CHAPTER XXII.
TAKEN BY SURPRISE.
AT last the ravine broadened a little, and almost at the moment when this became evident, voices were heard ordering a halt. It was difficult to tell where the voices came from, but presently the travellers distinguished a steel cap and a scarlet turban, and the barrel of a matchlock, among the rocks on either side of the path. Halting at the prescribed spot, Murtiza Khan entered into conversation with the sentries, requesting that word might be sent to the Sheikh of the arrival of the two ladies, who asked shelter for the night. A third man who was within hearing was summoned and despatched with the message, and the travellers resigned themselves to wait. The answer which was returned after a quarter of an hour had elapsed was not a gracious one. The Memsahibs and their attendant might enter if they pleased, but they must put up with things as they found them, and conform to the rules of the place. As the alternative was a night in the open, Lady Haigh accepted the offer, with considerable reluctance, and whispered to Penelope that if they were to be blindfolded on the way up to the fortress, they must go on talking to one another until the bandages were removed, to guard against any attempt to separate them. But this precaution was not called for. It was now quite dark, and three of the Sheikh’s men took the bridles of the ponies, and began to lead them along, without the assistance of any light whatever. The ladies and Murtiza Khan strained their eyes, but could not distinguish anything in their surroundings beyond varying degrees of blackness. Nevertheless, their guides seemed to have no difficulty in keeping to the path, although in some places, judging by the sound of the stones which rolled from under the ponies’ feet, it led along the verge of a tremendous precipice. After what seemed hours of this kind of travelling, the creaking of bars and bolts just in front announced that a door was being opened, and Murtiza Khan was warned to stoop. The gateway passed, they were led across the courtyard, and up to the steps of the keep, where two old women were holding flaring torches. Between them stood a boy of twelve or so, who came forward and salaamed with the greatest politeness.
“The Memsahibs are more welcome than the breaking of the rains in a thirsty season. This house is at their disposal. Let them say what they wish and it is already done. In the absence of the lord of the place, let them behold their slave in me.”
“Then the Sheikh-ul-Jabal is away?” said Lady Haigh, interrupting the flow of compliment. “And you are his son, I suppose?”
The boy answered as though he had not heard the second question. “The Sheikh-ul-Jabal and my brother Ashraf Ali rode away last night with thirty horsemen, to attend a sacred feast. My sister Wazira Begum and I are left in charge of the fortress, and I bid the Memsahibs welcome in her name.”
Accepting the assurance, the ladies dismounted, and the boy bustled about with great self-importance, sending one of the old women-servants to hasten the preparations for the guests’ comfort, giving the ponies into the charge of the men who had led them to be taken to the stables, and arranging that Murtiza Khan should be allowed to sleep in the great hall, so that his mistresses might feel he was not far off in case they needed protection. He had so much to do, and so many orders to give, that it almost seemed as if he was waiting as long as possible before introducing the visitors to his sister; but at last he appeared to feel that there was no help for it, and led the way resolutely behind the curtain, guided by the second old woman with her torch. In the first room to which they came, a girl was sitting on a charpoy. She had evidently put on her richest clothes, and her fingers and wrists were loaded with jewels; but her toilet was not complete, for she was so busy plaiting her hair that she had no leisure even to look at the visitors. An old woman who stood behind her was assisting in the hair-dressing, but apparently under protest, for her young mistress was scolding her energetically.
“O my sister, here are the Memsahibs,” said the boy, with considerable misgiving in his tone, when he could make himself heard.
“Oh, these are the women?” Wazira Begum vouchsafed them a casual glance. “This is the first time that Farangi beggars have come to our door, but Zulika will find them a quilt to sleep on, and there are plenty of scraps.”
“O my sister, the Memsahibs are our guests,” began the boy distressfully, but Lady Haigh interrupted him.
“It strikes me you are making a mistake, young lady,” she said, marching across the room, and taking, uninvited, the place of honour on the charpoy, at the hostess’s right hand. “Penelope, sit down here,” indicating the next seat. “When the Sheikh-ul-Jabal returns, will he be pleased to hear that his daughter has insulted two English ladies who sought his hospitality? The English are his friends, and he is theirs.”
The girl had sprung from the charpoy as Lady Haigh sat down beside her. “The English are pigs!” she exclaimed. “O Maadat Ali! O Zulika! who is lady here, I or this Farangi woman? Will ye see her thrust me from my own place?”
“Nay, my sister, it is thou who art wrong,” returned the boy boldly. “The women are great ladies among the English, and friends of Kīlin Sahib, for so their servant told me. Thou art not wise.”
“Then be thou wise for both! I will not stay here with these shameless ones. Zulika may look to them.”
