Part 45 (1/2)
”Any chance of--of anything?”
”None with our present chiefs. If we had Sir Henry Lawrence here it would be different.”
But Sir Henry Lawrence, having done his duty to the uttermost, already lay dead in the residency at Lucknow, though the tidings had not reached the Ridge. And yet more direful tidings were on their way to bring July, that month of clouds and cholera, of flies and funerals, of endless buglings and fifings, to a close.
It came to the city first. Came one afternoon when the King sat in the private Hall of Audience, his back toward the arcaded view of the eastern plains, ablaze with sunlight, his face toward the garden, which, through the marble-mosaic traced arches, showed like an embroidered curtain of green set with jeweled flowers. Above him, on the roof, circled the boastful legend:
”If earth holds a haven of bliss It is this--it is this--it is this!”
And all around him, in due order of precedence, according to the latest army lists procurable in Delhi, were ranged the mutinous native officers; for half the King's sovereignty showed itself in punctilious etiquette. At his feet, below the peac.o.c.k throne, stood a gilded cage containing a c.o.c.katoo. For Hafzan had been so far right in her estimate of Hussan Askuri's wonders that poor little Sonny's pet, duly caught, and with its crest dyed an orthodox green, had been used--like the stuffed lizard--to play on the old man's love of the marvelous.
So, for the time being, the bird followed him in his brief journeyings from Audience Hall to balcony, from balcony to bed.
The usual pile of brocaded bags lay below that again, upon the marble floor, where a reader crouched, sampling the most loyal to be used as a sedative. One would be needed ere long, for the Commanders-in-Chief were at war; Bukht Khan, backed by Hussan Askuri, with his long black robe, his white beard, and the wild eyes beneath his bushy brows, and by all the puritans and fanatics of the city; Mirza Moghul by his brother, Khair Sultan, and most of the Northern Indian rebels who refused a mere ex-soubadar's right to be better than they.
”Let the Light-of-the-World choose between us,” came the sonorous voice almost indifferently; in truth those secret counsels of Bukht Khan with the Queen, of which the Palace was big with gossip, held small place, allowed small consideration for the puppet King.
”Yea! let the Pillar-of-State choose,” bawled the shrill voice of the Moghul, whose yellow, small-featured face was ablaze with pa.s.sion.
”Choose between his son and heir and this low-born upstart, this soubadar of artillery, this puritan by profession, this debaucher of King's----”
He paused, for Bukht Khan's hand was on his sword, and there was an ominous stir behind Hussan Askuri. Ahsan-Oolah, a discreet figure in black standing by the side of the throne, craned his long neck forward, and his crafty face wore an amused smile.
Bukht Khan laughed disdainfully at the Mirza's full stop. ”What I am, sire, matters little if I can lead armies to victory. The Mirza hath not led his, _as yet_.”
”Not led them?” interrupted an officious peace-bringer. ”Lo! the h.e.l.l-doomed are reduced to five hundred; the colonels are eating their horses' grain, the captains are starving, and our sh.e.l.ls cause terror as they cry, 'Coffin! Coffin! (_boccus! boccus!_)----'”
”The Mirza could do as well as thou,” put in a partisan, heedless of the tales to which the King, however, had been nodding his head, ”if, as thou hast, he had money to pay his troops. The Begum Zeenut Maihl's h.o.a.rds----”
The sword and the hand kept company again significantly. ”I pay my men by the h.o.a.rd I took from the infidel, Meean-jee,” retorted the loud, indifferent voice. ”And when it is done I can get more. The Palace is not sucked dry yet, nor Delhi either.”
The Meean, well known to have feathered his nest bravely, muttered something inaudible, but a stout, white-robed gentleman bleated hastily:
”There is no more money to be loaned in Delhi, be the interest ever so high.”
The broad face broadened with a sardonic smile. ”I borrow, banker-jee, according to the tenets of the faith, without interest! For the rest, five minutes in thy house with a spade and a string bed to hang thee on head down, and I pay every fighter for the faith in Delhi his arrears.”
”_Wah! Wah!_” A fierce murmur of approval ran round the audience, for all liked that way of dealing with folk who kept their money to themselves.
”But, Khan-jee! there is no such hurry,” protested the keeper of peace, the promoter of dreams. ”The h.e.l.l-doomed are at the last gasp.
Have not two Commanders-in-Chief had to commit suicide before their troops? And was not the third allowed by special favor of the Queen to go away and do it privately? This one will have to do it also, and then----”
”And a letter has but this day come in,” said a grave, clever-looking man, interrupting the tale once more, ”offering ten lakhs; but as the writer makes stipulations, we are asking what treasury he means to loot, or if it is hidden h.o.a.rds.”
Bukht Khan shrugged his shoulders. ”The Meean's or the banker's h.o.a.rds are nearer,” he said brutally, ”and money we must have, if we are to fight as soldiers. Otherwise----” He paused. There was a stir at the entrance, where a news-runner had unceremoniously pushed his way in to flourish a letter in a long envelope, and pant with vehement show of breathlessness. ”In haste! In haste! and buksheesh for the bringer.”
The King, who had been listening wearily to the dispute, thinking possibly that the paucity of commanders on the Ridge was preferable to the plethora of them at court, looked up indifferently. They came so often, these bearers of wonderful news. Not so often as the little brocaded bags; but they had no more effect.