Part 40 (2/2)

Everything was ready. It only needed the word to open the sluices and let the molten metal run into the mould. And that word was the name the gun was to bear in the future.

”Now! Most-Clement!” palpitated Ali-Kool.

”Deg Ghazi!” came Babar's full voice; the which being interpreted means Holy-Victorious-Pot. A yell of clamouring voices, a clash of implements half-drowned the christening.

Then like streaks of light the molten metal crept with slow swiftness, gathering speed as it flowed, bringing with it fierce, almost unbearable heat. The mould filled--half-full--three-quarters--

And then? Then the metal ceased to run. There was no more in the furnaces...!

Ali-Kool was like one demented.

”Hold the man,” shouted Babar, whose eyes were ever alert for other people as well as himself, ”or he will do himself a mischief!”

And indeed it was time! Poor Ali-Kool was on the edge of the mould as if about to throw himself into the molten metal, waving his arms about wildly, and calling High Heaven to witness that it ought not, it could not, have occurred. And Babar's kindly touch on his shoulder, his kindly words--”Nay, Master-_jee_, such things do happen at times to the best of us,” only brought grief and shame to strengthen anger. He was disgraced--he had disgraced the Emperor ...

”Not one whit!” laughed Babar. ”And as for thee--here! Slaves!

Bring quick a robe of honour--the best! and here, where the misadventure--they are sent by G.o.d, remember, O Ali-Kool!--occurred will I invest thee and make thee n.o.ble!”

It was a fine group. The kingly figure so full of human sympathy, the broken-hearted artificer smiling perforce a watery smile, the crowding workmen, the _insouciant_ courtiers, both full of approval. And tuning all to the perfect harmony of true Life, the appeal to that which lies beyond chance and misadventure.

”Lo! His Majesty hath the touch of consolation to perfection,” said Tardi-Beg.

”Yea!” a.s.sented Ali-Jan, ”but I would he had as fine a sense of danger. Dost know that he hath put on four Hindustani cooks to his Royal Kitchen, because forsooth, he hath never tasted the dishes of this accursed country and must needs try them?”

”Aye!” said Mahomed Baks.h.i.+, who was Superintendent-of-the-Household, ”and what is worse, they be the Royal cooks of the late King! Heard you ever such fool-hardiness? Lo! I have put on two new tasters; but what is that? These idolaters have strange ways and strange poisons.”

”And strange dishes!” put in Tardi-Beg. ”Lo! I eat none at the Emperor's supper parties.”

”Nor I,” chorused several.

”Gentlemen!” said Mahomed Baks.h.i.+. ”You speak without thought for the interior of a kitchen. Poison may go into any pot. 'Twere better to eat nothing. Then would my labours be less.”

”Thy percentages also,” laughed a recognised wit. ”Heed him not, gentlemen. 'Tis but his way of keeping our stomachs empty, so that more profit fills his pocket.”

So the subject was dismissed with a joke; though in truth it was far from being one. For Babar's somewhat reckless appointment of these four Hindustani cooks, had set in train one of those fine-drawn female plots to poison which seem inseparable from the seclusion of women. It is as if the concentrated, confined vitality, denied outlet in natural ways, seeks expression in pure venom. The late Sultan-Ibrahim's mother lived, by Babar's generosity, in comparative State. He had a.s.signed lands to her, treated her with the utmost respect, and when he addressed her, did so as ”mother.” But the mere chance of having a Hindustani cook in the royal kitchen was too much for grat.i.tude.

The result Babar wrote to Maham when, considerably the worse for the incident, he was still living on water-lily flowers brayed in milk.

”The ill-fated lady, having heard of my appointment of cooks, delivered no less than a quarter of an ounce of poison to a female slave and sent it to Ahmed, her taster, wrapped up in a folded paper.

He, seducing the man by promise of vast lands, handed it to one of the cooks, desiring him by some means or another to throw it into my food.

The man did not throw it into the pot, because I had strictly enjoined my tasters ever to watch the Hindustanis; fortunately, therefore, he only threw it into the tray. In this fas.h.i.+on. When they were dis.h.i.+ng the meat, my graceless tasters must have been inattentive, for he managed to throw about one-half of the poison on a plate which held some thin slices of bread. These he covered with meat fried in b.u.t.ter.

The better half in his haste he spilt in the fireplace.

”It was fried hare. I am very fond of hare, so I ate a good deal and also fried carrot. I was not, however, sensible of any disagreeable taste. But while I was eating some smoked-dried meat I felt nausea.

Now the day before while eating this smoke-dried flesh I had detected an unpleasant taste in a part of it. I therefore ascribed my nausea to that incident. But it was not so. I was very ill. Now I have never been ill in that way even after drinking wine. Suspicion therefore crossed my mind immediately. I desired the cooks to be taken into custody, and directed the rest of the meat to be given to a dog, and that it be shut up. The dog became sick, his belly swelled, he could not be induced to rise until noon next day when he rose and recovered.

Two young menials in the kitchen who had partaken of the food also suffered. One indeed, was extremely ill, but in the end both escaped.

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