A political or military conference—perhaps a conspiracy—was evidently on the tapis; and great though the risk of discovery—a cruel and immediate death—Taj Mohammed, in his dread and hatred of a powerful and hereditary foe and would-be supplanter, crept forward that he might overhear; and following his example, Denzil was rash enough to climb, by the rich carvings of the mosque, to one of the openings, which, for religious purposes, were left in its eastern wall; and peeping in, he saw a somewhat remarkable scene—one which, so far as regarded character, costume and spirit, resembled one in the middle ages, rather than in her present Majesty's reign.
CHAPTER X.
THE MOSQUE OF BABER.
Under the dome or centre of this edifice was formed a lofty hall of circular shape, rising from horse-shoe arches that sprang from slender pillars of white marble. In the centre of each arch hung a silver lamp, but only two were lighted. On one side stood a pulpit of the purest white marble, and on the other, a gilded gallery for the Shah, when it pleased him to come hither and pray at the tomb of his remote predecessor. Opposite this stood an altar, where the name of the Deity was painted in brilliant arabesques, and two enormous candles, each a foot in diameter, stood at each end of it on gilded pedestals.
In the middle of this place, and amid a group of armed Afghan chiefs, stood one whom Taj Mohammed indicated by a sign, to be the Prince, Ackbar Khan, our most bitter enemy in that half-barbarous land; and it was not without some emotions of interest and excitement that Denzil looked upon this son of Dost Mohammed—one whose character for cruelty and recklessness of human suffering and human life was so notorious.
Fairer than Afghans usually are, he was a man of distinguished hearing, with a magnificent black beard: but, for the purpose of disguise, was clad as yet in the humble attire of a shepherd; thus it contrasted strongly with the brilliant colours worn by Shireen Khan of the Kussilbashes, Ameen Oollah Khan, the Ghazee chiefs, and others, to whom he was now speaking with animation, ever and anon, while he did so, grinding those teeth of which Rose Trecarrel had spoken so disparagingly.
This Ackbar Khan was simply a monster in cruelty; he had been known to have a man flayed alive in his presence, "commencing at the feet and continuing upwards, till the sufferer was relieved by death." A favourite and brave follower of his own, named Pesh Khedmut—one who had been with him in all his defeats, flights, and varieties of fortune, was once assisting him to mount his horse, when some portion of his loose flowing dress caught the lock of a pistol. It exploded, and the terrible Ackbar was slightly wounded. In vain did the luckless Khedmut swear upon the Koran that it was the result of an accident over which he had no control; in vain, we say; for the pitiless Sirdir had him burned alive; and he is alleged to have tortured to death more than one British officer, whom the fortune of war had left in his hands.
Ackbar, however, excelled in all the higher branches of Afghan education; thus he rode well, shot with precision, and handled his sabre with an expertness few could equal.
"Some conspiracy is afoot," thought Denzil; "and there is Shireen Khan, the old Kussilbash brute whom I saw airing himself on a camel at the band-stand; and now, here comes my friend, the Arab Hadji, who loves his Prophet so much, but loathes soap and water more," he added, mentally, as his late tormentor now stole in, and creeping, almost crawling, on his hands and knees, up to Ackbar, delivered a letter, which he drew from his tattered cummerbund, the cloth which girt his loins.
Ackbar read it, and his eyes flashed fire as he turned to grim old Shireen Khan, and said,—