by Harold Lamb
Shirzad Mir stamped his foot impatiently.
“Fetch every sack. Order no one to touch the grain, under pain of being beaten by bamboos. Keep the envoy waiting without the gate until this thing is done. Eh, he will then see what he came to see."
“But our men, lord—"
“See that they obey. Go!"
So it happened that when the emissary entered the gate of Khanjut, across the drawbridge that spanned the moat, some hours later, he saw a strange sight.
Grain, gray and golden, lay strewn in every quarter. Men passed indifferently over the piles and horses nibbled hungrily at it. Even oxen bearing carts along the alleys paused to snatch up a mouthful.
As he had been instructed by the raja, the man kept his eyes open. He was suspicious, but he saw nothing amiss. He left Khanjut after some empty words concerning a truce which neither side believed possible. And he was convinced that Shirzad Mir and his men did not lack grain.
He did not see, after his departure, that a hundred men fell upon the grain piles and stowed them into sacks which were carried back under armed guard to the granary. Or that half-famished horses came to nuzzle scattered particles along the alleys, and boys fought each other for a fistful of the golden treasure plucked from the passing sacks. Or that the men of the garrison muttered angrily as they boiled their half rations of rice over the fire that evening.
“Grain they have in plenty," he informed Raja Man Singh and the two leaders. “It is stored haphazard in the filth of the alleys and the animals eat of it when they will."
“This must be true," announced the Rajput triumphantly. “That is well, for who would fight a starved foe?"
Jani Beg and Shah Abbas glanced at each other significantly.
“If Shirzad Mir," continued the chivalrous raja, “had lacked food, I would have sent it in to him. It is the law of the raj that one of our blood may not strike a weakened foe."
At sundown a week later there was unwonted activity in the courtyard that led to the main gate of the castle. For the first time in a week a dense mist overspread the plain below Khanjut—the forerunner of the Winter mists.
Abdul Dost, mounted on a fine Kabul stallion, was grimly seeing to the mustering of a group of picked horsemen. As the last rim of the sun vanished over the blue summits, the horsemen, led by the mansabdar, heard a long, quavering cry from one of the towers. To a man they dismounted and kneeled on the stones of the court, facing the Kaaba.
It was the hour of sunset prayer.
“Lailat el kadr," cried the mollah. “Allah il, Akbar!"
“Allah il Akbar!," repeated the deep-throated chorus.
Shirzad Mir and Sir Ralph, stepping from a tower door, halted at sight of the tableau.
The genial face of the mir was more sober than usual.
“I have a foreboding, Sir Ralph," he said gravely. “Perhaps the hand of fate has written in the page of destiny that our plan is not to prosper. I know not."
“Your offer was generous," responded the Englishman bluntly. “Still, I like not to risk the lives of many when I might go alone through the secret watercourse under the walls and swim out into the mountain stream."
“By the face of the Prophet!" protested his companion. “Am I a jackal to send you unescorted into peril? Nay, it is written that peril shared among friends is a feast. Yet I like not to part with you."
“We have decided. I am useless here. By now my messenger will be well into Hindustan, on the way to Surat. It is time I followed."
“Think you the other Ferang will truly be at the seaport? I have heard it is fortified by the Portuguese."
“The more reason that Hawkins will come to Surat," said Sir Ralph grimly. “When I was last at Agra I heard it rumored that the English fleet lay at Mozambique. It was agreed before I left England that Hawkins would visit Surat this year. He will arrive before the Winter season sets in."
“I know not of such matters."
Shirzad Mir glanced at his sturdy companion regretfully.
“By the beard of my grandsire, I have a heavy foreboding. I fear that I will not set eyes on you again."
“Nay, I shall return to Khanjut. Think you I would leave as a coward flees, glad to set his back to danger?"
“Not I. Yet how will you do this thing? Granted that you meet with the other Ferang noble and that many ships are with him, you cannot sail ships to Khanjut."
The Englishman tightened the saddlebags and the girths of his horse. Lighted candles appeared among the men who were now— having finished their prayers—quietly mounting.
