MEHER AND MŪSHTERI—CONTINUED.
THE FUGITIVES—ROYAL INTERVIEWS—THE CONFLICT—A GARDEN SCENE—AFTERWARDS—
THE DECISION.
It was a ship belonging to a distant province that carried the Persian
prince beyond the reach of the angry Shāh, and after a long trading
voyage, during which they battled with angry seas and perilous rocks,
they landed upon the friendly coast.
The commander was also a merchant, and he bore the name of Sherf; he had
become greatly attached to the prince during the weeks they had spent
together, even though he knew not of his royal rank, for Meher had given
strict orders to his attendants that no hint of his identity should be
given; he was known, therefore, simply as a Persian youth, who, with his
companions, had chosen to seek his fortune in travel.
On his arrival in port the merchant sold his ship, and fitting out a
large caravan he made ready for the journey to his native city. He
warmly urged the prince and his friends to join his party, and Meher
consented to do so, not only because of the greater safety thus
afforded, but also because he disliked to be separated from his newly
found friend.
The known wealth of the merchant caravan, however, was a source of
danger, as the country was infested with banditti, and they were only
three days’ journey from the coast when a night attack was made upon the
encampment; the men were hastily awakened by the guard; but in the
confusion of the darkness the well-planned assault proved only too
successful, and with one daring raid much valuable merchandise was
seized, and several men left in a wounded and dying condition. Meher
sprang to his horse, and calling to his attendants to follow, he rode
away in bold pursuit of the banditti, who were only a few minutes ahead
of him; his horse was in good condition, and the rider well trained, but
the banditti knew every inch of the ground which was new to their
pursuers, and they were thus enabled to pursue a circuitous path which,
for a time, baffled them.
After a long chase in the darkness, however, they were overtaken, and a
desperate struggle ensued. Meher had been followed, not only by his own
attendants, but a few of the more daring among the servants of Sherf had
also answered to his call. The banditti were armed only with arrows and
spears, while the prince and his attendants carried the best Persian
fire-arms, and the men of the caravan were also well equipped, or would
have been, but for the suddenness of the attack.
The banditti were overpowered, for they had depended largely upon the
panic they caused for an opportunity to make their escape in the
darkness, and their quivers were only partially filled with arrows. The
prince had been carefully trained in the use of his weapons, and his
quick and repeated firing brought man after man to the ground, and
though several of his own party had fallen, he soon had the robbers in
his power. He then demanded the stolen property, which was surrendered;
but not satisfied with this, he determined that they should pay more
dearly for their baseness, and he required the stolen jewels which he
knew must be hidden upon their persons, and also their finest horses.
They protested that they had no jewels, but the argument which demanded
their treasures or their lives was inexorable, and the pursuers bore
away more than double the wealth which had been stolen. The morning
dawned before they reached the encampment, and then the prince divided
the booty among the servants of Sherf, who had bravely followed him in
the hour of peril. The wounded men were carried to the camp, and they
received a double share of the spoils.
The owner of the caravan was more than grateful, for he knew that he
could never have recovered the property but for the bravery of the
gallant strangers.
His admiration for Meher knew no bounds, and when order was again
restored and the line of march resumed, he declared that only one woman
in the world was worthy to be his wife, and that was the beautiful
princess Nahīd, the daughter of the king of Khārizm.
Meher answered that his whole anxiety at present was to find a dearly
loved friend, and when that was accomplished perhaps he might think of
marriage.
On their arrival at the city, Sherf insisted that Meher and his friends
should take up their abode in his own spacious home, and for the time
being they consented to do so.
The next day the prince visited the public bath, and his splendid
physique won the admiration of all beholders, greatly to the
satisfaction of his friend. The merchant, on his return from his long
journey, went to the court of King Keiwan, and laid costly gifts at his
feet, as was the custom on the completion of a successful expedition.
The king was anxious to hear the adventures of the traveler, and
listened long to the story of his voyage and wonderful escapes.
The merchant was glad of an opportunity to thus communicate with the
king, and always loyal to Meher he related at length the story of the
night attack, and the daring pursuit of the Persian youth, who succeeded
not only in restoring the property of his host, but also in gaining from
the banditti a rich reward for the servants who so bravely responded to
his call.
ROYAL INTERVIEWS.
The king was greatly interested in the gallant stranger, and he
immediately sent a chamberlain to request his presence at court.
Meher stepped with easy grace into the royal presence and saluted with
due courtesy, but there was no fear in his manner, no awkwardness in the
salute, and the keen-eyed monarch saw at once that he was accustomed to
the presence of royalty, and suspected that he carried noble blood in
his veins.
He was most graciously received, and after a long conversation the king
presented him with a beautiful horse; delighted with the gift, Meher
sprang to the saddle, and rode away like the prince that he was, while
the king looked admiringly on.
The next morning he received another invitation to visit the palace, and
on this occasion he presented a poem which he had written in honor of
the king, when the eloquence of his diction, the music of his rhythm,
and the historical knowledge betrayed by his allusions to the past, made
his production an object of admiration to the literati of the court. It
was customary for those who were presented to make an offering to
royalty, and after apologizing for the humble character of his gift,
Meher ordered one of his attendants to present to his majesty a little
casket which he carried in his hand. With a feeling of curiosity,
mingled with a desire to extend an especial favor, Keiwan received the
gift in his own hands, and upon opening the casket he was astonished to
find richer jewels than any that gleamed in his own treasury. There was
one ruby in that little collection, which, on being placed in water,
radiated a light which colored the water like the blood of the grape,
and the diamonds flashed back the green and purple fire of the emerald
and amethyst beside them.
