Jahangir received them in the Hall of Public Audience. If he wished to inspire respect by a display of magnificence, his appearance and surroundings were well calculated to achieve this purpose.

The fine building itself supplied a fitting shrine for regal splendor. The Arabesque roof was borne on Byzantine arches, which gave free access on three sides from a delightful parterre. It was closed on the north, as here it rested against the higher ground which contained the private apartments. A raised marble canopy stood out from the center of the built-in side, the floor being some eight feet above the mosaic pavement of the hall. This retreat held the Emperor’s throne, to which a small door communicated from the back.

The throne was elevated on a dais of silver steps. Four massive silver lions bore an inner canopy of gold, curiously wrought and emblazoned with jewels. Tavernier, the French traveler, himself a goldsmith, estimated the value of this wonderful structure at so many millions sterling that later historians have held the sum named to be incredible. Nevertheless, it made a brave show in the clear light of an Indian interior in the cold weather. Not less striking was the figure of Jahangir himself. Robed in white muslin, his belt, simitar, dagger-hilt, and scarf literally blazed with diamonds. On his turban reposed a Persian diadem with twelve points, each terminating in a large diamond of purest water and most brilliant luster. Within a mass of sparkling stones in the center was set a shimmering pearl of extraordinary size and value, while a necklace of smaller but exquisite pearls served to enhance the lustrous ornament in his crown. Tavernier, probably with reasonable accuracy, valued the diadem alone at two millions sterling.

Grouped near him on the steps of the dais, or on the platform, were several court dignitaries, amidst whose gorgeous robes the Englishmen’s eyes quickly discerned the cassock of Dom Geronimo. A host of officials and nobles of lesser importance thronged the floor of the great hall, and the scene was one of glittering animation at the moment the two friends arrived, the only somber and sinister note being the unrelieved black robe of the Jesuit.

That they were expected was demonstrated by the sudden stilling of tongues and craning of necks as they approached. All men made way for them, as men will, though the path be to the steps of a throne, when they think a fellow creature is doomed to instant death or torture. It was common knowledge that these two had not only thwarted Jahangir’s amours and laid violent hands on him in the process, but that he was their creditor, in his father’s behalf, for a considerable sum of money. What better reasons could there be for hanging the pair of them forthwith?

Yet, some prudent souls, noting the fearless glances cast around by Sainton and his less colossal but powerfully built companion—thinking, perhaps, that the Emperor might call on his faithful subjects to seize these two—edged away from the vicinity. It would be much easier to yell than to act when Jahangir cried “Maro!”[D]

“Desperate need calls for desperate deed,” growled Roger as they strode forward, side by side. “If it comes to a fight, Walter, let me sweep a clear space with a stroke or two. Then I shall catch thee by the belt and heave thee up at Jahangir. It will take him by surprise. Bring him out, as a keen dog would draw a badger. Once we have him on the floor, perchance we can make terms.”

Walter laughed gaily. The suggestion that they should terrorize the whole Mogul court by sheer force was ludicrous, and its humor was not lessened by the knowledge that they were both in a position of imminent danger. The presence of the Jesuit in close attendance on the Emperor was, in itself, an ominous sign, and the mere sight of him brought a glint into Mowbray’s blue eyes which boded ill for Jahangir if Roger’s last daring expedient became necessary.

They advanced near to the marble canopy, and, doffing their hats, bowed respectfully. Roger, with an eye over his shoulder, thought that the eager mob of courtiers was inclined to tread too closely on his heels. With his left hand he pressed the hilt of his long sword, and the scabbard, sticking straight out behind him, seemed to indicate that he did not intend to be incommoded.

Anyhow, those in the rear read his wishes that way, and anxiously whispered to others not to thrust them forward, while the wiser men, who had kept aloof, noting the strange expression on Jahangir’s face, thanked Allah for the wit which stationed them in a safe place.

Walter, who, of course, acted in the assumption that Jahangir had sent for him in the most friendly spirit, began the conversation by addressing a neatly worded compliment to the monarch on his accession.

“It is the happy law of nature,” he said, “that the setting of the sun shall be followed by the rising thereof. May your Majesty’s reign continue for as many years as that of your illustrious father, and may the brightness of your glory illumine the earth!”

Having some trick of versification, he gave the words a turn towards a Persian couplet. There was a rustle of gratified surprise among the audience, few of whom were aware of Walter’s proficiency in the courtly language of Hindustan.

Jahangir, smiling acidly, bent forward:—

“I sent for a merchant,” he said, “but you have brought me a poet.”

“A happy chance enables me to combine the two, your Majesty.”

The Emperor, without any hesitation, answered:—

“You are modest, withal. The last time we met I discovered in you other qualities, whilst your words savored more of the battlefield than of the court.”

