The Great Mogul Part 11

So saying, Roger Sainton swung himself off his steed, and straightway the gapers gathered, for his height was not so apparent on horseback as when he stood square on his feet.

But the servants tending the pack-animals were accustomed to this exhibition of popular interest. They warned off the rabble with the insolence every jack-in-office displays towards his inferiors.

"Away, illegitimate ones! Have ye not work?" cried one.

"Bapre! If ye stand not aside ye shall eat the end of my stick," shouted another.

"Bring fire and singe their beards," growled a Mahomedan driver.

"Kick, brother, kick!" suggested a humorist, tickling a mule, whereupon the long-eared one ducked his head and lifted his heels in approved style, readily clearing a s.p.a.ce, amidst the laughter and jeers of the onlookers.

By this time, Mowbray and Sainton had entered the caravansary. It was a substantial looking building externally, but its four walls merely supported an interior veranda, split into sections, where merchants could sleep if they chose, or cook their food and rest during the midday hours. In the open square, which occupied nearly all the inner s.p.a.ce, was herded a motley collection of elephants, camels, bullocks, horses, and a.s.ses,--while every conceivable sort of package of merchandise was guarded by attendants of many Indian races. At first, it seemed that there was no more room for man or beast, but the requisite amount of shouting, and a lavish use of opprobrious epithets, couched in various languages, secured a corner of the square for the friends' cavalcade and a clear s.p.a.ce of the veranda for their own convenience.

Three years of life in the East, not to mention the new experience of a march of over a thousand miles up country, had accustomed them to such surroundings.

Whilst they were was.h.i.+ng and dressing their servants prepared an excellent meal of kid and rice, which they tackled with a gusto that showed appet.i.tes in no wise impaired by residence in Hindustan.

They had ridden ten miles that morning, and it is hard to conceive a more exhilarating or healthful exercise than a march across the great central plain of India during the early hours of a fine day in the cold weather. The date was the first day of November, 1611, and, if the two Yorks.h.i.+re adventurers had changed somewhat since they sailed away from Lisbon on board the _Sancta Trinidad_, the change was for the better.

Walter Mowbray had become more manly, more authoritative, less p.r.o.ne to flash his sword at the first sign of a quarrel, whilst Roger, if he had increased neither in height nor girth, had gained a certain air of distinction that was not due wholly to his gigantic proportions.

Their intervening history may be told briefly. The _Sancta Trinidad_, touching at the Canaries, might have pa.s.sed them on to an English s.h.i.+p, bound for Plymouth, which lay there waiting for the wind to change. But worthy Captain Garcia had taken a great fancy to the pair of them. He vowed that such fortunes were to be won speedily in the land of the Great Mogul that they agreed to sail thither with him. They called at Table Bay, were nearly lost in doubling the dreaded Cape of Good Hope, were a.s.sailed by pirates off Madagascar, when Roger proved that a capstan-bar, properly wielded, is worth a dozen swords, and finally brought to in the harbor of Swally Road, at some little distance from Surat on the Tapti River. Here, the worthy Garcia realized what his friends.h.i.+p had forgotten. Englishmen were in small favor with his grasping fellow-countrymen, and the two encountered many reverses, until they fell in with an English factor, named Edwards, from Ahmedabad, who asked them to join him in business.

Though they were wanting in experience of the ways of Indian merchants, Edwards undertook to teach them, for he was greatly in need of those whom he could trust implicitly. They learnt the Urdu language, Walter thoroughly, and Roger with less success; they made the acquaintance of Prince Jahangir, acting as Viceroy for his father, Akbar, in the west country, and, ultimately, they and their partner put all their store to the hazard in an ambitious expedition to the far-off capital.

It was their intent to meet the renowned Akbar at Delhi on his way south from a summer spent in Kashmir. News of a rising in the Dekkan, however, had hurried the monarch's movements. They missed him at the ancient capital of India, so, having learnt, among other things, the eastern habit of patience, they marched by easy stages to Agra.

