Part 39 (1/2)

He stood silent, gazing at the stains stupidly. ”I did not strike,” he muttered to himself, ”but I called; or did I strike? I--I----” He threw up his head and his words rushed recklessly in a high shrill voice, ”I warned thee! I told thee it was not safe! They were herded like sheep in the suns.h.i.+ne by the cistern, and the smell of blood rose up. It was in my very nostrils, for, look you, that first shot missed them and killed one of my men. I saw it. A round red spot oozing over the white--and they herded like sheep----”

”Who?” she asked faintly.

”I told thee; the prisoners, with the cry to kill above the cries of the children, the flash of blood-dulled swords above women's heads--and I---- Nay! I warned thee, Newasi, there was butcher _here_”--his blood-stained hands left their mark on his gay clothes.

”Abool!” she cried, ”thou didst not----”

”Did I?” he almost screamed. ”G.o.d! will it ever leave my sight? I gave the call, I ran in, I drew my sword. It spurted over my hands from a child's throat as I would have struck--or--or--did I strike? Newasi!”

his voice had sunk again almost to a whisper, ”it was in its mother's arms,--she did not cry,--she looked and I--I----” he buried his face in his hands--”I came to thee.”

She stood looking at him for a moment, her hands clenched, her beautiful soft eyes ablaze; then recklessly she tore the jewels from her arms, her neck, her hair.

”So she has dared! Yea! Come! thou art right, Abool!” The words mixed themselves with the tinkle of bracelets as, flung from her in wild pa.s.sion, they rolled into the corners of the room, with the c.h.i.n.k of necklaces as they fell, with the rustle of brocade and tinsel as she tore them from her. ”She has killed them--the helpless fugitives, guests who have eaten the King's salt! She thinks to beguile us all--to beguile thee. But she shall not. It is not too late. Come!

Come! Abool--thou shalt have all from me--yea! all, sooner than she should beguile thee thus--Come!”

She had s.n.a.t.c.hed an old white veil from its peg and wrapped it round her, as she pa.s.sed rapidly to the door; but he did not move. So she pa.s.sed back again as swiftly to take his hand, stained as it was, and lay her cheek to it caressingly.

”Thou didst not strike, dear, thou didst not! Come, dear, that she-devil shall not have thee--I will hold thee fast.”

Five minutes after a plain curtained dhoolie left the precincts and swayed past the Great Hall of Audience with its toothed red arches, looking as if they yawned for victims. The courtyard beyond lay strangely silent, despite the s.h.i.+fting crowd, which gathered and melted and gathered again round the little tree-shaded cistern where but the day before Hafzan and the Moulvie had watched a mother pause to clasp her baby to softer, securer rest.

The woman and the child were at the cistern now, and the Rest had come. Softer, securer than all other rest, and the mother shared it; shared it with other women, other children.

But as the Princess Farkhoonda, fearful of what she might see, peeped through the dhoolie curtains, there was nothing to be seen save the s.h.i.+fting, curious crowd, while the impartial suns.h.i.+ne streamed down on it, and those on whom it gazed.

So let the s.h.i.+fting, crowding years with their relentless questioning eyes shut out all thought of what lay by the cistern, save that of rest and the impartial suns.h.i.+ne streaming upon it.

For as the beautiful soft eyes drew back relieved, a bugle rang through the arcades, echoed from the wall, floated out into the city.

The bugle to set watch and ward, to close the gates; since the irrevocable step had been taken, the death-pledge made.

So the dream of sovereignty began in earnest behind closed gates. But if women had lost Delhi, those who lay murdered about the little cistern had regained it. For Hafzan had spoken truth; the strength of the Huzoors lay there.

The strength of the real Master.

CHAPTER II.

PEACE? PEACE?

Three weeks had pa.s.sed, and still the dream of sovereignty went on behind the closed gates, while all things s.h.i.+mmered and simmered in the fierce blaze of summer sunlight. The city lay--a rose-red glare dazzling to look at--beside the glittering curves of the river, and the deserted Ridge, more like a lizard than ever, sweltered and slept lazily, its tail in the cool blue water, its head upon the cool green groves of the Subz-mundi. And over all lay a liquid yellow heat-haze blurring every outline, till the whole seemed some vast mirage.

And still there were no tidings of the master, no cloud of dust upon the Meerut road. None.

Amazing, incredible fact! Men whispered of it on the steps of the Great Mosque when, the last Friday of the fast coming round, its commination service brought many from behind closed doors to realize that by such signs of kings.h.i.+p as beatings of drums, firing of salutes, and levying of loans, Bahadur Shah really had filched the throne of his ancestors from the finest fighters in the world. Filched it without a blow, without a struggle, without even a threat, a defiance.

So here they were in a new world without posts or telegraphs, laws or order. Time itself turned back hundreds of years and all power of progress vested absolutely in one old man, the Light of Religion, the Defender of the Faith, the Great Moghul. If that were not a miracle it came too perilously near to one for some folk's loyalty; and so they drifted palaceward when prayers were over to swell the growing crowd of courtiers about the Dream King. And even the learned and most loyal lingered on the steps to whisper, and call obscure prophecies and ingenious commentaries to mind, and admit that it was strange, wondrous strange, that the numerical values of the year should yield the anagram ”_Ungrez tubbah shood ba hur soorut_,” briefly ”The British shall be annihilated.” For the Oriental mind loves such trivialities.

And, to all intents and purposes, the English were annihilated, during that short month of peace between the 11th of May and the 8th of June, 1857; for Delhi knew nothing of the vain striving, the ceaseless efforts of the master to find tents and carriages, horses, ammunition, medicine, everything once more, save, thank Heaven! courage, and the determination to be master still.