“Tarry yet a minute, friend. I would learn more of events in Lucknow. Tell us more fully what has taken place there.”
“The Begum of Oudh must be obeyed,” said Ahmed Ullah with a warning glance at the other. He was met with a villainous and intriguing look that would have satisfied Machiavelli, but the officer bowed low before the screen.
“I am, indeed, honored to be the bearer of good tidings to royal ears,” said he. “Doubtless I should have been entrusted with letters for your highness were not the city in some confusion owing to the fighting.”
“Who commands our troops?” came the sharp demand.
“At present, your highness, the Nawab of Rampur represents the King of Oudh.”
“The Nawab of Rampur! That cannot be tolerated. Ahmed Ullah!”
“I am here,” growled the moulvie, smiling sourly.
“We must depart within the hour. Let my litter be prepared, and send men on horseback to provide relays of carriers every ten miles. Delay not. The matter presses.”
There could be no mistaking the agitation of the hidden speaker. That an admitted rival of her father’s dynasty should be even the nominal leader of the revolt was not to be endured. The mere suggestion of such a thing was gall and wormwood. None realized better than this arch-priestess of cabal that a predominating influence gained at the outset of a new régime might never be weakened by those who were shut out by circumstances from a share in the control of events. Even the fanatical moulvie gasped at this intelligence, though his shrewd wit taught him that the rissaldar had not exchanged glances with him without good reason.