Nor was his rage abated when he was summoned to the palace to answer the charge of instigating the attack on Rahmut's quarters. The king was seated in the hall of public audience, surrounded by a glittering company. The total failure of the night's operations had not yet been fully reported; Bakht Khan was not in attendance; and when the king recited the verses he had composed the day before, the courtiers acclaimed him as the Pearl of Poets and declared that nothing more was wanted to ensure success. But then the commander-in-chief came with his pitiful tale, and the king, with the petulance of dotage, flew into a rage and cried, "You will never take the Ridge; all my treasure is expended; the Royal Treasury is without a pice. And men tell me now that the soldiers are day by day departing to their homes. I have no hope of victory. My desire is that you all leave the city and make some other place the heart of the struggle. If you do not, then will I take such steps as may seem to me advisable."
And while the officers were trying to cheer the miserable old man, declaring that by Allah's help they would yet take the Ridge, Minghal Khan came in answer to the summons. Upon him the king poured out the vials of his wrath, demanding that he should instantly restore to the treasury the money he had been granted two days before, and ordering Bakht Khan once more to proclaim that heavy penalties should be inflicted on any who broke the peace of the city. And when Minghal began to protest, Mirza Akbar Sultan, the prince who was party to the scheme, plucked him by the sleeve and in a whisper bade him be silent. The king was beside himself with rage, he said, and it was not a propitious moment for appeals. The prince accompanied him home, and, over a bottle of spirits sent for in haste from one of the merchants, they laid their heads together, devising a plan by which they might still achieve their designs against Rahmut Khan.
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD
Ordeal
The underground chamber in which Ahmed was confined was perfectly dark. The floor was damp; the air stuffy. He leant for a while against the wall, ruminating on this sudden check in his fortunes. That Minghal Khan had not killed him at once showed that he was reserved for a worse fate. And what had Minghal meant by the reference to Rahmut Khan? His words seemed to imply that he supposed father and son to have entered Delhi together, and to be engaged in some scheme against him. Ahmed was for a time at a loss to understand what had given rise to this belief. Was Minghal unaware that Rahmut was a prisoner of the English? But then he remembered the conversation he had overheard in the room above. This "old rogue," this Asadullah, of whom the officers had spoken—could it be that he was Rahmut Khan? He was a Pathan—so much all Delhi knew; was it possible that the old chief had been released, or had escaped from prison, and had come into the city to wreak vengeance on the sahibs? This was a course he was very likely to follow: yet Ahmed hoped that it was not so; he did not like to think of his adoptive father and himself being on opposite sides.
Then he fell a-wondering how long he was to remain thus mewed up. And remembering the talk of a great onslaught to be made on the British lines on the morrow, he was dismayed. If Minghal Khan went out to fight he might remain absent for a whole day or more; he might, indeed, never come back; and then, unless a way could be found out of this dungeon, or some one came to release him, he might starve to death. The thought made his blood run cold, and in a sudden frenzy he began to strain at his bonds, trying to tear the staple from the wall and to snap the links of the chain. But from this he soon desisted; his struggles were useless; he only bruised himself. His exertions and the stuffiness of the room had made him hot; he was parched with thirst.
He sank down upon the floor, and squatted there, trying to calm himself. There was perfect silence. By and by he fell into a doze, and woke with a start in confusion of mind, from which he was roused by the clank of his chain as he moved. How long had he been asleep? Was it night or day? The profound stillness oppressed him; if he could but have heard some slight sound he would not have felt so utterly desolate. Schooling himself to patience, he tried to kill time by repeating aloud all the words of English he could remember, attempting to copy the accent of Hodson Sahib. He was surprised to find how many words came to his tongue with the effort. But speech was difficult to a dry throat. He lay down and slept again: maybe presently Minghal would relent so far as to bring him food.
Thus between sleeping and waking he passed the long hours—he knew not how many; and was vividly conscious of his discomforts, when at last he heard the light shuffling of feet in the corridor outside the room. Then a light shone through the thin crack at the bottom of the door; the key turned in the lock, and three figures entered. The first was Minghal Khan; then came the darwan with a lamp; the other was a stranger. And even Minghal wore a different look. His eyes were haggard; a huge bandage swathed his head; one arm was in a sling.
"Thou art yet alive, thou son of a dog," said Minghal. "It is well."