"When I give the sign," continued the schemer, "declare the curse upon all those who do not bend. A word from your lips, and Ramabai's troops vanish, reform and become yours and mine!"
"While the king lives?" asked the chief priest curiously.
"Ah!" And Umballa smiled again.
"But you, Durga Ram?"
"There is Ramabai, a senile king, and I. Which for your purposes will you choose?"
There was a conference. The priests drifted away from Umballa. He did not stir. His mien was proud and haughty, but for all that his knees shook and his heart thundered. He understood that it was to be all or nothing, no middle course, no half methods. He waited, wetting his cracked and swollen lips. When the priests returned to him, their heads bent before him a little. It represented a salaam, as much as they had ever given to the king himself. A glow ran over Umballa.
"Highness, we agree. There will be terms."
"I will agree to them without question."
Life and power again; real power! These doddering fools should serve him, thinking the while that they served themselves.
"Half the treasury must be paid to the temple."