“We will go to the Mogul, Captain Hawkins and I. He will bring letters and presents from the English court. Likewise he will have musketmen and cannon. Jahangir will listen to the message from my king."
An eager light shone in the Englishman's honest face.
“Those at court have seen me but once. They will not mark my presence among the new embassy until the message is delivered. Then I shall ask pardon for you and those at Khanjut.
“I will explain how Jani Beg has deceived the Mogul and made you appear a traitor. Jahangir will listen, for I speak his tongue, and—he will respect the power of England that has sent a score of ships half around the world."
He struck his fist forcibly on the saddle.
“A great company has been formed in my country to bring the benefits of trade to India. Your people and mine are destined to be friends. The English deal fairly with those to whom they offer the hand of friendship—"
“But the Portuguese—"
“We will deal with them shrewdly if they hinder us. This time we will have an ample force of armed men."
Shirzad Mir puckered his brow. To him Jahangir was monarch of the world and the court at Delhi the center of the universe. He did not credit the intriguing nobles at court with respect for an unknown ruler whose servants appeared as if by magic out of the southern sea.
“What will be, will be. We cannot escape our fate, Sir Ralph. Ho—" the bored look vanished from his bland countenance at a fresh thought—“by the beard of the Prophet, I shall ride with Abdul Dost when his men cut a path for you through the tents of our foes. Ho, Abdul Dost! My horse!"
The Englishman protested against the risk Shirzad Mir was taking, but the impulsive chieftain would not wait even for his armor.
Abdul Dost, also, found his objections overruled.
“Dog of the devil, Abdul Dost!" cried his master. “Said I not I had a foreboding concerning this sally party? I will lead it myself, and if it is the will of God I will tumble Jani Beg's red tent over his ears.
“I will trim Shah Abbas's beard," he muttered delightedly. “Have the houris of paradise grown ill-favored, Abdul Dost, that you shirk sword blows riding bridle to bridle with Shirzad Mir? Nay, lead on, or you stay behind the walls of Khanjut."
Sir Ralph had adjusted the trappings of his horse to his satisfaction. He was more at home on the poop of a ship than in a saddle, but in the sally they planned it was necessary for him to be mounted.
The venture, although daring, promised success, thanks to the mist. The camp in the plain was spread over a wide area. Once past the entrenchments of the foe it would be possible to strike swiftly through the tents and escort the Englishman out to the open plain.
Free of the Persian lines—they had chosen the Persian camp as the most vulnerable—Sir Ralph was to circle to the Koh-i-Baba hills and strike through the Shyr Pass to the South.
The enemy would not be prepared for a sally, and once the group of horsemen had won back to the Khanjut wall, they would not think to look for a lone rider on the plain. And the mist would serve as a veil for what passed.
In fact, the danger would be greater for the horsemen riding back after the sally than for Sir Ralph. It was this that had made him reluctant to try the sortie. But Shirzad Mir would not be denied.
They walked their horses through the open gate and felt the cold mist strike their faces. It seemed to Adbul Dost, who was a veteran at night warfare,
that the mist was thinning more than they had thought, looking down on it from the battlements.
Nevertheless, they pressed ahead as silently as possible, listening to the calls that passed from sentry to sentry along the entrenchments. There was no sound except a muffled jingle as a horse tossed its head, or an unavoidable click of hoof on stone.
Abdul Dost had effectively discouraged the presence of enemy outposts nearer than the first of the siege works. He had marked out in his mind the course that he would follow, down the ramp, out along the road, down the gentler slope to the plain. Then sharply to the left, past the earth mound that served as foundation for the Persian guns.
Here there were no trenches dug and the way was clear to the tents.
He led Shirzad Mir and the Englishman to the bottom of the winding road. They paused for several moments to note if they had been observed and to permit the horsemen in the rear to come up with them. The lights of the watch fires seemed peculiarlv clear to Sir Ralph, and he touched Abdul Dost on the arm.
“The mist is thinning," he whispered.
“B’illah!" grunted the mansabdar, casting a swift glance upward.
The stars were clear to view.
