“Good! The Hathi hath trumpeted.”
Now, Roger did not like the nickname given him by Akbar. He stretched out a huge fist toward the Rajput and roared:—
“I kill only in fair fight. Beware lest the slaying be done now, when, perchance, we may win not only the Emperor’s approval, but that of his eldest son.”
His attitude surprised them, but they showed no fear. Raja Man Singh said coldly:—
“I have spoken. Many hours may not pass before you feel that my words were not uttered without cause.”
He spurred his horse, and the other followed him in a sharp canter. They soon vanished in the distance.
The incident, perplexing though it was, would not have troubled them greatly save for the reference to Dom Geronimo. Here was one whose rancor was implacable, his spleen being probably augmented by their presence in the Mogul capital and the notable success they had attained. When they recalled the Emperor’s advice as to their departure they saw that there were dangerous undercurrents in existence which might swamp the argosy of their fortunes if they did not conduct their affairs with exceeding discretion.
Hence, they hailed with joy the invitation from the Diwán to make his house their own during further residence in Agra. In the caravansary they were surrounded by strangers who might be in anyone’s pay. In the Garden of Heart’s Delight they were, at least, under the protection of an influential minister, whose abode even Prince Jahangir was compelled to respect, else he would not have resorted to the ambuscade of the previous night.
But the blind god, having tossed them towards the smooth haven of prosperity, blew them back into a storm with malignant caprice. That night, the Diwán died suddenly, poisoned said some, while others held that his end was hastened by the turmoil attending Nur Mahal’s marriage.