“You are going to bed?” asked Lady Haigh placidly. “I think you are wise, after all. And let me advise you to think things over. I don’t want to get you into trouble, but the Sheikh must hear of it if we are not properly treated.”
Wazira Begum vouchsafed no reply, quitting the room in such haste that she dropped one of her slippers by the way, and Maadat Ali, taking the responsibility upon himself, ordered the old women to bring in supper. While he was out of hearing for a moment Penelope turned to Lady Haigh—
“You know much more about it than I do, Elma, but we are quite alone here. Is it prudent to make an enemy of the Sheikh’s daughter? She has us in her power.”
“That she hasn’t, I’m thankful to say. She is the little fury that Dugald and Major Keeling fell in with when they were here, and the Sheikh made short work of her then. She has some grudge of her own against the English, evidently, and she thinks this is a good time to gratify it. Why, Pen, to be prudent, as you call it, now, would make every native in the place think that the day of the English was over in Khemistan, and that we knew it, and were trying to curry favour with them in view of the future. You must be more punctilious than ever in exacting respect—in fact, I would say bully the people, if I thought you had it in you to do it. It’s one of the ways in which we can help the men at Alibad.”
Penelope laughed, not quite convinced, and the conversation was interrupted by the reappearance of Maadat Ali, heading a procession of women-servants bearing dishes. These were duly arranged on a small low table, and the guests were invited to partake, the boy watching over their comfort most assiduously. When the meal was over he delivered them solemnly into the charge of old Zulika, adjuring her to see that they wanted for nothing, as she dreaded the Sheikh’s anger. The old woman, on her part, seemed genuinely anxious to efface the impression of Wazira Begum’s rudeness, and bustled about with a will, dragging in another charpoy, and bringing rolls of bedding. She apologised to Lady Haigh for not coming herself to sleep at the door of the room; but her place was always with her young mistress, and she would send Hafiza, the servant next in seniority to herself, to wait upon the visitors. Her excuses were graciously accepted, for Lady Haigh and Penelope were both feeling that after the exertions and anxieties of this exciting day, tired nature stood much in need of restoration. They tried to talk for a moment when they had settled themselves in their unfamiliar beds, but both fell asleep with half-finished sentences on their lips.
They were roused in the morning by the voice of Maadat Ali, in the passage outside their room, eagerly inquiring of old Hafiza whether the Memsahibs were not awake yet; and as he gave them little chance of going to sleep again, they thought it better to get up. Tired and stiff as they were, it was a little disconcerting to remember that riding-habits were perforce their only wear. Happily these were not the brief and skimpy garments of to-day, but richly flowing robes, long enough almost to reach the ground when the wearer was in the saddle, and their straw hats and blue gauze veils were also devised with a view to comfort rather than smartness. Clothes-brushes and hair-brushes were alike unknown at Sheikhgarh, so that dressing was a work of some difficulty; and it was rather a shock to find that the frugal breakfast of chapatis and hard-boiled eggs, which was brought in when they asked for food, was regarded as a piece of incredible luxury. After breakfast they went to the curtain which separated the zenana from the great hall to speak to Murtiza Khan, who had already been out with some of the Sheikh’s men to look for the deserters of the night before, but had not been able to find any trace of them. He brought the news that the Nalapuri army had been seen on its march round the southern extremity of the hills, moving towards Alibad—which showed that Sir Dugald had not been wrong in thinking there was no time to waste. The trooper also desired permission to reconnoitre in the direction of the town by the usual route, in case it might prove possible to get through with the news of the ladies’ safety, and this Lady Haigh granted before she turned back into the zenana with Penelope.
The women’s apartments were built round a small inner courtyard, gloomy in the extreme from its want of outlook, but possessing a tank of rather stagnant water which was called a fountain, and some shrubs in pots. In the verandahs round this court the whole life of the place was carried on, the servants—all of them women of a discreet age—performing all their duties in the open, to the accompaniment of much chattering. Among them moved, or rather flashed, Maadat Ali, questioning, meddling, calling down endless explosions of wrath on his devoted head, but undoubtedly brightening the days of the old ladies whom he alternately coaxed and defied. When he saw the visitors he left the servants at once, and after ordering a carpet to be spread for the Memsahibs, seated himself cross-legged on the ground, with his back against the coping of the tank, and began to ask questions. His subject was Major Keeling, whose brief visit more than a year before seemed to have left a vivid impression. Was it true that Kīlin Sahib was invulnerable to bullets, that he could make water flow uphill or rise from the ground at his word, that he could read all the thoughts of a man by merely looking him in the face? These inquiries and many others had been answered, when a peculiar look on the boy’s face made Lady Haigh turn round. Behind her, leaning against the wall of the house, stood Wazira Begum, twisting a spray of mimosa in her fingers, and trying to look as if she had not been listening to what had passed. Lady Haigh rose and saluted her politely, prompting Penelope to do the same, and after a moment’s hesitation the girl returned the salutation courteously, if a little sulkily. It was evident that the meeting of the night before was to be ignored, and Maadat Ali made room for his sister joyfully at his side.
