The second matal, tottering on his feet, threw back his head and shouted drunkenly, ‘Oh! A high-born beauty!’ He made a sucking sound with his lips and started beating the ground with his feet.

‘Come, my beauty! Give joy and get money!’ said Vrik opening his arms wide towards Divya.

Dhata again shouted, her voice trembling with fear and anger, ‘Insolent matal, you will have to pay dearly for insulting this girl from a noble family!’

The matal on the right of Vrik, took an unsteady step forward and said jocularly, ‘High-born girl!’ while the other, rolling the words round his lips, drawled, ‘For Captain Vrik, a high-born lass with a juicy body!’ And raised the wine bowl to his lips.

Divya could bear it no longer. Although very frightened, she hardened her voice and said, ‘Soldiers, this insolence will have grave consequence.’

‘Look at the conceit of the woman!’ growled Vrik, throwing the bowl on the ground and advancing towards the palanquin. ‘What is the price of your pride? Are you puffed up because some high-born noble enjoys you? Vrik, the captain, has trampled upon the heads of many a noble in Darva,’ and he struck the cobbled street with his heavy Greek sandal. ‘You are full of pride because rich fellows of high families sleep with you on silver bedsteads and silken mattresses. Vrik has rolled on the bodies of many a palanquin-riding, proud girl like you.’ With an oath, pulling out a heavy money-pouch from his waist-belt and dangling it aloft, he shouted, ‘I can pay for your pride,’ and then stretching his arm towards his companion he ordered, ‘Varan, present the high-born lady in the palanquin to Vrik, the battalion commander!’

Divya was trembling from head to foot. Dhata raised both her hands and stood in front of the palanquin. ‘Beast! Ruffian! Help! Help, citizens, help!’ she shouted, and called upon the palanquin-bearers to save the girl. The bearers hastily put the palanquin down on the ground and came forward.

Suddenly on the cobbled street, the sound of fast-approaching horse hoofs was heard. At the bend in the street a glow of light appeared, moving towards them. A rider, accompanied by a torch-bearing slave and an armed attendant, was racing towards them.

‘Help, Arya, help! Save the great-granddaughter of the Chief Justice from these ruffians!’

The rider reined in his horse. All three matals stood stupefied.

‘Ajeya Verma, son of Sarvarth Verma, the feudatory chief, is at your service, lady!’ said the youth, drawing his sword and edging his horse close to the palanquin. ‘How did you come at this untimely hour to this wretched place?’

‘Arya, she is returning from a visit to a friend’s house to which she was invited,’ Dhata replied, bowing low. ‘The main road was too crowded, so we decided to return by this secluded road, when these ruffians blocked our way.’

Ajeya Verma looked at the matals with fire in his eyes. Both the companions of Vrik were trembling with fear. Vrik tried to run away but was quickly seized by the armed attendant. Seeing his military uniform, Ajeya Verma said angrily, biting his lip, ‘Who else but the soldiers of Commander Prithusen, the slave-born, would dare to do such a thing?’