The Great Mogul

“Ha! Thy tongue is glib! And what is my repute with your King?”

“I have been told that he regards your Majesty with great respect, which is saying much, as he is held by many to be a very Solomon.”

“Aye, the wisest fool in Christendom,” broke in Sainton, in English.

Mowbray smiled and Akbar cried eagerly: —

“What sayeth the Hathi?”

The translation, which Walter rendered accurately, made him laugh heartily.

“I doubt not thou hast an apt phrase to describe me when my back is turned,” he said to Roger.

“If your Majesty leaves behind you the lakh and a half demanded by my partner I shall at least say that which is true.”

“And what will it be?”

“That none but a royal bird could cast such feathers.”

“Bismillah! Aught but that! The four winds would blow hither every knave in India, for they will read it that none but a royal goose could lay such eggs.”

Of course the imperial quip was much applauded by those who stood near, and Akbar was so pleased with his own wit that he called for pen and paper and commanded an attendant to write an order on the Treasury for the amount named, for, strange to say, this far-seeing and intelligent monarch was quite illiterate. He could scarcely read, and his signature was a mere scrawl. Nevertheless, his hieroglyphics covered, in this instance, a considerable sum, its English equivalent being £15,000. Seeing that the cost and transport of their goods amounted to only one-third of the sale price, both Mowbray and Sainton had the best of reasons to rejoice at this rapid change in their fortunes.

But Akbar knew the value of money as well as the poorest of his subjects. Turning to a corpulent nawab who had laughed loudest at his joke, he said: —

“Now, Agah Khan, thou shalt see that I am as ready a seller as a buyer. Look at this roll of Persian silk. Think of the joy it will cause in thy household. Is it not cheap at two hundred gold mohurs, or shall we say two-fifty, as thou wouldst not care to rob a man who scarce knew the value of his commodities.”

Agah Khan, not at all elated by this twist of the royal humor, hastened to say that two hundred and fifty was the true price, at which figure he would certainly purchase it. He knew Akbar. Had he hesitated the figure would have risen by hundreds a minute.

“Nay, be not so shy, Nur-ud-din,” called out the Emperor after one who affected an interest in another stall. “Here be spices of Gondar that shall make thee eat until the mirror reveals one twice thy size. What shall it be?”

“Fifty, O King of Kings,” was the quick response.

“Fifty! When each grain doth season a meal! A hundred at the least!”

“Be it so, shadow of Allah on earth!” said Nur-uddin; yet he looked so dismal, for he was a reputed skinflint, that Akbar smiled grimly, and there was discreet mirth even among those who dreaded their own dealing with this masterful salesman.

“Gad!” whispered Sainton to Walter, “I begin to catch the drift of the King’s bargain. He hath a nice wit.”

In half an hour Akbar had sold three fourths of their stock and retained the best quarter for nothing. They, all aglow with pleasure at this successful close of their venture, watched the proceedings in patience until the Emperor approached them again.

“It grieves me that affairs in the Dekkàn will detain me to-day,” he said, looking fixedly at Walter. “Visit the Treasury to-morrow, come hither at the hour fixed for this evening, and then journey with all speed and good fortune back to Surat.”

Now, Walter read a hint into the words. He bowed deeply, assuring the Emperor that he would obey his commands to the letter. Then, Akbar having gone, he and Roger went on their way with light hearts.

In a land where intrigue was rife, the signal favor shown by the Emperor to the two strangers was in every man’s mouth. This was clear from the respect paid to them as they rode forth from the palace. Each menial salaamed, and officials who had surveyed them with hauteur during their first visit now rendered obsequious attention.

They were yet some little distance from the bazaar when two richly clad nobles, mounted on fine Turkoman Arabs, overtook them, drew rein and entered into conversation.

At first, Walter answered their courteous inquiries unguardedly, but a question anent the previous night’s escapade revealed a hidden motive. He described the affair jestingly, robbing it of serious import.

“Nay, friend,” said one, the elder of the pair, “we heard Akbar’s words. Prince Jahangir, a profligate and a drunkard, hath grieved him by his excesses. Had the edge of thy sword fallen on Jahangir’s neck, instead of the flat blade on his wrist, there would have been little harm done.”

