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Updated: June 11, 2025
On the plain below Tommy Dodd was lecturing on the beauties of a cavalry charge by night, and Tallantire, bowed on his saddle, was gasping hysterically because there was a sword dangling from his wrist flecked with the blood of the Khusru Kheyl, the tribe that Orde had kept in leash so well.
His only surviving son was Prince Salím, but his conduct at Allahábád, at Agra, and elsewhere, had turned the hearts of the majority against him, whilst in his son, Prince Khusrú, the nobles recognised a prince whose reputation was untarnished.
Khusru was rewarded by Ismail with the title of "Asada Khan," a name which he bore for the rest of his life, and a grant of the jaghir of Belgaum. He rose to be chief minister and commander-in-chief of the army of his master, and died full of years and honours in A.D. 1549. The Portuguese at Goa had a very low opinion of Asada's character.
"Warwick Sahib walks into the teeth of his enemy," Khusru, the hunter, told a little group that watched from the village gate. "Nahara will collect her debts." A little brown boy shivered at his words and wondered if the beaters would turn and kick him, as they had always done before, if he should attempt to follow them.
Langur Dass's face lit suddenly. "Then it could be none but Muztagh, escaped from Dugan Sahib fifteen years ago. That calf was also white. He was also overgrown for his years." One of the trackers suddenly gasped. "Then that is why he spared Khusru!" he cried. "He remembered men." The others nodded gravely. "They never forget," said Langur Dass.
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