'Twas in the bath a piece of perfumed clay
Came from my loved one's hands to mine one day
Art thou then musk or ambergris? I said,
That by thy scent my soul is ravished.
"Not so," it answered, "naught but clay am I,
But I have kept a rose's company."
--Sa'adi
It was nigh twelve of the night, and Akbar was awake. He sate on the low divan which served him as a bed, and in a measure as throne also, when he was in camp; but there was little else about the magnificent apartment in which it stood to suggest the smallest withdrawal of luxury, still less of comfort. The walls were of the finest Kashmir shawls draped in panels between the parcel-gilt tent poles, and the floor was covered with strangely-glistening silken carpets from Khotan. A marvellous lustre of precious stones hung from the roof, and beside the divan stood the seven-light cresset stand, the golden and gemmed scent brazier, and the clepsydra with its lotus bowl, without which the King spent no night.
He was alone for the time, though countless guards doubtless stood in the vast city of huge tents which formed the King's camp. Weary work indeed, is it to even read the catalogue of such a camp. Of the hundreds of tents of scarlet cloth bound with silken tapes, fitted with silken ropes, some of which would seat ten thousand people. Of the great circle of double-storied screen around the "Akass-deva" lamp--the King's lamp that showed the way to God's Justice. Then the dais for Common Audience with its avenue of five hundred feet by three hundred broad, and its great circular enclosure of over one thousand feet diameter. Truly the mind wavers over the tremendous size of it, and refuses to grasp the possibility of a pavilion with fifty-four rooms in it!
Such, nevertheless, was the camp in which Akbar sate alone awaiting a favoured visitor.
For he had made up his mind to see this little "Queen of Women" with whom his son was said to have fallen in love.
It was easy. She was but a child, and he the father of his people. So he had ordered Ghiâss Beg to bring her to the camp privately at twelve of the night, when all was quiet.
Then, he felt, he would be able to judge aright. Since what was this challenge of his but mere childishness? Everyone, even Birbal, was keen to win or lose; but if he lost or won, how did that affect the truth?
Was Love powerful enough to wean Salîm from his life of debauchery? The idea of it had not been; but the compelling force depended on the woman. Was this child of twelve----? Pshaw it was impossible.
Yet he must see her, he felt; for it was a momentous decision, not to be made lightly.