“I knew she would come when she heard us talking about Kīlin Sahib,” he said. “She hates him very much.”
“Yes, very much,” echoed Wazira Begum.
“When he came here,” pursued the boy, “she tried very hard to make him afraid; but he would not be afraid, and therefore she hated him even more than before. She has part of a tassel that she cut from his sword——”
“From his sword? Oh, from the sword-knot,” said Lady Haigh.
“And she keeps it wrapped up in linen, like an amulet——”
“Thou liest!” burst forth Wazira Begum furiously.
“But I saw it, O my sister, and thou didst tell me it was to make a great charm against him, to destroy him.”
“Thou wilt spoil the charm by talking of it,” pouted the girl, but the angry crimson faded from her face.
“Ask her why she hates him so much,” said Penelope to Lady Haigh, preferring to rely, as she usually did, on her friend rather than try to make herself understood in the native dialect.
“I hate all the English,” said Wazira Begum proudly, when the question was translated to her; “and he is a chief man among them.”
“But what have the English done to you?” asked Lady Haigh.
“Have they not driven us here?” with a wave of her hand round the courtyard. “Are not my brothers and the Sheikh-ul-Jabal deprived of their just rights?”
“And no marriage can be made for her,” put in Maadat Ali sympathetically. “What go-between would come to Sheikhgarh to seek a bride?”
“You should persuade your father to settle in Alibad,” said Lady Haigh.
“I am not a sweeper girl, to wed with the scum of towns!” cried Wazira Begum.
“Isn’t your sister inclined to be a little difficult to please?” asked Lady Haigh of Maadat Ali. “You are Khojas, of course, but we have plenty of Khojas, and even Syads,[1] living in the plains.”
“If that were all!” cried the girl contemptuously. “But for a princess of Nalapur, as I am——”
“O my sister!” gasped Maadat Ali.
“Nay, I have said it, and these unbelievers shall be convinced.” She sprang up and stood before the visitors, drawing herself to her full height. “My father was the Amir Nasr Ali Khan, not the Sheikh-ul-Jabal, and my brother Ashraf Ali should now be sitting in his father’s place. But the English took the side of the murderer and usurper, and we are banished to this desert.”
“You three are Nasr Ali’s children!” cried Lady Haigh. Then, regret succeeding astonishment, “Why in the world didn’t your father—the Sheikh, I mean—let Major Keeling know this before? He would have had you back at Nalapur long ago.”
“These are words!” said Wazira Begum. “My uncle judges the English by their deeds. His own wife and sons and our mother were among the dead in the Killa at Nalapur, and he would not have us murdered also.”
“But, dear me! he ought to know Major Keeling by this time,” said Lady Haigh impatiently. “He had no share in the massacre, and has been most anxious to right the injustice ever since it happened. But he thought there was no heir of Nasr Ali left, so he could do nothing.” She stopped, for a curious smile was playing about Wazira Begum’s mouth.
“My uncle has found a way of doing something,” she said. “Even now he has taken my brother Ashraf Ali, who was fourteen years old six weeks ago, to show him to the faithful followers of our father’s house, that they may raise an insurrection in his favour in Nalapur.”
“Then your uncle has acted very unwisely—to say no more—in not confiding in Major Keeling,” was the warm response. “I suppose he means to reach the capital while the Amir Wilayat Ali is with his army on the frontier? And so he has weakened his garrison, and withdrawn his distant patrols, and allowed Gobind Chand’s army to get past him and threaten Alibad. There must be spies all round you, for it’s clear his movements have been watched—I suppose the men we saw in the mountains were there to keep an eye on him—and he will never be allowed to reach Nalapur. And if he was, it wouldn’t be much good to proclaim your brother Amir if the enemy cut him off both from this place and from Alibad.”
“I cannot tell,” said Wazira Begum sullenly. “My uncle is a wise man, and will do according to his wisdom. As to Kīlin Sahib and the English, I will trust them when I see a reason for it,” and she marched away with great dignity.
Maadat Ali remained, obviously ill at ease on account of his sister’s revelation, but relieved that his true dignity need no longer be concealed; and from him Lady Haigh learned that the wife of the Amir Nasr Ali, suspecting treachery on the part of her brother-in-law, had intrusted her three children to the two nurses, Zulika and Hafiza, the night before the storming of the city. In the disguise of peasants the women had contrived to escape from the palace, and on the arrival of the English had been suffered to depart. They made their way to the Sheikh-ul-Jabal, who had succeeded in crossing the frontier into safety, and he had conceived the idea of bringing up the children as his own, knowing that, much as he himself was hated by Wilayat Ali and his Vizier, nothing could protect the heirs of Nasr Ali if they were known to be living.
