden.”
Shah Abbas turned aside to hide the exultation he could not keep from his eyes. But Raja Man Singh stepped forward.
“Then let me guard this man, sire,” he suggested bluntly. “It is the privilege of the Rajputs to watch over the person of the Mogul. The Ferang will be safe with me—safer perhaps than elsewhere.” To this Jahangir assented, glad to have the troublesome matter settled. The Mogul departed to entertain his new ally, Shah Abbas, and Raja Man Singh accompanied Krishna Taya out into the darkness, motioning the Englishman to come with them.
Back in the camp the music had struck up again and they heard the murmur of voices that greeted the appearance of the Mogul. The three were walking by the riverbank, the raja talking earnestly to the girl.
“There should be three horses here,” he said, glancing into the shadows. “Udai Singh was ordered to await our coming with the beasts. I had planned for Jahangir to leave swiftly.”
He cast about among the bushes, then called Udai Singh. There was no answer.
“Here is the spot,” said the girl anxiously. “And Udai Singh does not fail—”
She uttered a soft cry of alarm. Sir Ralph saw her stoop down. A glow from the distant torches struck through the foliage.
Bending close with the raja, he saw that Krishna Taya had raised something from the ground to her lap. He could make out the head and shoulders of a man.
“Udai Singh!” swore the Rajput.
“His tunic is damp with blood,” sighed the girl. “And the skin of his face is cold. Aie—he was a faithful man!”
The raja rose, his voice calm.
“Shah Abbas works swiftly. I will fetch you a horse. Remain here with the Ferang.”
He strode away into the shadows, and Krishna Taya replaced the body of her servant on the ground. Her light hand drew Sir Ralph back into the shelter of a thicket where the glow from the bazaar did not penetrate.
“Where the wolves have passed,” she said bitterly, “they may not come again. But we must have a care. Shah Abbas would fain lay your body and mine by poor Udai Singh. Aie—the curs!”
She was very quiet for a space, her hand still touching his arm. He could feel her silk veil against his cheek, and the faint scent of attar of roses crept into his senses. He was conscious of the throb of a beating pulse against his arm.
“The Mogul is blind!” she cried softly. “He does not see the pitfall set for him at Khanjut. There is a doom preparing for him— and for us of the Rajputs. A heavy doom. The river of Khanjut will run red. You will see it—”
She broke off, a catch in her limpid voice. The grasp on his arm tightened involuntarily. Sir Ralph, conscious that she was looking at him, was taciturn, as was his wont.
“I will not be there,” she whispered. “But I pray that the ram rukhi may safeguard you.”
“Tell me, Krishna Taya,” he asked seriously, “the meaning of the bracelet. Is there a service I can do you?”
“O foolish Ferang,” she laughed, “must you have a plain answer to all your thoughts? Seek you to learn truth from Krishna Taya? Know then the time will come when Raja Man Singh will stand with his back to a wall ringed around by many foes. Strike then to aid him.
“I have told him that in you we have a swift sword and a keen brain. When that time comes the ram rukhi will be fulfilled.” The words of the dead Udai Singh came back to Sir Ralph's mind.
“My friends are in Khanjut—if they still live. Shirzad Mir and Adbul Dost are my comrades, Krishna Taya.”
“Nevertheless, the Rajputs will fight beside you. I have a feeling that this will be.”
He laughed without merriment. “Death's love, Krishna Taya. I am a prisoner, and already I have failed in my mission. A poor tool you have chosen. It is but a step from this bondage to the cells of Gwalior, and—my foes have the ear of the Mogul.” “Trust Raja Man Singh. He is minded to aid you for my sake. And he is a man among many.”
Sir Ralph sought to look into her face.
Barely he could discern the dark mesh of her hair and the changing glimmer of her eyes. Her breath touched his cheek gently.
He pondered curiously upon the mystery of the girl. She had risked the anger of her clan to help him to Surat. His venture there had failed.
Still, she had spoken in his behalf boldly to Jahangir. He guessed that the ram rukhi had safeguarded him more than he was aware.
It had saved him from crossing swords with Udai Singh, and now it had—so Krishna Taya assured him—earned the goodwill of Raja Man Singh.
Owing to this he had been left unguarded with the girl. Yet he had no desire to attempt escape from the camp. Whither was he to go? Moreover, the raja had as good as given his parole.
“Why have you done this, Krishna Taya?” he asked bluntly. She drew a quick breath, half sigh, half gasp.
“From the time I was given you as slave, Sir Weyand,” she whispered, “and you freed me, I have formed an image of you and placed it in my heart. I have prayed many times to the gods and bathed in the sacred river, yet the image has remained. So it cannot be an evil thing, but good.”
The words came swiftly in a torrent that would not be stayed.
“My heart became a garden that felt the warm sun of Spring. I watched you fighting on the walls of Khanjut when the men beside me sped arrows at you.
“I saw the sunlight strike on your hair that is like the brown mane of a lion. Truly, you walked among your men like a lion. It was my men who traced you down the Indus.”
He felt her hand pass over his forehead and touch his cheek. “I interceded for you with Raja Man Singh. Aie, my lord, you were wildly foolish in what you did. Thought you to overmaster such foes by sheer bravery?
“Nay, you are like a child among my people and those of Shah Abbas. Yet
I loved you for it.
“Are you not one fit to walk with the sun-born kings of Ayo-dhya? Or to bear the gold-rayed orb on your breast?”
Sir Ralph lifted his head uneasily at sound of a horse's tread in the darkness. Krishna Taya also had heard it.
“My pride is great in my lord,” she said simply. “And—Krishna Taya glories in the ram rukhi. You are bound to me in the swami dharma—the brotherhood of my people in common danger—” “Nay, I am a blunderer, Krishna Taya—”
“Nay, a warrior worthy to wear the ostrich feather, of the parentage of Ram. So I have told the raja, my lord. Aie—the image of my lord weighs heavily in my heart; now I must leave him—” She dropped to her knees and for an instant pressed her slender body against him, clasping his bound hands with hers. Krishna Taya was but a child in years, and her love was that of a girl who has found a hero.
Sir Ralph would have loosened her grasp, but could not. “Think not ill of Krishna Taya, my lord,” she whispered. “My time is now come, and the need of my clan has laid a task upon me. But as the falcon comes back to its master, I shall come to Khanjut and my lord.”
She sprang to her feet as twin shadows appeared beside the thicket. Raja Man Singh's voice summoned her.
Sir Ralph, confused and embarrassed by the girl's eager words, saw her form blend with the other shadows. Then the horse moved away at a walk and the Rajput came toward him alone.
“Whence went Krishna Taya?” asked the Englishman.
“To the army of the Dekkan, Ferang. She bears word for the Rajput cavalry to ride to Khanjut with all speed.”
“A girl—on such a mission?”
“Udai Singh is dead. Whom else may I trust—for the Rajputs of the army to believe?”
Raja Man Singh spoke moodily. Sir Ralph had never seen him so out of spirits.
“She can win through the network of Persian spies if any can, Ferang. Twenty thousand good horsemen ride from the Dekkan toward Kabul. But six days must pass before they can gain Khan-jut, even though they ruin a horse apiece and sleep not on the way.”
He stooped and gathered up the body of Udai Singh.
“Eh—who knows what is the will of the gods? Come, Ferang, we will bury our dead; then I shall partake of opium and talk much, for I am eaten with a sore trouble.”
