Swords From the Desert (42 page)

"Nay, Mahabat Khan," he said, "is it fitting that I should sit, half clad, before these emirs? I will go to the women's tents and put on fresh garments."

"In time, 0 Padishah. But first there is need to go forth with me."

"Whither?"

"To the five thousand that await thee."

Blood rushed into the heavy face of the Mogul, and his fingers tightened on the ruby cup.

"I am thy captive," he said sulkily. "My fate is between thy hands."

Once it was asked of a certain wise man whence he had his wisdom, and he made answer-

"From the blind."

And his followers asked the reason of this. He said-

"Because the blind take no step without feeling the earth before them first."

Mahabat Khan had drawn near the lash gar that sunrise with his two hundred, intending no more than to look upon the camp. Seeing the armed forces withdrawn across the river and the imperial tents almost deserted, he had put spurs to horse and charged, intending to secure the person of Jahangir.

Wallah! He had succeeded. And if Jahangir had threatened him, or had tried to flee, a single stroke of a Rajput sword might have made Mahabat Khan a free man, free to deal with his foes and to stir into flame the embers of war.

"Now," cried Jami, at my side, "we shall see swords drawn."

This, at least, was true. The Rajputs were escorting Jahangir to another tent not so near the river bank. They had not allowed him to put on better garments, but had brought up an elephant from somewhere, an elephant without an umbrella and with only a plain chair in a wooden howdah. Jahangir mounted to his seat and the mahout made the beast go forward.

Then the imperial horsemen far off around the women's quarters realized what was happening. They ran about hastily, getting to horse and drawing sabers and taking the lances from the slings.

We followed-Jami and I-the elephant with its escort of a hundred Rajputs. It was no time to be without a weapon and I meant to find one and arm myself.

And it seemed as if there would be no lack of swords on the ground, for the korchis-the picked imperial guardsmen-charged at a gallop, shouting, and evidently determined to rescue their master. A hundred Rajputs put their horses to a trot and advanced through the dry grass to meet them.

In a moment the air was full of the clatter of steel and the war shouts. Saddles emptied all over the field. The Rajputs did not keep together, but fought each for himself, scorning the lance but wielding their light blades like shaitans.

The Mogul's followers soon lost their array, and in single combat the Rajputs beat them to earth and rode them down. Before long the korchis were flying from the field.

I went forward to pick up a sword when I encountered a woman coming from the nearest pavilion. She was veiled and wrapped in the colored mantle of a dancing girl and she walked with a swaying grace, without looking back at the fighting. Eh, it came into my mind that at such a moment a woman would keep to the tents-for the wives of the men of Ind are not like our women, who follow the clans to raid or battle.

When she came abreast me she turned away her eyes. And from her hair arose a scent that I knew, the perfume of dried rose leaves. I put forth my hand to stay her and she swerved aside to avoid being touched. Surely a dancing girl would not have acted thus.

"Thou art the Light of the Palace," I cried, certain indeed. "Is this the path to follow when thy lord is taken captive?"

She turned her head to look around, and Jami pressed close, alive with curiosity. In all the days of our wandering he had not seen me in talk with a woman.

Verily, this was Nur-Mahal. She lowered her veil with a swift motion and in the clear sunlight her beauty was no less than by night. But now her lips drooped and her eyes held appeal.

"I go where I must, Ibn Athir," she cried softly. "Calamity hath fallen upon us, and if I am taken by the Rajputs, they will take life from me."

Why did she withdraw her veil? Her skin was smooth and tinted by the blood beneath, like the rarest silks that come from Cathay. Startled, and dismayed, her pride hid all weakness as a cloak covers the rents of a garment. Only her eyes pleaded with me to keep her secret and suffer her to go, in her disguise.

"To go whither?" I asked.

"As God wills, perhaps to Lahore." Her eyes still dwelt upon my face, seeking my thoughts. "Will it profit thee, Ibn Athir, to deliver me to death?"

"Without honor, there is no profit."

At once she leaned toward me, half smiling.

"Thy sword! That is thy desire. Salim Bai took it, and thou wilt find it in his baggage."