The day passed slowly to Lady Haigh and Penelope. Maadat Ali was their constant companion, but his never-ceasing flow of questions became rather wearisome after a time. Wazira Begum seemed unable to make up her mind how to treat the visitors. She would come and engage in friendly conversation, then suddenly turn sullen or flare up at some imagined slight, and depart in dudgeon. Lady Haigh decided that she was ill at ease about her uncle and her elder brother, whose plans had been so signally deranged by Gobind Chand’s move, and that she would like to discuss future possibilities, but was too proud to do so. Murtiza Khan came back from his reconnaissance, and announced that the Nalapuri army had emerged from the hills in the early morning and threatened Alibad, but had been driven back in confusion by a small force with two field-pieces posted on the canal embankment. In spite of their numbers, Gobind Chand’s men refused to remain in the plain, and had retreated into the hills. They were now occupying the broken country extending from the frontier to the track on the south by which they had made their circuitous march, and were in force between Sheikhgarh and Alibad; but the trooper thought it might be possible for him to get through to the town, and relieve Sir Dugald’s mind, by using by-paths only known to the men of the Mountains. Lady Haigh was very much averse from the idea, but Murtiza Khan was so anxious to be allowed to try that she consented to his making the attempt after dark, guided by one of the brotherhood.
The evening seemed very long in coming, not only to the eager trooper, but to the two ladies, who could scarcely keep their eyes open after the fatigues of the day before. They sat side by side on a charpoy in the room in which Wazira Begum had first received them, with Maadat Ali cross-legged on a carpet opposite, pouring forth a flood of questions which still seemed inexhaustible. A brazier of glowing charcoal supplied warmth and a dim religious light, and Wazira Begum wandered restlessly in and out. The day had been hot, for the sun beat down with great force on the unshaded walls and courtyards of Sheikhgarh; but the evening was cold and even frosty. Suddenly through the chill air came the sound of a horn, and Maadat Ali leaped up as if he had been shot.
“Some one comes!” he cried. “I will bring thee news, O my sister.”
He rushed out and under the curtain, and was lost to sight. The women-servants came crowding into the passage, and listened to the confused sounds which reached them from the gateway. Presently Maadat Ali came rushing back.
“O my sister,” he gasped forth, “it is our uncle, sorely wounded. He and his troop were attacked by the accursed one, the usurper.”
“And our brother—Ashraf Ali?” shrieked Wazira Begum.
“They said nothing of him, but they are bringing the Sheikh in a litter, and those that have returned with him are relieving the men on guard, that they may gather in the great hall and receive his commands. I must go back.”
“Won’t you send the servants to light the hall with torches?” asked Lady Haigh of Wazira Begum, as the boy ran away; but she shook her head.
“Nay, no woman must be present when the Sheikh gives his commands to the brotherhood. They will bring their own torches. We should not even be here; but I cannot go back into the zenana without knowing what has befallen my brother. It is forbidden, but I cannot.”
The women were all gathered at the curtain now, peering through holes which long experience had shown them where to find, and Lady Haigh laid an encouraging hand on Wazira Begum’s shoulder. To her surprise, it was not shaken off. The girl was trembling with anxiety, and her breath came in sharp gasps. Outside the curtain Murtiza Khan stood rigid, partially concealed by the recess in which it hung. With admirable good-breeding, he feigned to be absolutely unconscious of the crowd of women who were pressing and whispering so close to him.
At last the sound of feet was heard, and the gleam of white and scarlet was revealed by the light of a smoky torch at the doorway of the hall. Eight men in the dress of the brotherhood carried in a rude litter, and were followed by others, all bearing marks of fighting. Behind them came the men who had been guarding the walls, and with them Maadat Ali; but a sob broke from Wazira Begum as she realised that her elder brother was not there. The litter, still covered with the mantles of the men who had carried it, was placed in the middle of the hall, and the members of the brotherhood proceeded to arrange themselves in their proper ranks; but there was some confusion, as if all did not know their places. Lady Haigh’s hand gripped Penelope’s, and she directed her attention to the back of the hall. Behind the men in scarlet and white crept a silent crowd of figures in ordinary native dress, and these were dividing in the semi-darkness so as to line both sides of the hall. Almost at the same moment two cries broke the stillness. Wazira Begum sprang up from her crouching position, and shrieked with all her strength, “Treachery! treachery! sons of the Mountains!” and Maadat Ali, who had contrived to make his way unobserved to the side of the litter and lift the covering, dropped it in amazement, and cried shrilly, “It is not the Sheikh-ul-Jabal at all!”