A Prince of Dreamers Part 53

"And yet thou didst come at dawn to save me from a broken promise! I have not thanked thee yet for that; but in truth"--here his voice grew softer, and leaning his elbow on the parapet, he looked into her eyes, "thanks being all on one side----" Then suddenly curiosity beset him.

"How didst thou come?"--he looked down rapidly--"not by yonder projecting eave? not by that, surely? Why! even my head----" He paused a while, and her silence a.s.suring him, murmured: "And thou didst that _for me?_"

"For the King, Most-High!" she protested in a low voice as she clutched convulsively at the talisman. For through her swept with tumultuous force her first real knowledge of what her womanhood might hold. Ye G.o.ds! have pity! she must not lose herself. The King's Luck must be safe first. He must never know the tale.

He looked at her curiously. Her lips were parted her breath came fast.

"Thou hast the nerve of ten," he said rapidly, "thou couldst walk yonder ledge where I--even I--might fear to fall, and yet----" His hand, reaching out as they stood close together by the parapet, caught her wrist swiftly, and clasped it. "Yet now thou art afraid--afraid of what?"

Her pulses bounding under his cool, firm touch seemed to suffocate her.

"Aye," she admitted, turning her mind frantically to excuse, "I fear--I fear the night, alone in a strange place."

In truth she did fear it. Her soul shrank now, knowing what she might have to sacrifice. But for the blind, half-confusing memory of one o'clock she would have fallen at his feet and begged for freedom. She might have done so had she had time to count the cost.

"Strange?" echoed Akbar, haughtily. "Dost forget it is the King's house?--that the King is guardian? Though in truth," he added with a smile "Jalal-ud-din Mahomed Akbar sleeps to-night in his pitched camp beyond the gates." The memory seemed to obsess him with other ideas, for he turned away gloomily.

"Farewell, widow. Akbar will strive to be King--thou hast done thy best to make him one, anyhow," he added almost angrily. But as he went, something in her face and form recalled his youth, and he hesitated. Then drawing off a ring hastily he strode over to her, and taking her hand roughly, slipped it on her finger.

"Yea, thou hast done many things for me," he said proudly, "so let me do one for thee. This ring, the Signet of the Palace, may calm thy fears for to-night. None dare harm its possessor without my order. At thy peril, use it not unworthily. I----" He paused, drew his shrouding shawl round him, and corrected himself--"It will be reclaimed at dawn."

The dusk had died down almost to dark, the stars grew clearer and clearer on the growing violet of the sky. atma stood gazing with unseeing eyes over the wide plain that was losing itself rapidly in shadow. She was scarcely thinking at all. She was only feeling how increasingly hard it was becoming to dissociate Akbar from the King, Love from Love.

"The Lord High Treasurer hath called to inquire and craves admittance."

She awoke to realities at the duenna's voice, but with a new element in her outlook on the future--a palpitating horror at the thought of the sacrifice she had faced calmly but an hour ago.

"He--he is welcome," she said faintly. There was no use s.h.i.+rking, and she might be able to put him off till after one.

But his first words told her theirs was a fight for life in the present.

"All in the dark!" he said lightly, "so much the better mayhap, mistress, for Ibrahim's peace of mind, seeing that he hath but a few hours to count his own. The jackal hath to eat his bones betimes."

"What meanest my lord?" she asked hurriedly.

"That his Majesty the King will feast on the flesh," he replied recklessly. "Ah I have heard He hath been here this last half-hour. In troth, but that he interferes with my quarry, I would say thank G.o.d the anchorite _hath_ found his meat. As it is, I have come earlier to handsel my share." Then he turned swiftly to the duenna. "Leave us for a while. I would speak alone with this lady."

When she had gone he said curtly. "Thou hadst best sit down. I have much to say."

"Say on," replied atma laconically, as without the faintest sign of trepidation she sate herself calmly down amid the silken carpets and cus.h.i.+ons; for behind her propped against the marble pilasters, were the hauberk, the sword of her fathers, to give her courage. It was the Mirza who showed uneasiness. He walked up and down as if uncertain how to begin.

"Well," she asked with a scornful smile as she played idly with the pens in the open pen-box, "what hast thou to say?"

He cast aside doubt at her words, flung himself on the steps, and leaning forward peered through the dusk into her eyes. "What thou wilt not care to hear; so brace thyself--if thou canst, woman! Thou didst send by Deena----"

"He has betrayed me," she exclaimed involuntarily.

"Or died! Take it as thou willst. The letter was sent to its destination anyhow, for it served our purpose. Thou knowest the King's challenge? Well, we have sought all day to get hold of the Feringhi jeweller, so that his death might break the King's safe conduct. But Birbal hath been too quick for us. He hath him safe cooped up in his house. But _thou_ hast called the man here."

atma, with a cry, rose to her feet. "I meant but----" she began.

"What thou didst mean matters not now, though I have my suspicions,"

broke in the Mirza brutally. "Sit down, I tell thee, and listen.

Whether thy call be, as I hold it to be, one that even Birbal would admit, time will show. But if this doubly d.a.m.ned infidel be found within the palace precincts it is death. And see here"--he held out a paper.

"I cannot see," she murmured dully. "It is too dark." And in truth, even as she spoke, the palace gong sounded one stroke.

How often it sounded one she thought as the Mirza struck a light. But this time it meant half-an-hour beyond eight. One, yes--it was the knell of doom.

The spark had come to the tinder-roll, and now a sputtering oil lamp in the sevenfold cresset showed her the writing on the paper. "To the Sergeant of the Palace watch. At one of the clock, guard the Preacher's dhooli and enter the apartment of atma Devi. Her lover will be there."

"He is not my lover," she began.

"But he will be there at one." He laughed devilishly, "Now listen.

None but me know of this--as yet. atma," his voice took on urgency, almost appeal, "grant me thyself--and this paper shall be destroyed."

So it had come. She was the price of honour. Would it not be the simplest way?

"It must be to-night," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, "Tomorrow the King----"

She could have struck him full upon the mouth, but she sate trembling with tense desire to do so.

"If I promise," she asked firmly, "may this paper be mine?" She had noticed that it was signed and countersigned by the captain and commandant of the guard. If she had it, it might be difficult to get another. Anyhow it would show good faith.

Ibrahim's face grew hard. "Nay, fair one," he said, "hardly till the promise is fulfilled. I must have due security."

And she must have it also, she thought fiercely. Aye, she knew him, devil-sp.a.w.n, vile utterly. He meant to take all from her and send the order too. She might give him everything at eleven and yet at one--eleven and one!--11 and 1!

She glanced hastily at the paper; then sate silent her face hardening, her hands still playing idly with the pens in the pen bag.

"Think over it, bibi" he said insinuatingly for even the faint lamp light showed her bewilderingly beautiful. "It is not so much to ask! I am no ill-favoured churl, and before heaven, I love thee. Then, surely, thou wouldst not betray the King."

Betray the King! No! that must never be. She had thought of a way to prevent that.

"And--and if I give the audience thou desirest at--at eleven?" she began slowly.

He fell at her feet rapturously. "atma! I swear!"

She stilled him with a wave of her hand. "I must think," she cried, and rising, walked to the parapet. Only however, to return after a second.

"I consent," she said quietly. "At eleven be it--thou wilt not send this?" She showed the paper she still held.

"Nay," he replied with a bow as he took it from her. "I will keep it ever next my heart as security for happiness--at eleven."

When he had gone she broke into a sudden, wild laugh, and flung the pen she held concealed in her right hand into the pen tray.

"Only a fly's foot on the paper, but it will show truth or untruth!"

she muttered.