The great Hall of Audience in the Citadel was only used on state occasions of ceremony. It formed part of the oldest division of the royal residence, and was built, as report had it, after a model in Turkey or Persia, in both of which countries the founder of the dynasty, Ibrahim Adil Shah, had resided. But as no such model is known to exist, it is more probable that one of the Turkish architects whom he had invited to his camp, and to whose Europeanized skill and taste most of the noble Saracenic Gothic buildings of the city owed their origin, had designed and executed the whole under the direction of his munificent patron.

The "Ark," or Citadel of Beejapoor, is a fortress in itself, and the area is surrounded by a beautiful stone wall, having heavy bastions at intervals, and a fausse braye, also with bastions; both being protected by a broad wet ditch. The main entrance is by a causeway, defended by a gateway, flanked by bastions of great strength. The whole of the interior was laid out in palaces, under various denominations, and public buildings, such as the courts of civil and criminal justice, the treasury, the military and revenue record offices, and the like, and the great Hall of Audience, which now concerns us.

A broad road from the second gateway led nearly through the centre of the Citadel, as you entered, to the MÀidÂn, or plain of exercise. The Palace of the Seven Stories, and the buildings connected with it, lay on the left hand, and the "Sunget Mahal," or Palace of Assembly, with other heavy blocks of building, public and private, to the right. All these palaces, at the time of which we write, were interspersed with courts and gardens; but the space before the great Hall, called the MÀidÂn or Plain, was kept exclusively for the assembly, inspection, or exercise of royal troops on particular occasions, and also as the waiting-place of the "sowarees," or retinues, which attended those who visited the palace on ordinary business.

The hall itself was a very noble building. It stood upon a low basement, beneath which were crypts, probably used for archives, or as magazines; and was entered by flights of steps, which led into corridors at each side. The front was entirely open, consisting of one immense Gothic arch, ninety-two feet in span, and of proportionate height, and of two narrow lancet-shaped arches of corresponding height, one on each side, which opened on the side corridors.

The interior consisted of one immense room, unbroken to the roof; but upon its south side, and partially also east and west, there were projections built upon cloisters, which contained rooms and galleries; especially to the south, where there was a closed latticed balcony, where the ladies of the court might sit and look on at ceremonies of reception or rejoicing, and where the King might receive the petitions or salutations of the people without inconvenience. Above these galleries and balconies was another story, with open turrets at the corners, and suites of apartments above. As the building stands now, a mere shell, bereft of roof and floors, and with all, except its noble arches and cloisters, crumbling gradually to decay, it is a noble and impressive structure, and enough remains to estimate what it must have been when perfect.

A busy and interesting scene it was, even to those concerned. As each "sowaree" arrived at the entrance steps, it was met by a number of "chobdars," and mirdhas, or attendants, bearing massive gold and silver sticks, or clubs covered with chased silver or gold; dressed exclusively in white muslin, wearing small circular turbans, flattened out at the sides, muslin tunics, tight to the waist, and descending thence in thickly-gathered robes to the feet, which gave them the appearance of petticoats. These men attended officers of higher rank, who were, in fact, chamberlains, and whose duty it was to conduct the various visitors to the presence of the King, to proclaim aloud their titles, and to marshal them to their seats. Without, the royal Abyssinian and Dekhani guards prevented violence among their retainers.

Once the broad corridor at either side was reached by the visitors there was no further interruption; and though the war of struggle, gibe, and quarrel, peculiar to such an assembly, came hoarsely and with a stifled sound through the arches into the hall:—within, there was a decorous, if not, indeed, a solemn and impressive silence. Men spoke to each other hardly above their breath; and the soft murmur arising from thousands of such half whispers ascended and seemed to float tremblingly among the balconies, and up to the lofty roof of the building.

The King had early taken his seat. The musnud, or royal throne, was under the centre of the balcony before mentioned, upon a dais, raised a step above the general floor of the hall. There was no decoration visible upon it; and it consisted of a wide cushion and pillows, covered with white muslin, supported at the back and sides by a railing of wood, covered with plates of gold which, indeed, appeared as if of solid gold. On the right hand of the King, who was dressed in simple white muslin, with a single gold ornament in his turban, sat the Peer Bundagee Sahib, the religious instructor we have before mentioned; and at the back of the rail the Secretary, with two young nobles, whose hereditary office it was to wave over the King the jewelled MÓrchas, or fans of peacock feathers.

