Khodadâd looked at the Heir-Apparent negligently through a blown ring of tobacco smoke and appraised him critically. In a way, it was true, this great lout of a lad formed the most convenient nucleus round which conspiracy against the King might gather, since he would carry with him the sympathy of the Orthodox, that is, of at least two-thirds of the court.
But if he would not move he must be left behind, and conspiracy must go on without him. It was nothing to Sinde who sate on the throne of India, so it were not Akbar with his strong hand on the throat of all rulers who chose to rule in the good old fashion. If Salîm could be squared well and good, Sinde would help him to his own--on condition. But if not? Khodadâd's sinister face grew more sinister.
"That ended it anyhow," continued Mirza Ibrahîm who was recounting the events of the morning; for the Prince was a late riser and seldom attended audience. "His Majesty appealed to the infidel, who was backed, of course, by other idolaters such as Mân Singh."
Prince Salîm shot a savage glance at the speaker. "Have a care, fool," he cried, "Mân Singh will be of my house when I am married."
Mirza Ibrahîm spread out his hands in apology. "This slave's tongue slipped over the tangled knot of matrimony," he replied suavely. "But as I say, the King, forwarded by Birbal and others of his kidney began to inquire, the firebrand of a madwoman--she was a picture for looks as she stood breathing defiance--by the prophet! I envied the idolater his hold upon her!--began on childish tears, and ere one could cry rotten fruit there was Siyah Yamin, true daughter of the devil, outraging everybody and making each man's skin thrill to her dancing feet--even, I dare swear, the King your father's, if he be human enough for such frailty!"
Prince Salîm gloomed round from another sweetmeat.
"Some men stand above humanity, Sir Chamberlain," he said sullenly, "as some who call themselves men sit below monkeys."
Mirza Ibrahîm lifted his eyebrows in courtly surprise, bowed, and went on undisturbed. "In truth the jade was superb; so they carried her back shoulder-high to Satanstown, where half the young blades still linger, hoping for a smile. But not I. The madwoman is my quarry! Strange one can look fifty times at a woman and only fancy her the fifty-first."
He spoke calmly as one who took his amours rationally.
"And the Syedân? What said they?" asked the Prince.