"It would be a long time to wait until they are old enough to marry," he began.
"Long!" interrupted the lively Princess gaily. "All the longer for merriment and festivities. Thy daughter, my lord, is already beautiful, and I"ll wager the boy will be a grown man ere we have time to turn round. So that is settled. Therefore come hither, oh nephew! Jallaluddin Mahomed Akbar, since that is thy long name, and kiss thy cousin Amina--Nurse! bring my sweeting hither. Now then, woman," she continued sharply, addressing Head-nurse, who stood petrified with astonishment and anger at the very idea of such scant ceremony. "If the boy cannot walk, carry him!"
Head-nurse could scarcely speak. To be called "Woman" by an upstart--for Prince Askurry had married Princess Sultanam for her beauty--was too much!
"The Feet-of-the-Most-Condescending-of-Majesties," she began pompously, "have not yet conferred happiness on the earth by treading it underfoot, neither----"
Here she broke off hurriedly, for at that very instant, as if in denial of her words, Baby Akbar gave a little crow of a.s.sent, let go her petticoats, and with outspread balancing arms, and legs very wide apart, launched himself boldly for his very first steps!
"_Bismillah!_" (Well done!) shrieked Foster-mother in delight.
"_Bismillah! Bismillah!_" echoed every one in the room, while all eyes full of smiles were on the stalwart young toddler as he lurched forward, his face one broad grin.
Princess Sultanam clapped her hands again. "Thy turban, my lord!" she cried in a flutter of amus.e.m.e.nt. "Thy turban, quick; as his father is not here "tis thy place to prevent him falling of himself--thy turban--quick! quick!"
Prince Askurry, full of laughter, pulled off the soft turban he wore--it was all wound round and round to fit the head like a cap--and in obedience to the Indian custom, which always prevents a child from falling of itself in its first attempt at walking, flung it full at the little lad. It caught him between his outspread balancing arms and over he went on to the thick pile carpet.
Foster-mother was beside him in a second, eager to s.n.a.t.c.h him up and cover him with kisses; but Baby Akbar wriggled himself from her hold. He had set himself a task and he meant to do it.
"Go way!" he said with determination. "Tumbu down. Get up again."
So, calmly reaching round for the turban which lay beside him, which he evidently thought had tumbled down too, he clapped it on his head with both hands, rose to his feet and recommenced his forward lurch; a yard or two of the fringed turban, which had become unrolled, trailing behind him like a royal robe.
It was a quainter little figure than before, but n.o.body laughed now.
They looked at each other, then at the child staggering along under the Prince"s plumed turban, then at Prince Askurry himself standing bareheaded before his nephew.
It was an ill omen. And yet as Head-nurse said proudly when they got back to the rooms that had been given them in a frowning bastion of the palace, Baby Akbar had once more scored off his uncle.
Indeed, she was so c.o.c.k-a-hoop about it that she stickled for this, and she stickled for that until the attendants, who were at first inclined to be civil, began to look askance, and Foster-father had to bid her hold her tongue.
"Wise folk leave steel traps alone," he said; "fiddling with them lets off the spring. Then--pouf!"
He shook his head significantly.
"Steel traps?" echoed Head-nurse sniffily, "who is talking of steel traps?"
"I am, woman!" replied Foster-father sternly. "I tell you this Kandahar is as a steel trap ready to snap on us at any moment."
Head-nurse was silent, even though he also had ventured to call her "woman"; but she was beginning to learn that nine times out of ten Foster-father was right.
CHAPTER VII
WINTER
The winter settled in early that year, and with the pa.s.ses of the hills blocked by snow, the caravans of laden camels which, in addition to merchandise of all sorts, brought news from the world to the east and the world to the west of mountain-clipped Kandahar, ceased to come into the big bazaar. And the cold kept most people at home, or shivering beside the glowing braziers set outside the shops. It was not the season for active work, and so Prince Askurry let it slip by without really making up his mind what he was to do with Baby Akbar. Meanwhile the child could live in the bastion of the palace, and play with his little cousins. Whether he was to be betrothed to Baby Amina or not could be decided in the spring; this was the time for rest and home comfort without fear of any disturbing, since none could cross the pa.s.ses in winter.
Princess Sultanam, however, to whom in her seclusion winter and summer were much alike, grew fond of the little lad, and never ceased to urge on her husband the wisdom of so treating Prince Akbar, that should King Humayon by good luck--and he _had_ a knack of being lucky--find himself again with an army at his back, his hands would be tied from revenge on the Court at Kabul.
