Now he imagined he could read
between the lines! That letter sent to Alwa had been misreported to
him, and had been really a call to come and free the prisoner and wreak
Rangar vengeance! He understood! But first he must save his palace,
if it could be saved. The priests must have deceived him, so he wasted
no time in arguing with them; he ran, with his guards behind him, to
the outer wall of Siva's temple where the horses waited, each with a
saice squatting at his head. The saices were sent scattering among the
crowd to give the alarm and send the rest of his contingent hurrying
back; Jaimihr and his ten drove home their spurs, and streaked, as the
frightened jackal runs when a tiger interrupts them at their worry,
hell-bent-for-leather up the unlit street.
Then Maharajah Howrah's custom-accorded dignity stood him in good
stead. It flashed across his worried brain that space had been given
him by the gods in which to think. Jaimihr--one facet of the problem
and perhaps the sharpest--would have his hands full for a while, and
the priests--wish how they would--would never dare omit the
after-ritual in Siva's temple. He--untrammelled for an hour to come
--might study out a course to take and hold with those embarrassing
prisoners of his.
He turned--updrawn in regal stateliness--and intimated to the high
priest that the ceremony might proceed without him.
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