As he spoke, Gulbadan had raised her head, and listened with attention; but at his last words, with a cry she sank senseless to the ground, her arms stretched out in front of her.
“Do your duty,” said Faizi to his followers. And she was hastily conveyed from the apartment. “And now you,” said he, approaching Siddha, as he drew his sword from the scabbard.
“I have forfeited my life,” replied Siddha. “Strike! I ask nothing better than death from your hands.”
“That I understand,” said Faizi, thoughtfully, and letting the sword sink slowly back into its sheath; “and I am not inclined to fulfil your wishes. Others in the same case would think differently. A Musalman would lay your head before his feet; a Hindu would have you strangled; and a Frank, most foolish of all, would challenge you to fight. But I choose none of these. You may live, and depart unharmed from hence. Live, with the remembrance of the ill you have done, and of the manner in which you, who call yourself a nobleman, have repaid a true friendship. The remembrance of this shall never leave you, though you may become famous and rise high in rank; and however highly you may be honoured and respected, yet you will always cast down your eyes before any honourable man, remembering how in your youth you treated a friend. This is the punishment I lay upon you! Now go.”
Obeying an imperious sign from Faizi, and bowed down with shame, Siddha turned, and with faltering step took his way through the garden and still open door. For a time he wandered on unconscious of all around him. In spite of the lateness of the hour, he saw some labourers busy lading a boat; and as though it were his own affair, he stood narrowly watching their every movement, now wondering how they would manage to convey in safety some heavy bale over the plank that connected the vessel with the shore, and now shaking his head at their awkwardness. Then some soldiers attracted his attention, who sat drinking and playing dice by the wavering light of a torch, and he began to wish to join them in drinking and playing. But at that moment one thought drove out all others, the remembrance of the plot to murder the Emperor. Had Faizi heard all, so that he could warn Akbar? But these questions he was unable to answer. Then why not go himself, without a moment’s further waste of time? Salhana was to start the following morning, and another starting at once could easily precede him.
Siddha wasted no more time in thought, but hurried to the quarter of the city where his detachment was; and giving over the command to another officer, he turned to his own dwelling, and ordered Vatsa to saddle the bay—the bay given him by Faizi, and which, after discovering Rezia’s true name, he had never dared either to ride or return, though now, in the service of the Emperor and empire, he mounted it.
“Prepare to follow me to the army,” he said to Vatsa, as he led the horse out, “but at some distance. Start in an hour’s time, ride hard, and if necessary deliver the message with which I entrust you.” He then imparted to him as much as was necessary touching the plot against the Emperor, and ordered him to seek Akbar at once if he should not find his master with the army. Having said this, he struck spurs to his horse, and set off at a gallop.
A hurried journey, neither allowing himself nor his horse necessary repose, soon brought him to the army; and no sooner had he reached the camp than he sought an audience with the Emperor, which, after a short delay, was granted him.
“What do you do here?” asked Akbar, in a stern voice. “Who has given you leave to desert your post in Agra? It may go hardly with you if you cannot answer to my satisfaction.”
“Sire,” replied Siddha, “if I had nothing worse than this to answer for, I might call myself happy; but I come to accuse myself of the greatest crime a soldier can be guilty of against his prince—that of treason.”