Peace with Honour

by Sydney C. Grier

Nur Jahan shook her head, and the Queen spoke in a weak, quivering voice—

“It is of my lord’s kindness, then, that we behold thee, O doctor lady. When he last visited me, I was mourning that we saw thee so seldom, and now he has brought thee hither.”

“I should certainly not have come for a day or two if I had known that there was no change,” said Georgia; “nor should I have obeyed a message from the King, even though sent in your name.” But the poor Queen’s evident pleasure in her society moved her to pity, and she talked cheerfully to her for a while before taking her leave.

There were a few directions as to various points of treatment to be given to Nur Jahan, and when these had been duly explained and a fresh bottle of medicine promised, Georgia rose to go. Nur Jahan led her down the passage and into another room, which was filled with women in mourning. They were all sitting on the floor round an elderly lady, whose grey hair was besprinkled with dust, and they relieved one another at intervals in uttering a few words of lamentation and then breaking into a low, prolonged wail. Georgia had no difficulty in guessing that this was the bereaved household of Jahan Beg, and she felt some delicacy in interrupting the mournful proceedings; but Nur Jahan led her in and presented her to her mother, and the wailing women made room for her in their circle. At first she was afraid that it might be considered only proper politeness to take down her hair and cast dust upon it as they were doing; but she was not long in discovering that the duty of mourning had become a little monotonous after ten days’ diligent performance of it, and that the ladies were not indisposed to welcome the slight relief and distraction which might be afforded by the foreigner’s visit.

Nur Jahan’s mother raised her head, shook the dust out of her eyes, and after surveying Georgia from head to foot with great interest, began the invariable catechism. Was the doctor lady married? How had she learned her wisdom? Where did she get her clothes? Why did she do her hair in that way? Had she a father, mother, brothers, sisters? What had brought her to Kubbet-ul-Haj? Had her family raised no objections to such an extraordinary proceeding? Was the Kaisar really a woman? Was it then true that in England the women ruled and the men obeyed? Why did the doctor lady wear no jewellery? Which member of the Mission was it that dealt in magical arts—herself, or the Envoy, or the doctor who was dead?

The Princess stopped at last for want of breath, and Georgia, having answered as many of the questions as she could remember, expressed the sorrow she had felt on account of the misfortune that had fallen upon Jahan Beg, adding a hope that he would soon be restored to liberty. From all sides came the answer that whatever happened to him would be his fate, which could not be averted; but when she asked presently to what cause his sudden arrest was to be attributed, a storm of passion swept over the crowd of women. It was all the doing of Fath-ud-Din—might he die unlamented in the flower of his age! might his children live but to disgrace him! and might the graves of his parents and grandparents be dishonoured, yea, those of his ancestors to the remotest generation! After this outburst they came to definite charges, the Princess speaking first, and one woman after another chiming in with corroborative evidence.

Fath-ud-Din robbed the treasury and deceived the King, ground the faces of the honest poor, and kept the lawless rabble in his pay. He meant to place his nephew, Antar Khan, on the throne after his father, instead of the rightful heir, Rustam Khan, to whom God had granted such a promising son as showed he was intended to be king. He had a daughter who was supposed to be the most beautiful child in Ethiopia, and he was bringing her up in the country in a fortress of his own, where no one could see her, intending (such was the height of his presumption) to marry her to Antar Khan when she was old enough. And for her guardian there he had an old woman—a sorceress, who could destroy by her magic arts any undesirable stranger that might happen to approach the fortress, for she was one of the remnant of the Poisoners, a tribe of vagrants so noted for their evil deeds that the last King of Ethiopia had swept them almost out of the land. But this woman still remained, and that she worked at her old trade for Fath-ud-Din’s benefit there was no doubt, for did not all his enemies die mysteriously, and no man could tell who had hurt them? To this old woman had descended the evil secrets of the whole tribe, and she knew of poisons and antidotes with which no one else in the world was acquainted.

The women were so eager in their denunciations of the Grand Vizier that Georgia’s voice was unheeded when she tried to interrupt them, for the story of the witch and her poisons had recalled to her mind the recent events at the Mission, and she was anxious to know where the old woman was to be found. But the untiring accusers were hurrying on with a catalogue of other crimes committed by Fath-ud-Din, and they were only checked by a voice from the doorway.

“Dost thou not fear, O wife of Jahan Beg, thus with thy women to speak evil of those in authority? The arm of the Vizier has power to reach even to the house of the King.”

“The cat may seize the mouse, O mother of Antar Khan,” replied the Princess with dignity, “but the mouse may squeak.”