The coolness of the morning dew brought me back to my unhappy existence and its terrible questions.
Was it then true that I wished to band myself with a robber and thousandfold murderer, in order to get the man out of the way who had once led me round the nuptial fire?
But I had not the least knowledge yet of when my husband was to leave. And how was I to ascertain the time of his departure or the exact route he intended to take, if he made a secret of these. “For a beautiful woman, it is never difficult to draw a secret from her husband”—these words of the robber’s yet rang in my ears and made plain to me the whole baseness of such a course of action. Never would I be able to make up my mind to worm myself by tenderness into his confidence, in order then to betray him to his arch-enemy. But just because I felt this so clearly, did it also become clear to me that it was really only the treacherous and hypocritical worming out of his secret that I deeply loathed. Had I already been in possession of it—had I known whither to go in order to find a tablet on which it all stood written—I should certainly have furnished Angulimala with the fatal information.
When this became plain to me I trembled with horror as though I were already guilty of Satagira’s death. I thanked fate that there was no possibility of getting this information, for even if I had been able to learn at what hour they were to start, yet only Satagira himself and, at the most, perhaps one confidant, would know what roads and paths had been decided upon.
I saw the rising sun gild the towers and cupolas of Kosambi as I had seen this ravishing spectacle so many a time from the Terrace of the Sorrowless—but ah! with what quite other feelings than when I spent the blessed night hours there with thee! Unhappy as never before, weary and miserable, as though I had in this one night aged by decades, I betook myself back to the palace.
In order to reach my room I was obliged to go through a long gallery, opening off which were several chambers with barred windows. As I passed one of these I heard voices. The one—that of my husband—was just then raised—
“Good!—we start tonight—an hour after midnight.”
I had stopped involuntarily. So I knew the hour! But the road? A flush of shame suffused my face for having played the eavesdropper. “Fly, fly!” a voice made itself heard within me, “there is yet time!” But I stood as if rooted to the spot.
Satagira, however, said nothing further. He may have heard my footsteps and their stopping at the door, for the latter was suddenly torn open. My husband stood before me.
“I heard thy voice in passing,” I said, with quick resolution, “and thought of asking whether I should bring thee some refreshments as thou hast business so early. Then I feared to disturb thee and was about to pass on.” Satagira looked at me without suspicion and even with great friendliness.
“I thank thee,” he said; “I need no refreshments, but thou dost in no way disturb me. On the contrary, I was about to send for thee and only feared that thou were not yet risen. Thou canst, just at this moment, be of the greatest service to me.”
He invited me to enter his room, which I did with supreme astonishment, very curious to know what the service might be which he desired from me—just at this moment, when a deadly purpose against him filled my whole being.
A man, in whom I recognised the master of Satagira’s horse and his most trusted follower, was sitting on a low bench. He rose as I entered and bowed. Satagira invited me to sit down beside himself, signed to the officer to be seated again, and turned to me.
“The matter is this, my dear Vasitthi. I am obliged, as soon as possible, to undertake a journey in order to adjust a village quarrel in the province to the east. Now, for several weeks, robbers have been seen in the wooded region east of Kosambi, and, as a matter of fact, very near to the town. Indeed, a foolish tale has even arisen that their leader is no other than Angulimala, people having the unheard-of effrontery to assert that Angulimala had, on the last occasion, escaped from prison, and that I had, in place of his head, stuck up another very like it over the gate. Of course we can afford to laugh at all such fantastic stories. But, nevertheless, this robber does not seem to stand much behind the famous Angulimala in point of audacity, and, if he really gives himself out for the latter in order, by the use of his renowned name, to gain a large following, his intention assuredly is to perform some particularly brilliant feat. For that reason a certain amount of prudence is, under all circumstances, advisable.”
A small table, inlaid with precious stones, stood beside him, and on it a silk handkerchief.
He took the handkerchief up and mopped his forehead, observing, as he did so, that the day was very hot in spite of the early hour. I perceived, of course, that it was fear of Angulimala which caused the perspiration to flow from his every pore. But instead of awaking my pity, the sight only filled me with contempt for him. I saw that he was no hero, and asked myself with astonishment by what lucky accident he had chanced to take Angulimala prisoner—Angulimala,