Now, Askurry was no fool; he saw that, for the present at any rate, until Humayon"s fate was decided, it would be wiser to be kind; so he decided that when he held the New Year"s a.s.semblage he would present the little prince in due form to the chiefs and n.o.bles.
Head-nurse was almost crazy with delight at the very idea. She and Foster-mother sent all their jewels to the goldsmith to be made up into suitable ornaments for Baby Akbar, and they ransacked the shops for odd sc.r.a.ps of brocade with which to make him the finest of fine state robes.
And on the eventful day they began the child"s toilette early, pressing Roy the Rajput into service as tire-woman to hold the ointments, and scents, and what not, that they deemed necessary for the due dressing of a Prince.
So that it rather dashed their spirits when Foster-father came in with a sober face and the news that a man had come into the bazaar bringing bad tidings of the King and Queen. They had, he said, been lost in the snow; but whether this was true or not, who could tell?
"Then what is the use of worrying?" snapped Head-nurse, who was too much occupied in making her charge beautiful to think of other things. "Lo!
Foster-father, evil is never lost on the road. It arrives sooner or later, so why watch for it at the door?"
"That is true," replied Foster-father, "but mark my words, all depends on good news. If that comes, the child is safe; if evil--then G.o.d help him!"
Roy, who, Baby Akbar being nearly dressed, was now holding the pot of lamp-black and oil with which Head-nurse, after the Indian custom, would put a finishing touch to her work by smearing a big black s.m.u.t on the child"s forehead, lest he should be too sweet and so attract an envious, evil eye, looked up at the words, his face full of light and remembrance.
"G.o.d does help true kingship," he said proudly. "Mother used to say so, and that is why she was never afraid--" He paused and the light in his face faded. "I--I don"t remember any more," he added apologetically.
"Remembrance or no," snapped Head-nurse, "hold the pot straight, boy, or thou wilt spill it over the Mighty-in-Pomp, the Admired-of-the-World,"
etc.
But Foster-father looked at Old Faithful and laid his hand kindly on Roy"s shoulder. "It matters not, Roy! It is there within thee, all the same. And "twill come back some day, never fear. And I for one," he added aside to the old trooper, "should not wonder at much; for the lad"s manners are ever above his present station."
Old Faithful shook his head wisely. ""Tis not the boy"s manners, friend," he said, "but his breed. A man may compa.s.s manners for himself, but not that his father should have had them also."
By this time the black smear was on Baby Akbar"s forehead, and despite the smudge, he looked a very fine little fellow indeed. So much so that quite a murmur of delighted admiration ran round the a.s.semblage when Askurry appeared, leading him by the hand; for he had quickly learned to run about and was now quite steady on his legs.
"A chip of the old block," said an ancient mountain chief, who had known his grandfather Babar, and many others nodded a.s.sent. Then Prince Askurry began a set speech, little Akbar seated on his knee the while.
It was a very clever, crafty speech, that could be taken two ways, and Prince Askurry was so much interested in it, and making sure that he was neither too disloyal or too loyal to his unfortunate brother, the King, that he did not notice what was pa.s.sing on his knee until a sudden lack of attention on the part of his audience made him follow their eyes, and look down at the child upon his lap.
And then?
Then he sat dumbfounded, his face flushing to a dull, dark red, for he saw in a moment what the thing that had happened would mean to those others--the audience before him--the men he had summoned to listen to his half-hearted words.
Yet it was a very simple little thing. Baby Akbar, tired, doubtless, of his uncle"s speechifying, had found amus.e.m.e.nt in a slender gold chain which hung round his uncle"s neck; had traced it to a secret pocket in his inner waistcoat, and so had drawn out from its hiding place a golden signet ring, set with an engraved emerald. A toy indeed! So after playing with it for a bit the child had slipped it onto his little forefinger, which he held up the better to admire his new-found treasure. So it came to pa.s.s that as Askurry"s smooth, oily voice went on and on, those who listened could see a little image sitting on his knee.
A dignified, gracious-looking image with forefinger held up in the att.i.tude of kingly command; and on that forefinger--what?
The Signet of the King!
The Ring of Empire!
It was unmistakable! Askurry must have found it in his fugitive brother"s tent. He must have concealed it. Uncertain what part he meant to play in the end, he must have worn it on his person until the child--the true Heir-to-Empire----
The chiefs looked at each other furtively. There was a pause. Then suddenly an old, thin voice--the voice of the old mountain chief, who remembered Babar the brave--rose on the silence.