“A dervish, who sought some grain, maharáni, told us that Jahangir was privately minded to seize all the black robes because they encouraged the Portuguese traders to greater boldness. He ever counseled the great Akbar to that effect, but the Emperor, his father, was too tolerant towards the Feringhis to listen to him. Now, said the dervish, Jahangir would make all the men good Mahomedans and send their young women to the zenana.”
“You hear,” she said, as Jai Singh saluted and disappeared. “Jahangir is opposed to strangers, and it is quite probable he harbors some such project, which he has discoursed with the moullahs, being anxious to win their favor.”
“But the crow was standing by his side when we went to the palace,” put in Roger.
“That may well be. If this man spoke evil against you, Jahangir would listen, though his own purpose remained unchanged. I had this in my mind when you spoke of going to Calcutta.”
“When you spoke of sending us thither to-morrow, you mean,” cried Walter.
“I should have warned you,” she replied, but her hearers saw another purpose behind her words, because anything in the shape of a disturbance on the Hughli rendered it very necessary that they should tarry at Burdwán and avoid the river route until the trouble was ended.
Again, a sense of distrust welled up in Mowbray’s breast, but Nur Mahal’s soft voice allayed it.
“It must not be forgotten,” she said, “that affairs at Agra may cause the King to forego the folly he contemplates. Khusrow, his brother, has many adherents, and if Jahangir, as I am told is true, devotes his waking hours to wine and dissolute companions, he shall not long retain the throne his father built so solidly.”
Both men recalled Sher Afghán’s words. How strange it was that his wife, who had not quitted the walls of Dilkusha during the few hours of her recent tenancy, should be so well informed as to events in the palace.
Walter laughed.