Surely, she had read my thought! Even while I meditated, she fastened the veil in place and went on, moving without haste toward a clump of flowering shrubs. And I-I rubbed my fingers across my eyes, as a man will do who has been sleeping in strong sunlight. She was Nur-Mahal, and what was her fate to me?

Nay, if I had taken her then to Mahabat Khan the fate of Ind might have been otherwise. I thought: She is alone, flying from execution. Let God guide her steps.

And in the days thereafter I wondered whether she had not willed that I should think thus. But then I hastened to find Salim Bai and demand that my sword be given back. He was too afraid of the Rajputs to refuse.

Jami, meanwhile, had deserted me again.

After the dawn prayer on the second day I was summoned to the quarters of Mahabat Khan to attend Jahangir, who was worse than usual. I found the Pathan striding back and forth restlessly, while the Mogul lay prone on a white cloth with untasted dishes at his side.

"He thinks that I have poisoned him," cried Mahabat Khan angrily.

Jahangir glanced at me as a trussed criminal eyes the goaler who comes knife in hand. He was grunting and breathing with difficulty, and the blood throbbed in his pulse. Though the cool morning air blew through the tent, sweat hung upon his eyebrows and thick jowls. In spite of this, he pretended to be in excellent humor and called the khan his sword arm.

When I rose from his side I beckoned toward Mahabat Khan, and when we were beyond the hearing of the sick man gave my opinion.

"No man may outlive his allotted span, 0 my lord. The seal of almaut is written on the forehead of the padishah. He will not live more than two years."

The Pathan started and clenched his sinewy hands.

"Nay, hakim," he responded grimly, "dose the padishah with physic, bleed him, purge him, and set him on his feet. Stripped of the parasites that have sucked his manhood, he may yet be king."

"No man may alter what is written. Though I were promised the emeralds of Golkunda, I might not lengthen his life. Others might promise more, and lie. I have spoken the truth."

For a moment his dark eyes bored into mine.

"I believe thee, Ibn Athir."

Then he turned back to the sick man, striding back and forth by the prostrate and panting form. The long, clean limbs of the warrior, and his clear eyes and firm step, gave him authority that the Mogul lacked. Suddenly he pulled at his beard and cried out in a loud voice:

"In my youth, I served Akbar the Blessed, thy father. And I will say to the son what no other hath dared to utter. Upon my head be it!"

He strode to the entrance of the tent, which was of heavy black velvet and, after looking out, let fall the flap.

"Thy great-grandsire Babar the Tiger conquered India, and he was a man in all things. Thy father, passionate in temper and too fond of intrigue, was yet a true ruler, who devoted every hour of wakefulness to the affairs of the myriads that worshipped him. Lo, calamity came upon his head in his children. Thy brothers died in drunkenness."

"Aye," nodded Jahangir, "they went out of the world in wine-soaked shrouds."

Mahabat Khan glared at his royal captive and pulled the wide sleeve back from his muscular right arm.

"These scars I had from the edge of steel in thy service. Because I was faithful to the salt, thy ministers sent me from the presence, giving me perilous tasks for nourishment, and stripping me of honor with their lies. Behold! "

He drew from his girdle a gold coin, of a sort I had never seen. It was a mohur, one side bearing the likeness of the beautiful Light of the Palace, the other that of Jahangir, smiling, a cup upheld in his hand. Mahabat Khan threw it down and spat upon it.

"Worthless! Asaf Khan the Persian hath taken the reins of authority from thee, and Nur-Mahal rules thee. Cease emptying cups and eating hemp and searching for new women! Give order to lead out thy horse and take command of the army, summoning the best of thine officers to thee. Then will we deal with Asaf Khan and his parasites."

The dark-faced Pathan checked in his stride and laughed.

"Kya! Asaf Khan is a jackal. Why did all but a few of thy lashgar cross the river, leaving thee defenseless when I was within a ride? Asaf Khan knew that I would strike, given the opportunity. He thought that the Rajputs would slay thee."

Jahangir rolled over on an elbow, his lips working.

"Nay, what gain to Asaf Khan?"

The Pathan's teeth gleamed through his beard.

"Think! Thy son hath drawn the sword against thee, and the daughter*
of Asaf Khan is the wife of thy son. If they could put an end to thee, an end also there would be to the power of Light of the Palace, and Asaf Khan would rule from behind the throne of thy son."