“No matter," urged Shirzad Mir impatiently. “We have come this far and we will not turn back without a few good sword strokes. Come!"
He spurred his horse forward, and Abdul Dost set his into a trot. They could see the earth mounds of the entrenchments on either hand and the occasional blurred form of a sentry. Sounds of revelry and quarreling came from the camp ahead, partially drowning the growing beat of the horses' hoofs.
A hasty challenge rang out in front of them. Abdul Dost reined his horse forward and struck down the sentinel, who had scrambled sleepily to his feet.
“Haste!" cried Shirzad Mir.
The trained horsemen behind them closed in and the troop thundered around the base of the artillery mound. Torches flashed along the lines in front. Startled cries resounded.
They swung past the mound and galloped into the torchlight. Foot outposts fled away from their course.
“Shirzad el kadr!" they cried.
“—and Satan's beldame!" swore Abdul Dost, pulling in his mount and snatching at the bridle of Shirzad Mir.
Across their course, hidden until now by the earth mound, was a line of felled trees formed into a chevaux-de-frise. A network of tangled branches stretched between them and the tents.
The Persians had not lacked the forethought to guard their camp against just such a sally.
Likewise a dozen alarm flares were kindling into glow, lighting the scene clearly. Abdul Dost saw at once that they were in grave danger if they should press on. But his attempt to check his master had been fruitless.
The lord of Badakshan spurred on along the line of branches, seeking a path through the obstacle. Perforce his men followed. Each moment the glow was revealing more clearly the secret of their scanty numbers.
The few foot soldiers in front of the barrier were cut down. But the commotion in the camp beyond showed that the Persian horse were assembling.
“Ho nila—ki aswar!” came an answering shout from the tents.
“The Rajputs," muttered Abdul Dost grimly. “This is an ill place. We must go back—"
A splendid Arab cleared the chevaux-de-frise in front of Shir-zad Mir. The figure in its saddle was familiar to them all. Raja Man Singh had not waited for his men before riding to repel the sortie. He faced them with drawn scimitar, a slender warrior sitting his horse magnificently.
“Eh—that was well done!" laughed Shirzad Mir, spurring forward. “You shall not lack for sword strokes, Rajput!"
He pressed forward, swinging his curved blade. The raja waited his coming tranquilly. The two swords flew together, flashed and struck again.
The Rajput drew his mount nearer his enemy. While the horsemen watched, their swords thrust and parried at close quarters. The force of his onset lost, Shirzad Mir paid for his boldness in engaging the finest swordsman of Hindustan.
He guarded his head with difficulty, panting as he turned his stout body in the saddle. Raja Man Singh smiled, drawing closer until they were knee to knee. A swift stroke, and his scimitar bit deep into the side of Shirzad Mir under the armpit.
The lord of Badakshan swayed in his saddle, but did not loosen his grip on his weapon. Abdul Dost, frantic with fear for his master, reined his horse between the two and engaged the triumphant Rajput.
“Back to Khanjut, dogs!" he cried over his shoulder. “See to Shirzad Mir! Bowmen, form a rear guard."
Raja Man Singh was now fronted with a swordsman of equal skill, and neither of the two veterans were able to break through the other's guard until Abdul Dost, seeing that his men were drawing back with their wounded lord, wheeled and galloped back under cover of a flight of arrows.
The archers kept to the rear while Shirzad Mir was led up the castle road. Sir Ralph and Abdul Dost were the last to ride up to
the gates, where a hundred archers on the walls kept their pursuers under the leadership of the impetuous Rajput at a distance.
The gates of Khanjut closed behind them, shutting out the tumult of the camp.
They had paid heavily for the sally. A dozen men were left stretched along the road behind them. On his cloak in the courtyard Shirzad Mir lay quiet, perspiration dotting his brow. Sir Ralph walked over to him gloomily.
“I foretold . . . the ill omen," muttered the mir, looking up at him. “But for the cursed Rajput we might—have won through."
Later came Abdul Dost to the Englishman with a long face.
“The hakims have bound the wound, and the mullahs are chanting prayers. Shirzad Mir is sore hurt. He bade me give over the leadership of the garrison to you."
