"So, at last! I have been awaiting thee these four-and-twenty hours.
And wherefore was there no due notice of arrival? Lo! my liver dissolved when the arch-heretic, Abul, spoke at the King"s audience of an envoy from Sinde. For aught I knew Jani Beg might have failed to secure the crown. It was a relief to see thy face--but how came all this Sufardar?"
He spoke as one having authority, but the supposed merchant answered sulkily as he unwound his close-draped shawl, so disclosing, in truth, the slender spareness and the high pallid features of the envoy from Sinde.
"If thou canst tell me how it came about, Oh! Dalil Tarkhan of the House of Kings," he said, "thou knowest more than I, the companion of thy youth; since I know naught. A blank as of death lies behind me from the time we encamped at noon yesterday, five miles beyond the city."
The whilom scribe looked cynically at the dull opium-drugged eyes.
"A blank!" he echoed. "How much of the Dream-compeller goes to make that for thee now a days, Oh! Sufar?"
Those dulled eyes lit up with sudden fire. "No more, I swear to G.o.d, than the noon-day pellet of twelve years agone. Thou knowest the old Tuglak tombs about Biggaya"s Serai? The tents were late and it was hot, so I slept in one of them----"
"Curse thee! Sleep where thou willst," interrupted his companion impatiently, "but give me the packet. I must answer it, if answer be required." He held out his hand, scented, manicured, be-ringed like any modern lady"s.
The envoy"s face showed uneasiness. "If thou wouldst listen, thou wouldst learn," he said vexedly. "I slept and dreamed. Then I woke; but it was to to-day, not to yesterday."
"But thou wast at the Audience--for I saw thee! Aye! and I wondered what Birbal, the heretic pig, had to say to thee as he kept the King waiting."
The envoy shook his head slowly. "It is a blank; and hearken, _Mirza sahib_, the packet hath gone!"
"Gone!" echoed the other again, his face paling at the thought of Akbar"s ever-swift punishment for treason. "Thou hast lost the letter; and this tale of forgetfulness----"
The envoy from Sinde leant forward and laid one warning finger, slender, almost emaciated, on his companion"s well-kept hand. ""Tis no tale, but a mystery. The packet was ever in my girdle cloth, and left not my side day nor night. None knew of it. And I remember nothing of my sleep, except my dream." He shivered and looked round apprehensively. "It was a dream of nigh thirteen years ago--of--of a rose-garden, _Mirza Dalil!_ Oh! thou mayst laugh, but I curse the day that ever I took a part in that d.a.m.ned work of thine. It comes between me and my prayers."
Mirza Dalil laughed airily. "It comes not between me and mine; but then I am Tarkhan. There must be nine deadly sins ere even earthly punishment be thought of, and I am but at my seventh; or stay, is it eighth? Truly I know not and it matters not. But this tale of thine--What says thy retinue?"
The envoy"s face fell.
"They say I woke as ever, and gave the orders for the audience but I remember naught, save----"
"Turn thy forgetfulness toward rose-gardens, opium-eater!" interrupted the man he called Dalil sternly. "Have I not ever told thee thou wert but as a beast to give up the heavenly dreams of hemp for the clogging sleep of the poppy. Thou wert drunk, that is all--or hast been since.
So remembrance is left with the drug. As for the packet--thou hast lost--or sold it. Lucky for me, no names come from Sinde, and none here know me save as Khodadad--Khodadad, the gift of G.o.d, the companion of princes, the chamberlain of pleasures to the Heir-Apparent! Khodadad adventurer, made Tarkhan on the battlefield by the King"s brother, the rebel of Kabul, because, being above myself with hemp, I saved his life! _Made_ Tarkhan, thou prophet of G.o.d! and I a Tarkhan by birth. Still," he continued, checking himself in his reckless mirth, "thou art in luck. But mark me, if by this loss suspicion comes--aye! even a suspicion that Khodadad is of the Kingly House (younger brother, aye! even though he be a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, of the fool Payandar who went mad over the rose-garden) thy life is not worth much. Go therefore. Here is thy packet." He drew out the paper he had written, set the seal he wore on his first finger to it, folded it neatly, then continued with an evil smile, "Mind I say naught in it against thee. Thou mightest _lose_ the letter if I did. But I will see thou comest not with messages again."
"Lo! that will I not," muttered the envoy, wrapping his shawl round him as before. "This very sight of thee recalls the rose-garden--I seem to hear her piteous cries----"
Khodadad lay back amongst his cushions and laughed.