Farther again behind, among the arches, closing up the entrance to the cloisters, and leaning against the pillars, were servants bearing the King's weapons, the AftÁbgeeree, or sun-shades, the royal umbrellas, and the private guard of slaves, mostly Nubian eunuchs.

Like the monarch's seat, the whole of the floor was covered by quilted cotton carpets, over which white muslin was spread; so that, with the exception of here and there a coloured scarf or waist-belt, and an occasional turban ornament, the whole of the persons seated wore the same character of dress as the King, with little variation. In some respects the assembly had a monotonous appearance; but, on the other hand, the effect was chaste and solemn, and agreed with the plain undecorated character of the building.

The privileged attendants, however, who were allowed entrance with their masters, and who stood in files behind them against the wall, were dressed in the brightest and gayest colours which could be devised. Here were tunics of satin and cloth-of-gold, brocaded turbans and scarfs of the richest materials, mingled together in the greatest profusion; and this brilliant array, in which all hues seemed to blend with a strangely gorgeous harmony, formed a powerful background in relief of the white dresses, and white coverings of the floor.

Then beyond, the eye followed the graceful outline of the vast arch against a deep blue sky, flecked with light clouds. Below, it rested upon the plain, where, in the quivering heat, which gave a tremulous movement to the atmosphere, stood the serried masses of royal troops and sowarees, comparisoned elephants and led horses, litters and their bearers—all in the glowing colours which we have already seen from the Queen's balcony; and with bright arms and armour, which flashed and glinted in a thousand sparkles as the wearers moved.

The Secretary and the Peer had noted, carefully and jealously, the names of the several nobles and sirdars as they were announced by the mirdhas in attendance—presented their customary nuzzurs or offerings, according to their rank, and were conducted to their places; and every now and then one or other whispered to the King, as neutral or suspected persons passed, or when the appearance of a well-known loyal friend gave assurance of support. Still Afzool Khan's place was vacant, and that of the Wuzeer. It was true the latter could not yet be expected, but his son might at least be present; and the double absence cast a gloom over the King's face, which he could barely conceal.

"I had counted upon Afzool Khan and his son Fazil," said the King, mournfully, to the Peer, "but you see they have not come. We might not expect Kowas Khan without his father; but I had thought Afzool Khan among the truest of my people—what think ye?"

The Peer could give but little consolation. He, too, had expected the Khan, and had had no doubts of his fidelity; so also the Secretary; but his unaccountable absence disturbed them both.

Just then the lady Lurlee's escort, entering the open space, wheeled up among other troops, and the leader, Raheem Khan, dashed at speed to the foot of the basement, made his reverence to the King, and followed his men to the position they had taken up.

"Ah," cried the Peer, joyfully, to the King, "those are Afzool Khan's 'sowaree'; the old Khan and his son are not far off now, Shookr-Oolla;" and he looked anxiously to the side entrance, in the hope of seeing him advance with his son from the archway in the corridor. Others came on, but neither appeared.

"What hinders Afzool Khan?" said the Secretary to the Peer, after a while; "who is detaining him?"

"Send and inquire," said the King.

"Go," said the Peer to a mirdha in attendance, "and see if Afzool Khan be in the corridor; if not, go to his officer and inquire where he is,—not as if our Prince had asked, but from me." The King, to whom the man looked for orders, nodded assent, and he departed and returned speedily.

"I examined both corridors, and he was not in either, Huzrut," he said to the holy man, "so I went to Raheem Khan, who tells me he has come with the KhÁnum;" and here his voice dropped almost to a whisper, "that Afzool Khan hath been at the KÓtwal's, at JehÁndar Beg's, since morning, and it is particular business, as both he and his son have been in private consultation with him since sunrise."

The King had leaned over the rail to hear the detail, but he had not noticed the first part of the message; and as the man receded among the attendants behind, looked from one to the other of his friends, but could gather no consolation from their faces.

"It is but too true, my lord," said the Secretary sadly; "we need not expect them; for the Wuzeer's son, with a heavy body of horse and foot, has just gone to the KÓtwallee—he was seen with them not long ago passing the fort gate. JehÁndar Beg is not come, and it is clear to me that they have garrisoned the KÓtwallee, and will defend it till the Wuzeer arrives, when they will declare revolt. Sending a party here is but a blind."