“Nay, Abdul Dost. Be you the leader."
Sir Ralph walked beside him thoughtfully.
“God grant our friend recovers," he added. “Bid him be of good cheer. I must go hence, as we planned."
In answer to the other's startled grunt Sir Ralph pointed to the mountain summits.
“The Uzbeks," he explained, “will not look for a second attempt to leave the citadel this night. I shall strike out for the Mogul court. That is our remaining chance. Do you hold Khanjut—"
“Khanjut will not fall to the besiegers."
The confidence of the mansabdar did not surprise Sir Ralph, who knew the belief of the hillmen. He clasped the other's hand.
“See to it, Abdul Dost. I go by way of the watercourse and the hills."
An hour later Sir Ralph descended into the well of Khanjut by torchlight. Diving under the rock arch of the cistern, he swam out into the water tunnel which led to the valley behind the citadel. He went alone.
Some time before sunup he climbed from the stream in the gorge whither his messenger had passed. In this way he began his
journey to the South, half across India, to the rendezvous with his countryman, Captain William Hawkins.
III
In England in the year 1600 sundry knights, aldermen and merchants under leadership of the Earl of Cumberland had been enrolled and granted a royal charter in the East India Company.
This venture was planned to dispute Portuguese monopoly of trade from Aleppo east along the Malabar coast to the Moluccas. It was intended to win for England a share of the riches gleaned from the spice, silk and jewel trade with the Indies. It was hazardous, for the Portuguese had a dozen caravels at sea to one English sail; neither side scrupled to employ force.
When Sir Ralph left London it was agreed that a strong fleet under Captain Hawkins was to set out in 1607 for the west coast of India. This fleet was to despoil whatever Portuguese carracks fortune put in its way—thus repaying similar depredations of the doms—and enter the port of Surat before the Winter season.
Sir Ralph's mission was to obtain from the Mogul the right to trade. Without this, Hawkins' expedition could accomplish nothing.
It is easy to say, in retelling history, that the boldness of a p
roject ensures its success. But both Weyand and Hawkins had been launched on their task ill prepared, in almost total ignorance of what they were to meet. The very boldness of the English reacted against them with the first Moguls.
Akbar and Jahangir were actually potentates of all the surrounding lands they cared to bring under their yoke; they drained into their treasuries the wealth of a golden continent. Outside nations, such as Ethiopia, Tibet and Khorassan, voluntarily sent envoys to tender their submission. Emissaries from Portugal were well received and granted firmans—trade concessions—because it flattered the vanity of the Moguls.
Under the circumstances it did not occur to the Moguls to respect the growing power of European nations outside their known world—especially as the medieval Indian Empire neither desired nor understood sea power. Portuguese and English were curiosities at court; the former were tolerated because of their astute diplomacy and generous bribes among the satellites of the throne; the latter—of whom Weyand was the first to seek trade concessions—were regarded with indifference because of their apparent poverty and sturdy independence.
Bitter experience had taught Sir Ralph the difficulties confronting himself and Hawkins. It was all-important that he should meet the sea captain at Surat. The whole future of English trade with India depended upon this.
And Sir Ralph was but ill-equipped for his venture south. He had been marked as an accomplice of the outlaws of Afghanistan; his life would hang by a slim thread if he fell into the hands of the Portuguese, whose caravans passed from Surat up the Indus to Agra.
And he was setting out alone, with his only resource his sword and some gold and jewels that he had brought with him from Khanjut, floating the bag that contained them, with his long sword, tied to a log through the watercourse.
He had at that time no friends in the Mogul's land except wounded Shirzad Mir in the beleaguered fortress of Khanjut— save perhaps Krishna Taya, the Rajput girl whose life he had saved. But she had returned to her own clan of Marwar in Rajpu-tana, near the mouth of the Indus.
A man lacking Sir Ralph's dogged determination would not have attempted the journey south—eight hundred miles from the northern mountains to the dry, heat-ridden plain of Hindustan. He had set his heart, however, on meeting with the English fleet and returning with Hawkins's papers and presents to the Mogul's court, then at Kabul.