“I, dog, shall tell him.”
“Am I indeed a dog? Be it so, I am a dog that speaks. And I am not a thief.—Does thy master know thy taste in rubies, lord?”
Ragunáth flushed scarlet. “Thou speakest like a madman!”
“Nay, it is rather thou that art mad. Thou hast walked on dangerous ground before, thou traitor to honor; but never so near destruction as now. Hast thou told thy master of thy visit to the zenana courtyard on the day of the great sacrifice? Did he despatch thee to-day to the poppy field? Hath he ever trusted the honor of his lady in thy hand? Oh, though thou couldst hush the mouths of all the eunuchs in the zenana, the story of thy bribes and treachery would be shouted aloud by every slave in Mandu.—Thus, the Lord Ragunáth is the madman.—A slave picks poppies in the field. A slave is near a lady when Ragunáth would speak with her. The slave has eyes, ears, and a tongue. Moreover, this slave understands honor, for he was born a prince. Speak, then, to the Rajah concerning this day’s incident. It were fitting he should know—”
“Be silent, man!”
“It seems I am become a man!”
“Be silent,—or thou diest.”
Fidá shrugged, but let the threat go. “If I am silent, then?” he asked.
“If thou art silent, fool,” Ragunáth made an effort, “if thou art silent, I will let time and thine own folly betray thee; for it is not fitting that I should soil myself with the affairs of infidels and slaves.”
And this last insult also, though he was obviously in the position to command, Fidá passed over. Was it because he knew that, for all his bravado, he was not himself innocent of treachery to his conqueror?