And now, refreshed and properly clothed in garments befitting their position, they mounted fresh horses which had been led during the march.

Preceded by a _chupra.s.si_, or attendant, they advanced towards the gate.

"Make way there!" shouted the man, "stand aside, you basket-carriers!

Hi, you with the camel, pa.s.s on the left! Oh, you pig of a bullock-driver, do you not see the sahibs?"

Thus, their advent heralded by much unnecessary bawling, they rode through the center one of the three pointed arches of the gate.

Beyond lay the princ.i.p.al street of the narrow bazaar in which the Agra merchants conducted their brisk trade. And what a brilliant spectacle it offered in the glorious suns.h.i.+ne! Lofty houses, gay in tawdry colors and picturesque in their dishevelment, looked down on a crowd as varied as any on earth. Caste and color of every sort jostled in the roadway.

Women, erect and elegant, carrying earthen jars on their heads, returning from riverside or well, moved with graceful carriage.

Merchants, coolies, sweetmeat sellers, and milk-venders rubbed shoulders with swaggering Rajputs and stately Mahomedans. A Hindu pilgrim, laden with sacred water from the distant Ganges, paused for a moment to buy a handful of millet. A white-turbaned Sikh, attracted by the striped and golden fruit of a melon-seller, tendered a small coin for a rosy slice and stalked on, eating gravely and with dignity. Crawling snake-like in the dust, a devotee wound his way to far-off Ajodhia, where Holy Ganga, if ever he reached its banks, should lave his sins. Near him stood a snow-white leper, thrusting fingerless stumps into the faces of the pa.s.sers-by, and gaining, by his raucous cries and revolting appearance, a few cowries, or coin sh.e.l.ls, from the few who did not remain utterly indifferent to his appeals. An olive-skinned Brahmin, slender and upright, bearing on his forehead the marks of his proud descent, and carrying a bra.s.s vessel wherewith to draw the water for his morning ablution, pulled his red cotton wrapper more closely around him as he pa.s.sed the leper. A young Pathan, fair-complexioned, eagle-nosed, hawk-eyed, stalwart and stately as is the birthright of his mountain race, pushed through the crowd with careless hauteur. The Sikh, the Brahmin, the Pathan, were the born aristocrats of the mob.

To add to the seemingly inextricable confusion, pariah dogs prowled in the gutter, bullock-carts crept along complainingly, stealthy footed camels lurched through the crowd, palanquins, borne on the shoulders of chanting carriers, pa.s.sed swiftly amidst the vortex, and the two travelers encountered at least one native carriage, painted green and gold, and drawn by two white Dekkani bullocks, conveying a party of Hindu women to the temple of Mahadeo, G.o.d of Love.

The occupants were young and pretty, too, clad in silks and laden with jewels, as could be readily seen by a peep through the folds of the _chudda_, left carelessly open, and they laughed musically as they caught sight of the Englishmen's eyes turned towards them.

"'Tis clear enough that Akbar is a strong ruler and a just one," said Walter, his white teeth showing in a smile at the merry party of girls.

"Such is his repute," answered Roger.

"Repute may belie a man. Here is ample proof. In a Mahomedan city I find Hindus in excess. Amidst a strangely a.s.sorted crowd, pretty women drive abroad in brave display of gold and gems. I reason that every man knows he is protected by the law and a woman need fear no insult. 'Tis not so in another great city we wot of."

"Ecod, I was just thinking of London. Not that I know much of the place, but the babel of the bazaar brought to mind the Fleet. Ah, Walter Mowbray, 'twas a queer gate we opened when you drew on my Lord Dereham and I heaved him over the wall."

"We were heedless youths then. Now we are grave merchants and must comport ourselves as such. I fancy it would better become our peaceful character had we left our swords at the caravansary."

"I' faith, I differ from you. Some chuck might have a notion to measure our bales by our blades, and I like ever to give a man an ell for a yard by that reckoning."

