Hence, Fateh Mohammed felt neither “victorious” nor “praised” when a high official, accompanied by a glittering retinue, rode out from Agra and greeted Mowbray and Sainton with much deference, inviting them to return with him forthwith and accept the Emperor’s hospitality! They had gone through so many vicissitudes of late that this bewildering attitude on the part of the Mogul monarch left them outwardly unmoved though inwardly amazed. No one could be more surprised than Mowbray, the too successful prophet of the royal intent. Yet he bowed his polite acceptance of the proffered honors, and his manner was discretion itself when Fateh Mohammed, jelly-like in agitation, expressing his regrets with the spluttering haste of water poured from a narrow-necked bottle, hastened to restore not only the cedar box with its contents intact, but also the swords and daggers stolen from the Englishmen while they slept.
Mowbray did not know then that the court official had curtly told Fateh Mohammed he was in grave peril of being hanged on the nearest tree if Jahangir had reason to complain of his treatment of the strangers. It was in vain that the fat man pleaded the Emperor’s written instructions, which were ambiguous certainly, but which must be interpreted by his Majesty’s anxiety to secure the presence of the two Feringhis at Agra.
“If you interpret a King’s wishes you run the risk of making a false translation,” was the chilling response, so Fateh Mohammed was left alternately thanking the Prophet that he had not obeyed his inclinations and slain the Giaours when he learnt how they had hoodwinked him, and shivering with fear lest, after all, Jahangir might find cause to be displeased with him.
Therefore, he groveled before Mowbray, and, like Prince Henry’s sack-loving companion, wished “it were bedtime and all well.”
The mystery of the Emperor’s attitude deepened when Walter learned that Nur Mahal was, indeed, a palace menial. Even the weather-cock courtier, skilled in the art of polite evasion, did not scruple to show his contempt for feminine influences at the best.
“I have seen many such butterflies dancing in the sun,” he said scoffingly. “They are very brilliant until the rain falls, or some hungry bird eats them.”
His orders were to conduct the Englishmen and their followers to Dilkusha, where they would be in the midst of familiar surroundings, and it was Jahangir’s wish to receive them that afternoon. When Mowbray insisted that Fra Pietro should come with them the envoy was dubious at first, but Walter would not yield the point, which was ultimately conceded. As for the others, they were to bide in their present camp until arrangements were made for their disposal.
“Gad!” cried Roger, paying some heed to this statement, “that will not be to Matilda’s liking!”
“Have affairs come to the pass that you may not be parted?” asked Walter, roguishly, his perplexities vanishing for the moment as he pictured the Countess’s agitation when told she was to be separated from her cavalier.
“’Tis to me a matter of no great cavil,” was the reply, “but the poor body will surely miss me when the mule crosses a bad bit of road.”