“A bold speech from one whom I know not.”

“Would that a bold action by one whom we know not had rid the land of a pest!”

Amazed and somewhat disturbed by this outspoken declaration, Mowbray wheeled his horse squarely towards the speaker.

“I would have you realize that my companion and I are traders. We have no concern with the court beyond the sale of our goods,” he said sternly.

“Traders should not have enemies in high places.”

“We have none.”

“Why, then, is one of the foreign preachers closeted with Jahangir since the ninth hour? Why hath this same preacher spread the rumor in the bazaar that you are spies, emissaries of a king beyond the black water who is sending armed ships to prey on our territories in the west?”

Here was unpleasant news, indeed. Mowbray must have looked his annoyance, because the other continued eagerly: —

“This black gown hath established too great an influence over Jahangir. Were he dead, and his brother Khusrow recognized as heir, all would be well, and the store thou hast made to-day would be quadrupled.”

“To whom do I speak?”

“I fear not to give my name. I am Raja Man Singh, and this other is the chief of Bikanir.”

“Why do you tell me these things?” said Walter, sorely troubled, for the men were grandees of high position.

“Because, in God’s name, if Jahangir comes in front of thy sword again, plunge it into him.”

Roger, who gathered the drift if not the exact significance of the talk, broke in in English: —

“If they’re athirst for Jahangir’s blood, Walter, bid them slit his weazand themselves.”

They evidently read his ejaculation as hostile to the Prince, for he from Bikanir murmured: —

“Good! The Hathi hath trumpeted.”

Now, Roger did not like the nickname given him by Akbar. He stretched out a huge fist toward the Rajput and roared: —

“I kill only in fair fight. Beware lest the slaying be done now, when, perchance, we may win not only the Emperor’s approval, but that of his eldest son.”

His attitude surprised them, but they showed no fear. Raja Man Singh said coldly: —

“I have spoken. Many hours may not pass before you feel that my words were not uttered without cause.”

He spurred his horse, and the other followed him in a sharp canter. They soon vanished in the distance.

The incident, perplexing though it was, would not have troubled them greatly save for the reference to Dom Geronimo. Here was one whose rancor was implacable, his spleen being probably augmented by their presence in the Mogul capital and the notable success they had attained. When they recalled the Emperor’s advice as to their departure they saw that there were dangerous undercurrents in existence which might swamp the argosy of their fortunes if they did not conduct their affairs with exceeding discretion.

Hence, they hailed with joy the invitation from the Diwán to make his house their own during further residence in Agra. In the caravansary they were surrounded by strangers who might be in anyone’s pay. In the Garden of Heart’s Delight they were, at least, under the protection of an influential minister, whose abode even Prince Jahangir was compelled to respect, else he would not have resorted to the ambuscade of the previous night.

But the blind god, having tossed them towards the smooth haven of prosperity, blew them back into a storm with malignant caprice. That night, the Diwán died suddenly, poisoned said some, while others held that his end was hastened by the turmoil attending Nur Mahal’s marriage.

Application to the Treasury for payment of their order was futile. They were assured, civilly enough, that no money could be disbursed until a new Diwán was appointed, and, when they kept the appointment fixed by Akbar, they were told that the Emperor, overwhelmed with grief at the death of his favorite minister, added to the news of the illness of one of his sons, Dániál, at Burhampur, was secluded in his private apartments.

Day after day they waited, devising many schemes to secure their money and leave a city they would gladly see the last of. They lived in the Diwán’s house. None interfered with them, and the place itself was an earthly Paradise wherein they would be well content if other matters had progressed to their liking. The warning given by Raja Man Singh had no justification in fact. Jahangir had apparently forgotten their existence, while Dom Geronimo gave no sign that he concerned himself in any way about them.

Walter not only visited the palace daily, but wrote letters, none of which received an answer. At last the truth could no longer be hidden. Akbar, who had reigned over India fifty-one years, was stricken down with paralysis. In the words of the chronicler, “His Majesty, finding that his last moments had come, summoned all his Omerahs to his bedside. Wistfully regarding them, he asked forgiveness of any offense he might have been guilty towards any of them. Then he gave them a sign to invest his son, Jahangir, with his turban and robes, and to gird him with his favorite simitar. He entreated Jahangir to be kind to the ladies of the family, to discharge all his (Akbar’s) obligations, and never to neglect or forsake old friends and dependents. The grandees prostrated themselves before their dying lord and did him homage. The King repeated the confession of faith, closed his eyes, and died in all the forms of a pious Musalman.”