So saying, Roger significantly tapped the handle of the tremendous weapon fas.h.i.+oned for him by an armorer at Ahmedabad. Slung from his right shoulder by a baldric, the sword was nearly four feet in length, perfectly straight, double-edged, and strong in the forte. Probably there was not its like in all India, as the expert native swordsman finds delight in manipulating a curved scimitar, with razor edge and tiny grip. The Indian uses the sword to cut, the lance and the dagger to stab.

Mowbray shook his head.

"There is so much at stake on this venture," said he, "that I hope we may keep clear of quarrels. Remember, I wrote to Nellie Roe telling her, if fortune smiles on us, we should return to England by the first s.h.i.+p that sails from Surat after we have adjusted accounts with Edwards. Let us sell our silks and spices as best we may and haste back to the coast with lighter and speedier convoy."

Roger laughed, so loudly and cheerily that many an eye was turned towards him.

"By the cross of Osmotherly!" he cried, "that letter hath made thee a parson. Yet I heard naught of this when Suraj Mul barred the way at Ajmere, and you and I rode down his sowars as if they were painted men and not bewhiskered knaves of flesh and blood, though of the black sort."

"Mayhap the near end of our journey hath made me serious minded."

"Now, I think with you, but I arrive at the same end by a different road. Our swords have done us good service. Let them keep in use and they may earn us hilts of gold. But how now? Do we leave the city?"

Their guide had led them to the bank of the Jumna, where a bridge of boats spanned the stream. In reply to a question by Walter, the man told them that the house of the Diwan, or Prime Minister, lay on the other side of the river.

They followed him, crossed the shaking bridge which made their horses nervous, and climbed the steep bank opposite. Away to the right, on the city side of the Jumna, they could see the high piled red sandstone battlements of the palace, with some of its white marble buildings glistening in the sunlight over the top of the frowning ramparts. A winding road led towards the castle along the left bank of the river, and, in the far distance, they could distinguish a gay cavalcade of hors.e.m.e.n, whose burnished ornaments and arms shone in the sun with dazzling gleams.

"What pageant may that be?" asked Walter of the guide.

"The King of Kings may ride forth in state, sahib, or Prince Jahangir may go to the chase. I know not. At this season such spectacles are common in Agra."

"'Tis a brave show," muttered Roger. "This Agra must be a grand place to loot."

They lost sight of the cortege and halted in front of a strong but exceedingly beautiful gateway, fas.h.i.+oned in a Saracenesque arch of white marble, and bedecked with scrollwork wrought in precious stones, with a text in Persi-Arabic over the porch.

Whilst the guide spoke to a guard, Walter deciphered the script:--

"'May Allah prosper all who enter and all who leave this dwelling!' A most n.o.ble wish," he said, "and one which I reciprocate to the full."

"These Mahmouds have a way of uttering a prayer when they cut your throat," growled Roger. "They never kill a duck but they chant a verse of their scripture to mark the beheading. Now, I'll warrant me this is a canting rogue at the best."

The gate was thrown open. Between its portals was revealed a vista of a most delightful garden, where roses hung in festoons and all manner of beautiful shrubs gave shade to pleasant lawns or were reflected in the placid depths of clear lakes. Half hidden among lofty trees they saw the low towers of a mansion built wholly of white marble, and decorated, like the gate, with flower-like devices wrought in topaz, and carnelians, and blue, red, and green gems that sparkled with the fire of sapphires, rubies, and emeralds.

"The inmate may have the heart of a rogue, but he has the eye of an angel," said Walter. "Is this the house of Itimad-ud-Daula?" he went on, in Urdu.

"It is, sahib," answered the guide.

"And how is it called?"

"Bagh-i-dilkusha, sahib."

"The Garden of Heart's Delight!" He turned to Roger. "And well named, too. If ever a place deserved such t.i.tle methinks we are looking at it now."

"I vow he has been dreaming of Nellie Roe all night," growled Roger to himself as they dismounted. "I never knew him in such mood. Gad! he is either sickening for a fever or he will write a set of verses ere sunset."