The Ninth Vibration [66]
this?" she asked, looking into the strange eyes of the strange woman.
Something like tears gathered in them for a moment, but she brushed them away as she said hurriedly:
"I was grateful. You saved my son. Is it not enough?"
"No, not enough!" cried the Queen. "There is more. Tell me, for death is upon us."
"His footsteps are near," said the Indian. "I will speak. I love my lord. In death I will not cheat him. What you have known is true. My child is no child of his. I will not go down to death with a lie upon my lips. Come and see."
Dwaymenau was no more. Sundari, the Indian woman, awful and calm, led the Queen down the long ball and into her own chamber, where Mindon, the child, slept a drugged sleep. The Queen felt that she had never known her; she herself seemed diminished in stature as she followed the stately figure, with its still, dark face. Into this room the enemy were breaking, shouldering their way at the door - a rabble of terrible faces. Their fury was partly checked when only a sleeping child and two women confronted them, but their leader, a grim and evil- looking man, strode from the huddle.
"Where is the son of the King?" be shouted. "Speak, women! Whose is this boy?"
Sundari laid her hand upon her son's shoulder. Not a muscle of her face flickered.
"This is his son."
"His true son - the son of Maya the Queen?"
"His true son, the son of Maya the Queen."
"Not the younger - the mongrel?"
"The younger - the mongrel died last week of a fever."
Every moment of delay was precious. Her eyes saw only a monk and a boy fleeing across the wide river.
"Which is Maya the Queen?"
"This," said Sundari. "She cannot speak. It is her son - the Prince."
Maya had veiled her face with her hands. Her brain swam, but she understood the noble lie. This woman could love. Their lord would not be left childless. Thought beat like pulses in her - raced along her veins. She held her breath and was dumb.
His doubt was assuaged and the lust of vengeance was on him - a madness seized the man. But even his own wild men shrank back a moment, for to slay a sleeping child in cold blood is no man's work.
"You swear it is the Prince. But why? Why do you not lie to save him if you are the King's woman?"
"Because his mother has trampled me to the earth. I am the Indian woman - the mother of the younger, who is dead and safe. She jeered at me - she mocked me. It is time I should see her suffer. Suffer now as I have suffered, Maya the Queen!"
This was reasonable - this was like the women he bad known. His doubt was gone - he laughed aloud.
"Then feed full of vengeance!" he cried, and drove his knife through the child's heart.
For a moment Sundari wavered where she stood, but she held herself and was rigid as the dead.
"Tha-du! Well done!" she said with an awful smile. "The tree is broken, the roots cut. And now for us women - our fate, 0 master?"
"Wait here," he answered. "Let not a hair of their heads be touched. Both are fair. The two for me. For the rest draw lots when all is done."
The uproar surged away. The two stood by the dead boy. So swift had been his death that he lay as though he still slept - the black lashes pressed upon his cheek.
With the heredity of their different races upon them, neither wept. But silently the Queen opened her arms; wide as a woman that entreats she opened them to the Indian Queen, and speechlessly the two clung together. For a while neither spoke.
"My sister!" said Maya the Queen. And again, "0 great of heart!"
She laid her cheek against Sundari's, and a wave of solemn joy seemed to break in her soul and flood it with life and light.
"Had I known sooner!" she said. "For now the night draws on."
"What is time?" answered the Rajput woman. "We stand before the Lords of Life and Death. The life you gave was yours, and I am unworthy to kiss the feet of the Queen. Our lord will return and his son is saved. The House can be rebuilt. My son and I were waifs washed up from the sea. Another wave washes us back to nothingness. Tell
Something like tears gathered in them for a moment, but she brushed them away as she said hurriedly:
"I was grateful. You saved my son. Is it not enough?"
"No, not enough!" cried the Queen. "There is more. Tell me, for death is upon us."
"His footsteps are near," said the Indian. "I will speak. I love my lord. In death I will not cheat him. What you have known is true. My child is no child of his. I will not go down to death with a lie upon my lips. Come and see."
Dwaymenau was no more. Sundari, the Indian woman, awful and calm, led the Queen down the long ball and into her own chamber, where Mindon, the child, slept a drugged sleep. The Queen felt that she had never known her; she herself seemed diminished in stature as she followed the stately figure, with its still, dark face. Into this room the enemy were breaking, shouldering their way at the door - a rabble of terrible faces. Their fury was partly checked when only a sleeping child and two women confronted them, but their leader, a grim and evil- looking man, strode from the huddle.
"Where is the son of the King?" be shouted. "Speak, women! Whose is this boy?"
Sundari laid her hand upon her son's shoulder. Not a muscle of her face flickered.
"This is his son."
"His true son - the son of Maya the Queen?"
"His true son, the son of Maya the Queen."
"Not the younger - the mongrel?"
"The younger - the mongrel died last week of a fever."
Every moment of delay was precious. Her eyes saw only a monk and a boy fleeing across the wide river.
"Which is Maya the Queen?"
"This," said Sundari. "She cannot speak. It is her son - the Prince."
Maya had veiled her face with her hands. Her brain swam, but she understood the noble lie. This woman could love. Their lord would not be left childless. Thought beat like pulses in her - raced along her veins. She held her breath and was dumb.
His doubt was assuaged and the lust of vengeance was on him - a madness seized the man. But even his own wild men shrank back a moment, for to slay a sleeping child in cold blood is no man's work.
"You swear it is the Prince. But why? Why do you not lie to save him if you are the King's woman?"
"Because his mother has trampled me to the earth. I am the Indian woman - the mother of the younger, who is dead and safe. She jeered at me - she mocked me. It is time I should see her suffer. Suffer now as I have suffered, Maya the Queen!"
This was reasonable - this was like the women he bad known. His doubt was gone - he laughed aloud.
"Then feed full of vengeance!" he cried, and drove his knife through the child's heart.
For a moment Sundari wavered where she stood, but she held herself and was rigid as the dead.
"Tha-du! Well done!" she said with an awful smile. "The tree is broken, the roots cut. And now for us women - our fate, 0 master?"
"Wait here," he answered. "Let not a hair of their heads be touched. Both are fair. The two for me. For the rest draw lots when all is done."
The uproar surged away. The two stood by the dead boy. So swift had been his death that he lay as though he still slept - the black lashes pressed upon his cheek.
With the heredity of their different races upon them, neither wept. But silently the Queen opened her arms; wide as a woman that entreats she opened them to the Indian Queen, and speechlessly the two clung together. For a while neither spoke.
"My sister!" said Maya the Queen. And again, "0 great of heart!"
She laid her cheek against Sundari's, and a wave of solemn joy seemed to break in her soul and flood it with life and light.
"Had I known sooner!" she said. "For now the night draws on."
"What is time?" answered the Rajput woman. "We stand before the Lords of Life and Death. The life you gave was yours, and I am unworthy to kiss the feet of the Queen. Our lord will return and his son is saved. The House can be rebuilt. My son and I were waifs washed up from the sea. Another wave washes us back to nothingness. Tell