“I have not seen your Majesty before,” said Walter boldly, for he could in no wise guess what line Jahangir intended to take with him, and he was not prepared for this open allusion to the struggle at the gate of the DiwÁn’s garden.

The King’s face exhibited some amazement, as well it might. He significantly touched his right forearm, which was closely wrapped in black silk.

“My eyes and ears may have deceived me,” he cried, “but I have that here which bears witness against thee.”

“Your Majesty is good enough to allude to a slight dispute which involved Prince Jahangir and another. It did not concern me, and I was foolish to take part in it, but I maintain that had I encountered the Emperor on that occasion I would have behaved very differently.”

Dom Geronimo, who lost no word of the interview, seemed to be displeased by Mowbray’s adroit distinction between the occupant of the throne and a prince of the royal blood. He leaned over and whispered something, but Jahangir paid little heed to him.

“Then, you think a monarch should have no memory?” he asked, looking fixedly at Walter.

“Not so. He should remember his friends and forget his enemies.”

“And how shall I class thee and thy comrade?”

“We trust that your Majesty will continue to show us the favor manifested by your royal father.”

Jahangir laughed.

“It is strange,” he said slowly, “but you have read my intention. I am told that the renowned Akbar had it in mind to give you an exhibition of certain sports which he loved. Faithful to his wishes in every respect as I am, I have brought you hither to-day for that same purpose. I have ordered a steward to wait on you. After the midday meal he will conduct you to the tamÁshÁ-gÁh,[E] where I will meet you. Farewell. God is great!”

“May His brightness shine forth!” chanted the Mahomedans present, and, ere Mowbray and Sainton well understood the King’s desire, Jahangir had vanished and they were confronted by a bowing chamberlain, who besought them to accompany him to a guest-room.

Here, an excellent meal was served. On the table were several flagons of various wines. Though they knew not what was in store for them, and the Emperor’s manner was as inscrutable as his words, they fully believed that he did not mean them to be poisoned on that occasion, so they ate heartily, notwithstanding Roger’s earlier precaution in the matter of breakfast. But the wine, though its novelty was tempting, they spared. They knew its effects in that climate, and until they were far removed from Agra it behooved them to keep eye undimmed and blood free from fever.

The less they drank the more the steward pressed the wine upon them, until Roger, whom the sight of the flagons tried sorely, bade the man, if he were minded to be truly hospitable, send the liquor to their abode, where they would endeavor to do it justice.

“If your Honor will say that you have already partaken of it I shall obey your behest,” said the other with alacrity.

“That will be only the bare truth,” was the astonished reply, for they had each tasted a small quantity and found it excellent, there being Canary, Alicant, Malaga, and the famed product of Oporto on the board.

“’Ware hawk, Roger,” interposed Walter. “Unless I mistake me greatly we are being screwed up to undergo some ordeal. Jahangir said naught of paying us. I dislike his civility.”

“Gad! if this honest fellow keeps his word and conveys the bottles to the old DiwÁn’s house, I shall change my mind anent the chuck ere midnight. What flea hath bitten thee now, Walter? The King hath dealt with us right royally, and you and he seemed to oil each other with smooth words.”

“I cannot forego my suspicions. They are useless, I admit. We have thrust our heads into the jaws of the lion, and can scarce complain if he snaps them off.”

“Let us rather resolve to give him the toothache if he tries any tricks,” growled Sainton. “Make for him, lad, if there be aught amiss. Trust to me to clear a path. For each one in the crowd who draws for the King there will be another ready to draw against him should they see a chance of success.”

They spoke in English. Their native attendant, seeing that they had finished their meal, begged to be allowed to depart for a little while. When all was ready he would come and bring them to the tamÁshÁ-gÁh. They were seated in a beautiful apartment, with frescoed walls, mosaic floor, and arched Moorish roof composed of colored tiles. On one side it opened into a garden. The palace, unlike most kingly residences, was not one vast building, but was made up of a series of exquisitely proportioned halls or small private abodes, sometimes connected by covered ways, but often standing quite apart, and always surrounded by a wealth of flowers and foliage peculiarly grateful to eyes wearied by the glare of the sun reflected from white marble.

Industriously watering the plants was a sturdy bhisti, or water-carrier. His goatskin bag seemed to be inexhaustible. He had been traversing the garden paths throughout the whole time they were eating. No sooner were they alone in the room than he ran close to the plinth and began to deluge the rose-bushes in good earnest.

“Protector of the poor!” he murmured to Walter, “stay not here. Go away quickly, in God’s name!”

Considerably startled by the man’s words, which chimed so strangely with his own forebodings, Mowbray bent towards him.

“Who bade thee give me this message?” he asked, knowing full well that such a menial would never dare to speak on his own authority.

“One who wishes thee well, sahib—my wife, to wit,” answered the bhisti.

“Thy wife!”

