“Nay, I wish it. I trust thee.”
“But it is thine. How hast thou not already sold it?”
“That is not easy. I dare not show it in Mandu. But in the month of April will come a man from the north, a travelling merchant of Rajputana, that comes each year, bringing with him silks, rugs, gold work, and gems of the costliest kind. I know him well, and he will take the ruby and give me my freedom. Therefore thou seest there is time for thee to recover. Take the stone at least for the space of a week; and then if thou art better, thou shalt keep it till the merchant comes.”
There was only friendliness in Churi’s tone. Fidá’s simplicity had disarmed him. Seeing that the favor was done willingly, Fidá accepted it; and, when he walked away from the eunuch’s house, the little golden box lay in its old place in his girdle.
Next day, at noon, all Mandu thronged about the palace and along the old road to witness the departure of the Rajah and his army. It was indeed a brilliant pageant that set forth upon the long and dangerous journey to the north. Fidá, in a throng of slaves, stood against the south wall of the great courtyard, and watched the companies form. At high noon Rai-Khizar-Pál, attended by his two ministers, who walked one on either side of him, came out of the palace, and was greeted with tumultuous acclamations by the throng of soldiers and people. And the Lord of Mandu was unquestionably worthy of admiration. Never had Fidá seen him more magnificent. His large, well-proportioned body was clad in half-armor, of a purely ornamental type, under which he wore a fine, white garment heavy with red and silver embroidery. On his head was a white turban from which rose a black aigrette fastened with a pin glittering with rubies. His horse, a magnificent animal, in trappings of black, red, and silver, with the small double-drum rimmed in silver placed before his saddle to mark his rank, was held in waiting. After a few inaudible words with the regents, and an effective parting from each, he walked swiftly to his steed, sprang upon it without aid, caught up his bridle, swept an arm toward his body-guard which immediately galloped up and surrounded him, and then, amid the renewed shouts of his people, rode rapidly out of the courtyard, and began the march. He was followed by Purán, in more serviceable costume, surrounded by a group of what might be called aides; and then by the army itself:—first, two hundred horse, and then five hundred foot, the whole of the forces of Mandu. Slowly, line by line, they formed in the limited space, and wound away after their leaders, spear-heads and head-pieces flashing in the sunshine, men and animals alike fresh and vigorous—eager for what lay before them.
To Fidá, still leaning against the courtyard wall, this sight of armed and armored men passing out to honorable combat, was bitter indeed. All the warrior in him rose and struggled for place in his enfeebled frame. He was sick with the servility of his life. He loathed the despicable part he had played. Every soldier that passed him seemed to him to walk over his heart, bringing back vivid pictures of what had been, when the smell of battle was sweet to his nostrils, and the battle-cry the fairest music his ears could know. Once he had been a man! Now—now—he would not answer the question of his conscience. When the hour was over, when the last foot-soldier had passed out of the courtyard and was lost in the winding road, he drew a long, heavy sigh, and moved his eyes. The first thing they encountered was the figure of Ragunáth, standing near him, gazing fixedly in the direction of the departed host; and Fidá saw with wonder the expression on his face: an expression of deep-seated relief, joy,—nay, rather, triumph. The Asra stared yet more earnestly, a sudden apprehension striking home. Was it possible that, at last, Rai-Khizar-Pál being gone, Ragunáth meant to taste the well-guarded fruit? Fidá’s lips shut tight. Was there finally to be an open struggle between them? Was it to be his happiness once to perform a real service for the King? Wondering, hoping, hating, he stood there, nor heeded how he was grinding the golden box deep into the flesh of his left side.
CHAPTER IX
ASRA FIGHTS AGAIN
The departure of the Rajah and his army wrought, at first, little visible change in the life of the palace at Mandu. The zenana was a little duller, the ceremonies less formal, the work of the royal court less arduous;—for Manava, though a just man, had not his over-lord’s popularity as a judge. To Fidá, however, the absence of Rai-Khizar-Pál made a marked difference; and his life was almost entirely changed. He had a new sense of freedom; and he saw Ahalya oftener than ever. Since she was no longer subject to her husband’s will, both she and Fidá had a much greater feeling of confidence, but also a greater sense of dishonor than when he was at hand. The duties of the Asra, meantime, were light, and less uncertain than they had been. All the morning, and, indeed, nearly to mid-afternoon, he was with Bhavani. But when their various tasks and pursuits were over, the young prince generally elected to spend the rest of his time in the zenana, where he was the spoiled pet of twenty or thirty women. In this way many hours were unquestioningly open for the slave and Ahalya; but Fidá was shortly made aware that most of them must be hours of sadness. One week from the evening on which he had had his last talk with Churi, he reappeared in the room of the eunuch, who, as usual at that hour, was within. The Asra walked up to him, and silently tendered him the golden box. Churi looked quickly into his face—and his eyes remained fixed there.
“The charm—hath not worked?” he asked.
“No,” answered Fidá, shortly.