"Thou art far gone in opium, Sufardar!" he said chuckling. "Ere long thou wilt see the devil clutching thee, for sure! G.o.d"s prophet, man, hadst heard as many maidens" screechings as I!" He was silent but smiling, evidently in pursuit of memory, and when the envoy had gone he lay back among those scented cushions and allowed himself a certain lat.i.tude of remembrance. At five-and-thirty there were few experiences of which he had no cognizance; but it needed many experiences to leave a mark on a Tarkhan! As he lounged lazily the soft night air fanning his perfumed hair, his smooth yellow skin oily with unguents, every atom of his body and soul surcharged with sensuality, there yet came to him an uprush of almost wild pride in his race, in the honours, the privileges which distinguished it even from the common herd of princedom. A Barlas Tarkhan! Barlas the brave! Master of seven distinctions in procession or audience. Free of every part of a king"s palace by night and day! Aye and more! Having the right to drink with the King! So that when the Royal cup was handed from the right, the Tarkhan"s cup was handed from the left. And still more. With the right to set his seal to all royal orders, above the King"s seal!
Unpunishable too--until the uttermost. And then? If Mirza Dalil"s face grew gray as he thought of that uttermost a.s.size, it was not altogether in fear, since there are some things pertaining to race which bring with them an almost pa.s.sionate acquiescence even in terror; and this thought of the final verdict of his peers, to be carried out by those peers with many ceremonials, had in it an element of pride.
Besides, here, in a far country away from those peers, there was small danger of the Silent Session being held.
So he looked out over the vast shadows of the town, wondering vaguely how he should fill up the night with iniquities. He would have an excellent companion--which was half the battle--since he had been asked to sup with Mirza Ibrahim, the Lord Chamberlain. There would be business first, no doubt, due to the Heir-Apparent"s childish knuckling under, since some new intrigue must be set on foot to weaken Akbar"s authority; but once that was over Ibrahim might be counted on to make the hours hum. So he clapped his hands for the tiremen and fresh dressing, and shaving, and scenting; then, after due dallying with cosmetics and dyes, set off--the very pink of fashion--in his gilded litter in which he lay lazily fanned with a peac.o.c.k"s feather fan by a tiny boy who sate at his feet dressed in a girl"s tinsel-set garments, his hair braided on his forehead in the virginal plaits.
As he was borne through the silent streets with running torches beside the ambling porters, a host of pipe-bearers, toothpick holders, keepers of aphrodisaical pills, and general panderers trotting behind him, he was Eastern vice personified; soft, perfumed, relentless.
So he disappeared into the Palace and the star-lit world was quit of him for a time; for the night was spangled beyond belief. Spangled with myriads of stars, not white as in northern climes, but holding in their shine faint hints of rose, and green, and blue, and amber.
Against the clear obscure, the terraced town showed like some vast fort, turreted, battlemented, from which one by one the twinkling lights disappeared as the hours of the night wore on; until at last only a few lay spa.r.s.ely about its feet circling the outcast colony of Satanstown where, by Akbar"s orders, vice dwelt and turned darkness into day. Above, all was shadow, save for one light high up on the palace whose outline struck firm against the velvet of the sky. It shone from Akbar"s balcony; Akbar who after his usual habit watched while his subjects slept. To-night, however, something more than mere meditation absorbed him, as he sate, girt about the middle of his loose, white, woollen garment like some Franciscan monk. His face dark, aquiline, not so much ascetic as strenuous, was bent on William Leedes, the English jeweller, as he weighed in his balance the great uncut diamond from the King"s turban.
The gold and gemmed setting from which it had been removed lay on the floor, and the irregularly ovoid stone itself gave out flickering brightnesses as it oscillated gently under the light of the seven branched golden cresset-stand in the alcove. Beneath this stand, backed partly by the tendril-inlaid curves of agate and chalcedony, lapis-lazuli and cornelian upon the marble wall, and partly by the pearl embroidered yellow satin cushions amongst which the King reclined, was a beautifully embossed silver clepsydre, or water clock, in which the floating bowl was fashioned in enamel like a sacred lotus; and beside this stood the marvellous censer, a triumph of goldsmith"s and jeweller"s art from which day and night arose the scented smoke which Akbar loved. Beyond, through the arches of the balcony, lay the night, velvety dark.
"Five hundred and sixty carats," murmured William Leedes to himself, "the largest known diamond in this world!--and of a most elegant water; but----" He looked up, his face full of denial. "It would mayhap lose half its weight in the cutting, great King," he said sharply, "and--G.o.d knows in His grace but we might cut out the King"s Luck thereby."
He looked as if for support to the two men who stood behind him. They were Rajah Birbal and Shaik Abulfazl. The latter, seeing his master frown, interrupted the jeweller in hasty excuse.
