‘Speak, then, and say it, Madur-Bukhta!’ cried the Sultaun impatiently; ‘dost thou think that we, the beloved of Alla, on whom rest the cares and protection of this kingdom, and of the true faith in Hind—dost thou think that we have nought to do but listen to thy prating? Quick!’
‘Huzrut!’ said the Jemadar, his agitation almost denying him utterance; ‘thou mayest order me to be blown away from a gun, if what I say be not true.’
‘Well!’ exclaimed the Sultaun, ‘what more?’
‘I am disgraced—my character is gone—I have no friend—no, not one. Rhyman Khan and his minion Kasim Ali have leagued together to blast my reputation and to ruin me.’
‘Hold!’ cried Tippoo; ‘the one is a man I am proud to call my friend, the other saved my life; beware how thou namest them.’
‘May I be your sacrifice! thou mayest hang me if it be not the truth; listen and judge:—when I was with the camp, engaged in the Sircar’s affairs, my Moonshee, a humble man, disappeared; your slave thought he had been murdered, and became uneasy; he discovered in a few days that the Khan had sent a party of the risala and carried him away privately; since then he and Kasim Ali have kept him here, tortured him, and made him draw up a declaration that your slave had made false accounts.’
‘Ha!’ said the Sultaun; ‘but go on.’
‘Yes, false accounts, protector of the poor! I who have fed on the Sircar’s bounty, I who have eaten the Sircar’s salt, who am a Khanazad,[[48]]—that I should do so base an act!’
[48]. One born in the family.