The worthy scribe no doubt intended his concluding sentence to dispel, once and for all, the rumor which found credence with many that Akbar had a decided leaning towards Christianity. However that may be, the tidings of his death sounded the knell of the adventurers’ hopes. Not only had they lost the fortune within their grasp, but they and their Surat partner were ruined.

Walter’s dream of gaining a competence and sailing speedily to England and Nellie Roe was shattered. In his despair he debated with Roger the advisability of quitting Agra secretly, and journeying towards Calcutta by river.

But Roger swore, with quaint oaths, that he would beard Jahangir in his palace and shame him before all his nobles if he did not fulfil Akbar’s behest. Matters were in this desperate plight when a royal messenger was announced.

Wondering greatly what new development fickle fate had in store they admitted the man. He salaamed with much ceremony and said: —

“My master, the Emperor Jahangir, second Sahib-i-Qirán,3 bids the illustrious strangers wait on him to-morrow after he appears at the jharoka (window) to receive the blessings of his subjects.”

Here was the unexpected happening in very truth. Had Kingship made Jahangir a King? Would he rise superior to petty considerations and treat them with justice? Who could tell? As Roger said: —

“We mun eat a good breakfast, buckle on our swords, and trust in Providence.”

CHAPTER X

“Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.” Shakespeare, “King Henry IV.”

Jahangir received them in the Hall of Public Audience. If he wished to inspire respect by a display of magnificence, his appearance and surroundings were well calculated to achieve this purpose.

The fine building itself supplied a fitting shrine for regal splendor. The Arabesque roof was borne on Byzantine arches, which gave free access on three sides from a delightful parterre. It was closed on the north, as here it rested against the higher ground which contained the private apartments. A raised marble canopy stood out from the center of the built-in side, the floor being some eight feet above the mosaic pavement of the hall. This retreat held the Emperor’s throne, to which a small door communicated from the back.

The throne was elevated on a dais of silver steps. Four massive silver lions bore an inner canopy of gold, curiously wrought and emblazoned with jewels. Tavernier, the French traveler, himself a goldsmith, estimated the value of this wonderful structure at so many millions sterling that later historians have held the sum named to be incredible. Nevertheless, it made a brave show in the clear light of an Indian interior in the cold weather. Not less striking was the figure of Jahangir himself. Robed in white muslin, his belt, simitar, dagger-hilt, and scarf literally blazed with diamonds. On his turban reposed a Persian diadem with twelve points, each terminating in a large diamond of purest water and most brilliant luster. Within a mass of sparkling stones in the center was set a shimmering pearl of extraordinary size and value, while a necklace of smaller but exquisite pearls served to enhance the lustrous ornament in his crown. Tavernier, probably with reasonable accuracy, valued the diadem alone at two millions sterling.

Grouped near him on the steps of the dais, or on the platform, were several court dignitaries, amidst whose gorgeous robes the Englishmen’s eyes quickly discerned the cassock of Dom Geronimo. A host of officials and nobles of lesser importance thronged the floor of the great hall, and the scene was one of glittering animation at the moment the two friends arrived, the only somber and sinister note being the unrelieved black robe of the Jesuit.

That they were expected was demonstrated by the sudden stilling of tongues and craning of necks as they approached. All men made way for them, as men will, though the path be to the steps of a throne, when they think a fellow creature is doomed to instant death or torture. It was common knowledge that these two had not only thwarted Jahangir’s amours and laid violent hands on him in the process, but that he was their creditor, in his father’s behalf, for a considerable sum of money. What better reasons could there be for hanging the pair of them forthwith?