“Yes, honored one. You plucked our child from death in the river, and my wife heard from others that there is intent to make sport with thee and the Hathi-sahib ere both are put to death.”

Swish, swish went the water among the rose-leaves. Never was there a more energetic bhisti, for a gardener had appeared, and further talk was impossible.

“As well die here as a mile away,” was Roger’s quiet comment. “We have breakfasted, we have dined, and a fight is toward. What more can a man want? Out with your hanger, Walter, when Jahangir so much as opes his mouth to speak crossly. We shall give him a feast of steel, with first, second, and third course all alike. There shall be much carving, yet none will tarry to eat. Gad! this talking makes me thirsty, and, if I am fated to fall to-day, their blades may as well let out some good liquor. Fall to, lad! We may not have another chance.”

He seized a bottle of Alicant and poured out two generous measures. Mowbray lifted a tankard and cried:—

“Here’s to Old England and Nellie Roe, if I never see either again!”

“And here’s to the day when I set foot on the heather once more!” was Roger’s sturdy rejoinder. It was in such spirit that they followed the chamberlain when he reappeared.

They had no opportunity of conversing again with the bhisti. Whatever good cause inspired his mysterious message they were now on the verge of enlightenment, so Walter called the poor fellow towards him and openly presented him with some rupees, saying:—

“He that refreshes the thirsty earth and causes the flowers to grow is among the most deserving of mortals.”

The man shifted his water-bag uneasily.

“Salaam, sahib,” he said. “May your years be numbered as the pice in these coins!”

Now, there are sixty-four pice in a rupee, so the bhisti’s wish had not an uncheerful ring in their ears as they followed their guide across the garden and thence to a new part of the palace grounds. They were conducted to an extensive stone platform, built level with the fortifications at a point where the outer walls were laved by the river Jumna.

Exactly in front of and below the platform, however, a square enclosed court, or arena, was reclaimed from the bed of the stream. The preparations in progress there, no less than the presence of several elephants in battle gear, hunting leopards in leash, antelopes trained for fighting, buffaloes whose tremendous horns were tipped with lance points, and many other animals, including even the ungainly rhinoceros, showed what manner of sport was forthcoming. Notwithstanding the precarious condition of their own fortunes, both Mowbray and Sainton regarded the scene with curious eyes. They had, of course, during their three years’ sojourn, witnessed the fierce spring of the chitah[F] onto the back of a flying deer; they had chased wild boar and even nilgau, the fierce blue cow of India, on horseback; they had seen a trained eagle pounce onto an antelope and buffet the frightened creature’s head with its wings until the claws got to work. But a combat of elephants was a King’s amusement, as few save a monarch could afford the cost or compel men to risk and lose their lives in such fashion.

The broad terrace on which they stood was flanked by the graceful buildings of the zenana. A double line of spear-men guarded it on three sides, while another batch of warriors surrounded a ponderous block of black marble, resting on four low supports, which bore the Emperor’s chair. This was placed close to the edge of the battlements, so that his Majesty could watch each detail of the sanguinary encounters in the arena some twenty feet beneath. The chair was securely bound to the marble block lest it should topple over in a moment of royal excitement, and there was standing room on the huge stone to accommodate a dozen privileged spectators. For the rest, the platform extended so far on either hand that all could look easily into the enclosure, whilst many a window and balcony of the palace permitted the ladies of the household to take part in the proceedings if they were so minded. When the Englishmen arrived there were already many rajahs, omrahs, and other notabilities standing in groups on the terrace. None of these addressed the strangers, but muttered words and covert looks showed that some event was toward of which those present were cognizant.

Roger eyed the strength of the guard and smiled. He laughed outright when he nudged Walter to note the manner in which even the royal chair was protected.

“Jahangir either plans mischief or is afraid of it,” he said. “He hath marshaled a small army to protect him in his own house.”

Walter straightway took the bull by the horns in addressing a question to one who stood near and with whom he had a slight acquaintance.

“Is such display of force usual within the palace?” he asked.

The other shrugged his shoulders.

“They talk of a fierce tiger being let loose,” he murmured. “One never knows what may happen.”

He vouchsafed no further information. Indeed, at that moment, Jahangir put in an appearance. His swarthy face was flushed and there was an evil glint in his close set eyes. Evidently he had been imbibing liquor forbidden by the Prophet. Accompanied by a few young noblemen whose appearance betokened the force of kingly example, he strode towards his chair without paying the slightest attention to the respectful salaams of the crowd.

“Bring the sheep first,” he grunted. “We shall deal with the pigs later.”

This obscure joke was greeted with shouts of laughter.

“Karamat! Karamat!”[G] was the exclamation, for every Mahomedan there had laid to heart the Persian proverb:—

“Should the King say that it is night at noon,
Be sure to cry: ‘Behold, I see the moon!’”