"Are ye laggards, my friends, in pursuit of honour? I thought yonder gage would be a mark for men to strive for; are ye laggards, O faithful?" cried the Peer.
The mass—for every one had risen to his feet—swayed to and fro with emotion, but no one advanced; and out of it issued the hoarse ominous murmur that had several times arisen, and which, in the absence of any decisive action, caused involuntary apprehension.
At this moment Afzool Khan stepped boldly forward, and taking up the gage, pressed it to his forehead, eyes, and lips, then, saluting the King, held it high above his head for all to see.
"My prince, it is mine," he said, "if it be permitted, and if these my friends will join me."
"Ye have heard," said the King, turning to the assembly, "I accept him."
It was the crowning point of the ceremony, and the people, no longer withheld by court etiquette, swayed forward to the foot of the dais with tumultuous shouts of joy. Those without only knew that war had been proclaimed, and their cries mingled hoarsely with the rest.
"It is well this should cease, my lord," said the Secretary. "Men's hearts are hot, and enough hath been done to-day."
"Good," replied the King, "let the criers proclaim the Burkhast; and that there will be preaching in the Jumma Mosque daily, at noon, till the army advances."
"Be that my care," said the Peer, "and their hearts shall be kept hot, I promise you."
It was done. Attendants went round with trays of Pân, reserving Utr and other sweet essences for those privileged to receive them. The King sat to the last, and the great Hall was gradually emptied, save of the royal guards,—Afzool Khan and his son,—Alla ool Moolk, and other nobles, who had been desired to remain. The Kótwal's fate was yet in suspense.