The brothers received Shums-ood-Deen’s assurances of pardon with some misgivings, although these were couched in the strongest terms of affectionate welcome. They knew the treacherous heart of the man by whose sinister counsels the sovereign was swayed, and their minds were in a state of vibration between pacification and resistance. The day after the royal communication arrived, the two brothers were sitting upon a terrace consulting whether they should venture to the capital. “I have no confidence in the king’s promises,” said Ahmud Chan, “because he is under the control of those to whom treachery is too familiar not to be resorted to, should their interests suggest such a course. The moment we are within the walls of the capital we shall be in the slave’s power, and we have reason to know how little mercy he has for those who wear his fetters. Slaves are proverbially and practically the worst of tyrants.” “But,” said Feroze, “we have our security in the dissatisfaction of the nobles, who already look upon him with an eye of jealousy. They can ill bear to see a menial, not only raised above their heads, but affecting to rule them. The troops have been won by his gold, but as his coffers get low their zeal will cool, and the moment the reaction comes he will be in jeopardy.” “But meanwhile we shall be in danger. It is a nice question to decide whether we should throw ourselves upon the sovereign’s forgiveness or continue in arms, for there is danger in both.” “The least danger will be the best choice; and I think we shall incur less risk in repairing to the capital than in keeping up our hostility with such insufficient means.” “But we have promised protection to the slave’s daughter against her father’s violence.” “That is guaranteed by the king.” “The promises of monarchs are hollow. They are too often made for convenience, and broken at pleasure.” While the brothers were debating whether they should disband their troops and accept Shums-ood-Deen’s offers of pardon, or remain his declared enemies, a Cashmerian madman passed by. His dress was covered with red paint. A chowry was stuck in his turban, and round his legs were bound wisps of grass. In his hand he flourished a long thin bamboo, at the head of which was fixed an orange. Approaching the princes, he said, “I am come from the Prophet with happy tidings, Feroze Chan. He has deputed me to conduct you to Koolburga, and place you upon the musnud, and I shall do his bidding. You may smile, Feroze Chan, but this will not be the first time a fool has set up a king.”