"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.
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