"Beware," said an elderly officer, who stood near him—"beware, Moro Pundit, of the master, if thou disobey him in this. He will suffer no insult to the women."
"Tooh!" cried Moro Trimmul, spitting contemptuously, "I am a Brahmun, and he dare not interfere with me. Come!"
Ten thousand throats were crying the battle-cry of the Hetkurees, as they burst from the thickets upon the bewildered army. Why follow them? In a few hours there was a smell of blood ascending to the sky, and vultures—scenting it from their resting-places on the precipices of the mountains, and from their soaring stations in the clouds—were fast descending upon the plain in hideous flocks.
Shortly after the Khan had left—he could scarcely have reached the fort—two figures, a man and a boy, ran rapidly across the camp at their utmost speed towards the Khan's tents—they were the hunchback and Ashruf. When Fazil had dismissed them, the night before, they had taken the road to Wye; and immediately beyond the confines of the camp, where the road ascended a rocky pass, had been seized by the Mahratta pickets posted there. In vain they urged they were but Dekhan ballad-singers; they were not released. "Ye shall sing for us to-morrow," they said, "when we have made the sacrifice, the ballads of the goddess at Tooljapoor;" and, bound together, they lay by the tree where the party of men was stationed. There they heard all, but were helpless.
"Ah, masters," said Lukshmun, as daylight broke, "unbind us; we are stiff with the cold; we will not run away; and I will sing you the morning hymn of the goddess, as the Brahmuns sing it at Tooljapoor. See, my arms are swelled, and the boy's too."
"Loose him, brother," said one of the men, "we shall soon now have the signal. Wait you here," he added, as Lukshmun finished the chant, "and we will fill your pouches with Beejapoor rupees when we come back."
"Alas!" said the hunchback, with a rueful face, "this little brother came from Wye last night, to say my elder brother, Rama, was dead. Good sirs, let me go and bury him," and he began to sob bitterly.
"Let them go, Nowla," said another of the men; "they will be only in our way; we can't stop to guard them."
"My blessings on ye, gentlemen! Only let us go now, and we will come to you and sing congratulations when you have won the victory," said Lukshmun humbly.