Suspicion flared like a ray of sunlight across the heavy features of the sick man, and he felt at his girdle with a trembling hand as if feeling for the sword he no longer wore.

"Rouse thy courage!" stormed the Pathan. "Ride with me to the hills, and we will gather an army-a true army."

Jahangir sank back on his pillows, uneasily.

"Where is the Light of the Palace?"

"0 my king, it is written, 'Unhappy the kingdom ruled by a woman."'

Mahabat Khan gripped his beard, and I saw that his brow was damp.

"Nur-Mahal is a Persian, and a woman who sways thee as if holding thee in the meshes of her hair. They who know her-" he became silent, thinking. "0 my Padishah, the Rajputs and the princes of the Dekkan, the Afghan emirs will not submit to have decrees signed by a woman in thy name."

"She it was," muttered Jahangir, "who put thy cousin to public shame."

"Aye," nodded the Pathan grimly, "so that I would lift the standard of war against thee."

"I have always trusted thee, 0 bahadur." Jahangir spoke too readily. "And in this moon I gave command to increase thy revenues to ten thousand mohurs."

Mahabat Khan swerved as if he would have struck the sick man.

"Bism'allah! What care I for that? Nur-Mahal is a chain-a shackle upon thee. By scheming, by intrigue and by wiles, she rules India. And there is no help for it. She must be put to death."

These words had a curious effect upon Jahangir. He frowned, as if considering the torment to be dealt a criminal; then he shook his head helplessly, looking all around him. His hand stretched forth, fumbling for the cup that was not there.

"No help," he muttered. "But she is Nur-Mahal!"

Silent, with folded arms, Mahabat Khan waited.

"Where is she?"

The Pathan made a sign that he did not know, and Jahangir began to finger the pearls upon his armlet. Without Nur-Mahal at his side, he was no more than the husk of a man.

"Let it be so," he said at last, "Prepare a firman and I will sign it."

And he begged that some opium be sent him, his eyes glistening with real anxiety. Mahabat Khan gave an impatient exclamation and strode from the tent, gripping my arm. As he flung back the entrance flap, he breathed deeply, and I heard the words that came between his set teeth.

"May the Pitying, the Pitiful, have mercy upon me. This also was to come upon my head, after these years. Is there easement in all paradise for my spirit-I that have loved Nur-Mahal since she was a child upon the caravan road?"

Chapter VII Battles

Within an hour we had tidings of Nur-Mahal. A messenger galloped up, raising dust among the tents, and crying that the imperial cavalry was mustering across the river south of us.

Eh, the bridge of boats had been destroyed, and a small party of warriors that had tried to surprise us in the night by swimming the Bihat had been drowned for the most part. But there was a ford within two leagues of Mahabat Khan's standard, to the south, and here he had posted scouts to watch-a ford made treacherous by deep pools and by the swift current.

At these tidings Mahabat Khan was a man transformed. Now that he had to give battle to Asaf Khan and the other ministers, his eyes lighted and he called for his charger, riding out to where his Rajputs were already mustering.

Leaving a thousand to guard the camp and its royal prisoner, he hastened down the bank with his veteran cavalry.

And at the ford we found the fighting already begun.

At last the lords of Ind had stirred out of their stupor and were advancing to regain their monarch. Only the light cavalry was on their side of the river, but many thousand armored foot soldiers were massed on the far bank. From time to time white smoke billowed out toward us and a cannon roared.

But the range was too great and the khan and his Rajputs jested merrily at the balls that dropped here and there, or plunged into the steep clay bank. At the foot of this bank sandy spits ran out into the stream, making the current less; but the sand itself, so our scouts said, was evil footing.

The detachment left at the ford had gathered at the edge of the bank, firing from bows and matchlocks at a dozen elephants covered with leather armor. They were making their way slowly across the river, which rose to their bellies.

When Mahabat Khan had watched events for a moment, he gave command to draw back. The Rajput princes remonstrated, but he waved them away and they led their followers to a ridge more than a musket shot from the bank. Only a few were left to dispute the crossing.

And these fell back as the elephants began to top the rise from the river, their painted skulls showing first, then the howdah with its archers and finally their whole bulk of wet and glistening leather.