“Is he dead?”
“No. He has given us his instructions what to do,” replied Wyatt.
“What are they?”
“To call upon all his brave followers to help him against his enemies.”
“The English are his enemies,” cried a voice from the back angrily.
“It is false!” cried Wyatt fiercely. “Your Rajah knows what is right and best for his country, and trusts us.”
“Who poisoned him?” cried the same voice. “Those who meant the poison for us,” said Wyatt firmly—“his enemies as well as ours.—You two are his highness’s captains,” he continued, turning to the two officers whose hands he had grasped. “Go up, and ask him to give you orders what to do.”
“There is no need,” said one of them loudly, as he turned so that all present might hear. “I was present when his highness sent despatches asking for help from the English against his foes. They came, and have worked for us bravely ever since.”
There was a murmur of assent, and the chief went on. “I am captain of the Rajah’s guard,” he cried. “I am for the Rajah, my master, and for Soojeepur.”
There was a loud shout and the clashing of weapons, but as soon as the sounds died out the chief cried: “Now, then, who is for the Ranee and the priests?” There was not a sound within, but from outside came a strange, increasing, muttering roar, as of gathering hosts hurrying through the streets and coming towards where they stood.