Yet, some prudent souls, noting the fearless glances cast around by Sainton and his less colossal but powerfully built companion – thinking, perhaps, that the Emperor might call on his faithful subjects to seize these two – edged away from the vicinity. It would be much easier to yell than to act when Jahangir cried “Maro!”4

“Desperate need calls for desperate deed,” growled Roger as they strode forward, side by side. “If it comes to a fight, Walter, let me sweep a clear space with a stroke or two. Then I shall catch thee by the belt and heave thee up at Jahangir. It will take him by surprise. Bring him out, as a keen dog would draw a badger. Once we have him on the floor, perchance we can make terms.”

Walter laughed gaily. The suggestion that they should terrorize the whole Mogul court by sheer force was ludicrous, and its humor was not lessened by the knowledge that they were both in a position of imminent danger. The presence of the Jesuit in close attendance on the Emperor was, in itself, an ominous sign, and the mere sight of him brought a glint into Mowbray’s blue eyes which boded ill for Jahangir if Roger’s last daring expedient became necessary.

They advanced near to the marble canopy, and, doffing their hats, bowed respectfully. Roger, with an eye over his shoulder, thought that the eager mob of courtiers was inclined to tread too closely on his heels. With his left hand he pressed the hilt of his long sword, and the scabbard, sticking straight out behind him, seemed to indicate that he did not intend to be incommoded.

Anyhow, those in the rear read his wishes that way, and anxiously whispered to others not to thrust them forward, while the wiser men, who had kept aloof, noting the strange expression on Jahangir’s face, thanked Allah for the wit which stationed them in a safe place.

Walter, who, of course, acted in the assumption that Jahangir had sent for him in the most friendly spirit, began the conversation by addressing a neatly worded compliment to the monarch on his accession.

“It is the happy law of nature,” he said, “that the setting of the sun shall be followed by the rising thereof. May your Majesty’s reign continue for as many years as that of your illustrious father, and may the brightness of your glory illumine the earth!”

Having some trick of versification, he gave the words a turn towards a Persian couplet. There was a rustle of gratified surprise among the audience, few of whom were aware of Walter’s proficiency in the courtly language of Hindustan.

Jahangir, smiling acidly, bent forward: —

“I sent for a merchant,” he said, “but you have brought me a poet.”

“A happy chance enables me to combine the two, your Majesty.”

The Emperor, without any hesitation, answered: —

“You are modest, withal. The last time we met I discovered in you other qualities, whilst your words savored more of the battlefield than of the court.”

“I have not seen your Majesty before,” said Walter boldly, for he could in no wise guess what line Jahangir intended to take with him, and he was not prepared for this open allusion to the struggle at the gate of the Diwán’s garden.

The King’s face exhibited some amazement, as well it might. He significantly touched his right forearm, which was closely wrapped in black silk.

“My eyes and ears may have deceived me,” he cried, “but I have that here which bears witness against thee.”

“Your Majesty is good enough to allude to a slight dispute which involved Prince Jahangir and another. It did not concern me, and I was foolish to take part in it, but I maintain that had I encountered the Emperor on that occasion I would have behaved very differently.”

Dom Geronimo, who lost no word of the interview, seemed to be displeased by Mowbray’s adroit distinction between the occupant of the throne and a prince of the royal blood. He leaned over and whispered something, but Jahangir paid little heed to him.

“Then, you think a monarch should have no memory?” he asked, looking fixedly at Walter.

“Not so. He should remember his friends and forget his enemies.”

“And how shall I class thee and thy comrade?”

“We trust that your Majesty will continue to show us the favor manifested by your royal father.”

Jahangir laughed.

“It is strange,” he said slowly, “but you have read my intention. I am told that the renowned Akbar had it in mind to give you an exhibition of certain sports which he loved. Faithful to his wishes in every respect as I am, I have brought you hither to-day for that same purpose. I have ordered a steward to wait on you. After the midday meal he will conduct you to the tamáshá-gáh,5 where I will meet you. Farewell. God is great!”

“May His brightness shine forth!” chanted the Mahomedans present, and, ere Mowbray and Sainton well understood the King’s desire, Jahangir had vanished and they were confronted by a bowing chamberlain, who besought them to accompany him to a guest-room.

