"Speak, Âtma Devi, Châran of Kings. What didst thou hear?" His voice was strangely soft, but so clear that it could be heard by all.
There was not a quiver in the straight-held sword of steel, no tremor in the firm mouth that gave the answer.
"I heard what I spoke!"
There was an instant's pause; she sate motionless, her face impassive, the half-shut eyes gleaming coldly out at all the world. Then Birbal laughed, a quick cackling laugh.
"The move is played, messieurs! Answer, it if ye can!"
And then he looked admiringly across at Âtma Devi; in truth she was man indeed, in woman's--nay! by the Gods! she was man altogether--a man amongst men; for that was checkmate--checkmate to the King's enemies.
[CHAPTER XXV]
'Tis Eve O Sakil fill the wine cup high
Be quick! the clouds delay not as they fly.
Ere yet this Fading World to Darkness goes
My senses darken with thy wine of Rose,
Till Fate makes flagons of my worthless clay.
Then fill my empty skull with wine I pray
So neither Death nor Judgment shall be mine
The Grave a brimming cup of Limpid Wine.
--Sa'adi.[[14]]
_Âtma, back in the palace, was once more racking her mind what to do about her remaining responsibility, the diamond. So far Fate and the Gods had guided her aright. She had managed to give the King timely warning that the little coward would claim his promise (better, sure, if she had burned!) then, having little time for thought, and knowing, in truth, that she had no chance of escaping unmolested through the strictly guarded entrances to the King's private apartments, she had returned by the swinging dhooli to her own, thus for the time keeping her method of escape secret from her gaolers. So, immediate urgency being over, she had set to work first to conceal what till then she had hidden in the dark braids of her hair; for she guessed at once, by the luxury with which she was surrounded, that tirewomen would appear in the morning, that every temptation would be plied to make her yield to Mirza Ibrahîm's lawless desires. She smiled at the thought. Yea, let him come; but not till after she was prepared. So she deftly cut a snippet of brocade from a hanging, and greasing it in an oil lamp rolled the diamond and the Wayfarer's square stone together, so as to form a fine large packet, stitched it together with gold thread she found ready on an embroidery frame, and hung it once more on the greasy black skein, telling herself none would interfere with so palpable a talisman. For the rest she had the Death-dagger of her race, which she hid until dressing-time was over in a woman's work-basket; though nothing, she told herself, would happen before her appearance at the Festival as Châran. So, seeing always but a short space into the future, she lay down and slept.