"And who are here to check it?" asked the King apprehensively.

"Many, my lord," replied the Peer earnestly; "all the Dekhanies are my disciples, and I will answer for them to a man. All the artillery are with them. Fear not."

The King looked inquiringly to his Secretary.

"Yes, my Prince," he said, "fear not: we cannot wait for them; nothing good ever came of vacillation or expediency. Bismilla! shall I order silence?"

"Bismilla-ir-rahman-ir-raheem!" exclaimed the King devoutly, looking up. "I am ready. Order silence," he said to one of the mirdhas.

"KhÁmÔsh! silence!" cried the man in a loud, deep voice, which rang through the hall, and sounded strangely, interrupting the loose murmuring chat which had prevailed before—"KhÁmÔsh!"

"KhÁmÔsh!" was reiterated by all the mirdhas and chobdars stationed about the hall, and by the attendants behind, and was taken up by those in the corridors, spreading to the crowd without, and to the troops—"KhÁmÔsh!"

The silence that ensued was almost oppressive. In the hall itself, after the men had once more settled themselves in their seats, there was not a sound or murmur. The struggles and gibes without ceased, and even the troops were still, save where a neigh, or the rattle of caparisons, as horses tossed their heads or champed their bits, broke the stillness; or an elephant, clashing his bells, and being admonished by his driver, lifted his trunk, and gave a short scream.

It was the Secretary's office to open the business of the day, and just as he was about to speak, the chief of the eunuchs entered, bearing the Queen's billet, and kneeling down behind the rail, while he spoke aside, covering his mouth, said to the King hastily—

"It is a matter of life or death. If Afzool Khan hath any favour in your eyes, O King, save him! there may be time."

"This is some trick on thee, Daood," said the King sneeringly; "we know where he is, and how employed. He is ours no longer, and hath left us of his own free will."

"His wife and daughter are with the BÉgum Sahiba. Read that, and you will know why," answered the man firmly.

"Can it be true?" asked the King of the Peer, opening the note. "Ya Khubeer, O!" he continued, after a pause: "this is wonderful! wonderful! O friends! and yet we had suspected our noble friend. But he is true; see, here is our royal signet to this; no doubt, no doubt."

"What is it?" cried both the Peer and the Secretary in a breath, seeing the King much excited.

"Afzool Khan and his son are imprisoned at the KÓtwallee, and prevented from attending. They must be brought instantly."

"Imprisoned?" cried both together.

"Yes, friends," continued the King, "there is treachery in this, for JehÁndar Beg and the Wuzeer are one, it is clear now, and we must act at once. Ismail Khan," continued he firmly, to an officer who stood behind him clothed in a shirt of mail, "go thou with two hundred of the royal guard, and some of the mirdhas, bring JehÁndar Beg to the presence, and with him Afzool Khan and his son."

"I beg to petition," said the eunuch, "that some of Afzool Khan's Paigah are here, who came with their mistress; they might as well go, if I might send them."

"Of course," replied the King, "why not send the whole Paigah?"

"Excellent," said the Peer; "take what are here with thee, Ismail Khan, at once, and send for the rest. Raheem Khan will not fail thee."

"I am gone, my lord, and will take him with me; he is my son-in-law."

"Ah, I had forgotten. Go; fear not; bring them safely and quickly, friend, for we have much need of their presence."

"Ya Ulla Kureem!" said the Peer devoutly, looking up, "this is thy doing. O, dear old friend! thou art not gone from among us as we had feared. Bismilla, let us proceed! first with these letters of Sivaji's, then with the rest. Afzool Khan will be here by that time, and the people will rise to his call as a man. Inshalla! your poor servant, too, will do his best. Let silence be called again."

It was necessary: for the entrance of the eunuch, the delivery of the note, followed as they were by the withdrawal of Afzool Khan's men, and some of the royal guard, had excited no little curiosity in the assembly. Afzool Khan's absence had been regretted by some, rejoiced in by others, but noticed by all; and now that his men were sent away, the speculations that ensued were various as to the cause; and while some feared disclosures, others already rejoiced in the prospect of his possible disgrace.

"KhÁmÔsh!" again was cried by the same voice, which rung clearly above the buzz of conversation, and was taken up as before—"KhÁmÔsh—silence!"