"I but told him, Most Exalted, that the populace hold the stone a talisman; and sure at all times the luck of the Most Excellent has been stupendous. Still, we of the enlightened give praise where praise is due and not to stocks and stones."
Birbal shrugged his shoulders. "Say, rather, Shaikjee," he remarked urbanely, "that the wise see an Eternal cause even in stocks and stones."
The eyes of those two counsellors of the King were on each other in rivalry; but the King himself bent forward to touch the diamond with one pliant finger, and a faint fear showed in his face. Then he leant back once more.
"Luck is of G.o.d," he said, "and this stone----" he paused beset by recollections of the years he had worn it--ever since as a boy of three he had made his way safely through the great Snow-land.
"The stone, sire," put in William Leedes, firmly, "is as G.o.d made it.
"Tis well to remember that----"
He was looking at the King and the King"s eyes were on his; for the time the whole of the rest of the world was empty for them both.
"Aye! But what of that He wishes it to be? What of that, sir jeweller?" came the swift answer, "therein lies kingcraft, to see what His will needs--and give it."
William Leedes bowed silently and there was a pause; then bluntly, suddenly, he said, "Yet, Great King, would I rather have naught to do with the cutting thereof."
In an instant Akbar"s eyes flashed fire.
"Thou hast not, slave! "Tis I who order it. Birbal! to thy charge the arrangements. The room next Diswunt the painter"s, in the Court of Labour, is vacant. See it prepared. Double the guards if necessary--to thee I leave--the King"s Luck."
A faint smile came to his face, but Birbal and Abulfazl looked at each other, and finally the latter spoke.
"This dust-like one," he said tentatively and yet with firmness, "presumes not to offer wisdom to its fount; but to the minds of the Most Exalted"s devoted slaves it seems as if to the populace, there might be danger in Royalty appearing without the talisman to which all have looked as security for the King"s success in all ways. Therefore if Majesty _will_ ordain the cutting of the Eastern gem in Western fashion, let it at least condescend to wear in its place--until the gem return--a veritable Mountain of Light doubtless a subst.i.tute.
Pooroo, the false jewel maker, who can deceive all but a diamond itself, hath the cast of the King"s Luck, made when the Most Exalted changed the setting thereof. Let him fashion a double to deceive----"
"Deceive?" came Akbar"s voice with a note of affectionate reproach in it, "deceive whom? Fate or the people? Lo! Abulfazl! to what end?
Since if the tale _be not true_ that luck lies in the stone, what need to regard it? And if it _be true_, how shall the false gem hoodwink G.o.d?"
He raised himself as he spoke, holding the diamond in his palm as an orb.
"Luck!" he said dreamily, "thou art mine to-night; and to-morrow is Fate"s! Go!"
He gave the Eastern wave of dismissal and sank back amongst his cushions; sank back with more than usual la.s.situde, for the day had left him weary. It was no small thing to one of his temperament to quarrel with his son, his heir. It was a still greater thing to forgive him causelessly.
Therein lay the sting. The causelessness of the forgiveness, the lack of any security against a recurrence of the offence. So, as he thought of this, with a rush came back the memory of many a similar scene, and his fingers clasped in upon themselves as the disappointment ate into his very soul. Surely he had a right to expect more of Fate?--he who had waited so long, so patiently for an heir--since in those long years of waiting the very thought of mere sonship had been forgotten in the heirship. Yes, even now, Love seemed too trivial to count against Empire! Yet it was Love which had prompted forgiveness. Love of what?--what? Of himself surely--the love which claimed to live in his son--to live on....
"Shall I bid the Reader of Wisdom to the Wise resume his task," came Birbal"s voice. Noting the King"s weariness he had lingered behind the others.
The King started, then looked round cheerfully. "Not to-night, friend; I have food for thought, and if I lack more--it waits below," he said, and leaning forward, rested his arm on the marble bal.u.s.trade of the balcony, so pointed downward into the void darkness of the night.
Through it like a little line of light fading into nothingness, ran the signal string attached to the quaint contrivance by which the King could secure, when the mood seized him, the presence of an opponent for some midnight argument. One touch at the cord and through the darkness the disputant waiting below, would by an ingenious system of counterpoise rise in a domed dhooli to the level of the balcony. Akbar laid his finger on the tense string, then once more looked back suddenly into Birbal"s face.
"Ah! friend!" he said bitterly. "Could we but sound the Great Darkness as I can sound this little night, certain that my need will bring some sage, or fool, or knave, to keep Jalal-ud-din Mahomed Akbar, Defender of the Faith, from wearying for sleep! But from the great Depths there comes no answer. The mystery is unfathomable--man"s reason wanders bewildered in the streets of the City of G.o.d."