Here, an excellent meal was served. On the table were several flagons of various wines. Though they knew not what was in store for them, and the Emperor’s manner was as inscrutable as his words, they fully believed that he did not mean them to be poisoned on that occasion, so they ate heartily, notwithstanding Roger’s earlier precaution in the matter of breakfast. But the wine, though its novelty was tempting, they spared. They knew its effects in that climate, and until they were far removed from Agra it behooved them to keep eye undimmed and blood free from fever.

The less they drank the more the steward pressed the wine upon them, until Roger, whom the sight of the flagons tried sorely, bade the man, if he were minded to be truly hospitable, send the liquor to their abode, where they would endeavor to do it justice.

“If your Honor will say that you have already partaken of it I shall obey your behest,” said the other with alacrity.

“That will be only the bare truth,” was the astonished reply, for they had each tasted a small quantity and found it excellent, there being Canary, Alicant, Malaga, and the famed product of Oporto on the board.

“’Ware hawk, Roger,” interposed Walter. “Unless I mistake me greatly we are being screwed up to undergo some ordeal. Jahangir said naught of paying us. I dislike his civility.”

“Gad! if this honest fellow keeps his word and conveys the bottles to the old Diwán’s house, I shall change my mind anent the chuck ere midnight. What flea hath bitten thee now, Walter? The King hath dealt with us right royally, and you and he seemed to oil each other with smooth words.”

“I cannot forego my suspicions. They are useless, I admit. We have thrust our heads into the jaws of the lion, and can scarce complain if he snaps them off.”

“Let us rather resolve to give him the toothache if he tries any tricks,” growled Sainton. “Make for him, lad, if there be aught amiss. Trust to me to clear a path. For each one in the crowd who draws for the King there will be another ready to draw against him should they see a chance of success.”

They spoke in English. Their native attendant, seeing that they had finished their meal, begged to be allowed to depart for a little while. When all was ready he would come and bring them to the tamáshá-gáh. They were seated in a beautiful apartment, with frescoed walls, mosaic floor, and arched Moorish roof composed of colored tiles. On one side it opened into a garden. The palace, unlike most kingly residences, was not one vast building, but was made up of a series of exquisitely proportioned halls or small private abodes, sometimes connected by covered ways, but often standing quite apart, and always surrounded by a wealth of flowers and foliage peculiarly grateful to eyes wearied by the glare of the sun reflected from white marble.

Industriously watering the plants was a sturdy bhisti, or water-carrier. His goatskin bag seemed to be inexhaustible. He had been traversing the garden paths throughout the whole time they were eating. No sooner were they alone in the room than he ran close to the plinth and began to deluge the rose-bushes in good earnest.

“Protector of the poor!” he murmured to Walter, “stay not here. Go away quickly, in God’s name!”

Considerably startled by the man’s words, which chimed so strangely with his own forebodings, Mowbray bent towards him.

“Who bade thee give me this message?” he asked, knowing full well that such a menial would never dare to speak on his own authority.

“One who wishes thee well, sahib – my wife, to wit,” answered the bhisti.

“Thy wife!”

“Yes, honored one. You plucked our child from death in the river, and my wife heard from others that there is intent to make sport with thee and the Hathi-sahib ere both are put to death.”

Swish, swish went the water among the rose-leaves. Never was there a more energetic bhisti, for a gardener had appeared, and further talk was impossible.

“As well die here as a mile away,” was Roger’s quiet comment. “We have breakfasted, we have dined, and a fight is toward. What more can a man want? Out with your hanger, Walter, when Jahangir so much as opes his mouth to speak crossly. We shall give him a feast of steel, with first, second, and third course all alike. There shall be much carving, yet none will tarry to eat. Gad! this talking makes me thirsty, and, if I am fated to fall to-day, their blades may as well let out some good liquor. Fall to, lad! We may not have another chance.”

He seized a bottle of Alicant and poured out two generous measures. Mowbray lifted a tankard and cried: —

“Here’s to Old England and Nellie Roe, if I never see either again!”

“And here’s to the day when I set foot on the heather once more!” was Roger’s sturdy rejoinder. It was in such spirit that they followed the chamberlain when he reappeared.

They had no opportunity of conversing again with the bhisti. Whatever good cause inspired his mysterious message they were now on the verge of enlightenment, so Walter called the poor fellow towards him and openly presented him with some rupees, saying: —