Here was another factor in the problem which was agitating the mind of
Keiwan, for unless this youth was of royal birth he must surely belong
to some band of robbers who had successfully raided a king’s treasury.
But with true Oriental reticence he forbore to express his surprise,
determined to wait until he could solve the mystery without questions.
Again Meher was summoned to the court and challenged to a game of drafts
with a skillful opponent; being successful in this, he was invited to a
contest in chess with the best player of the kingdom. The king looked on
and saw his young friend checkmate the veteran with six moves. Afterward
the monarch sent him a letter requiring an immediate reply at a time
when his secretary was known to be absent. The messenger waited a few
minutes, and then carried to his royal master a letter which was a model
in its literary style as well as in its mechanical execution. Every
triumph of this kind raised the Persian youth more highly in the
estimation of the king, but he was not yet satisfied, and after a time
he was invited to a trial of strength and agility; the contest took
place in front of the palace, while the queen and the princess Nahīd
looked upon the combatants from behind a screen. Meher rode into the
arena upon his white Arabian steed, and never royal rider mounted a more
magnificent animal, or rode with more grace and ease; as the horse
circled proudly around the arena, his young master shot his arrows
through the distant target until the quiver by his side was empty, then
he threw the javelin, and in a later contest with spears, he carried off
the prize.
Safely hidden behind her costly screen, the beautiful princess watched
the contest, and the victor won not only the plaudits of the multitude,
but also the heart of Nahīd; the prince rode quietly away, but the
princess went to her rooms, with her cheeks flushed and her heart
beating with terror. Already offers had been received from foreign
courts for her hand, and her father had hesitated only to find a more
powerful ally. Full well she knew that, according to the custom of the
East, she was liable to be bargained away at any time, without even a
question in relation to her own preference, for the Eastern woman is
supposed to give her affection wherever policy decides that her hand
shall go. At last she went to her faithful nurse, and told the story of
her love for the stranger, told her how impossible it would be for her
to love any other than the gallant youth who now held her heart in his
hands, and declared that she would take her own life if she were
compelled to marry another.
The nurse was frightened by her strong emotion, and hastened to the
queen with the information; the mother received the message with great
agitation, and soon afterward she sought the presence of the king. Long
and carefully the subject was considered, for they were both favorably
impressed with the stranger, but an alliance of the royal house could
not be lightly made, and whatever might be the accomplishments of Meher
they were obliged to content themselves with his own representations,
for surely there could be no good reason why a man of royal birth should
deny his parentage.
No decision was made, but it must be confessed that Meher stood still
nearer to their hearts on account of the love which their only daughter
bore him. Although a confessed favorite at court, and living in the
enjoyment of luxury, the heart of the prince was oppressed with grief
and loneliness, for he constantly mourned the absence of his friend, and
the fearful uncertainty which hung over his fate.
THE CONFLICT.
A messenger from the king of Samarcānd bore to the court of Keiwan an
offer for the hand of the princess, for the fame of her wondrous
loveliness had spread through all the neighboring kingdoms. The
ambassador came laden with the costliest jewels and the richest brocades
of the East as presents for the bride, for there was no thought in the
heart of King Kāra Khān that his offer might be refused.
Keiwan had long considered the fading rose on the cheek of his beloved
daughter, and more than once he had asked himself if her happiness was
not worth as much as an alliance with some neighboring monarch, who was
liable to betray his trust whenever it might be considered profitable to
do so.
There was a shade of superiority, too, in the manner of the ambassador—
an evident feeling that his master was bestowing a high honor that stung
the proud spirit of King Keiwan, and he returned an unqualified refusal
to the proposition.
This decision was made in opposition to the advice of the Grand Vizir,
who dreaded to insult so powerful a prince, but the king refused to
reconsider his action, and the ambassador went away in anger.
King Kāra Khān received the message of refusal, first with incredulity,
and afterwards with rage; having never seen the girl, he cared nothing
for her personally, but his indignation knew no bounds when he learned
that his expressed wish had been disregarded.
As the Vizir had feared, the return of the disappointed ambassador was
promptly followed by a declaration of war, and soon the Tartar horde was
marching directly upon Khārizm.
King Keiwan was almost overcome with dismay when the news of the
invasion was brought to him, for the Tartar chief was not a foe to be
despised; the court was in more or less confusion on account of the
suddenness of the attack, and in the midst of the general terror, the
nurse of Nahīd went to Meher and told him the story of the great love
that the princess bore for him, and informed him that it was in
deference to this feeling that the king had refused to give his daughter
to the king of Samarcānd.
Feeling that he was the unfortunate cause of the attack upon his royal
friend, the prince went to the king and offered to withstand the foe
with five hundred chosen men. Although the offer was refused, being
looked upon as a useless sacrifice, Meher and his friends insisted that
they should be allowed the privilege of joining the army which marched
out to repulse the attack of the Tartars.
Soon the wild horde of mountaineers bore down upon the Khārizmians, and
it could be seen that the attacking force greatly outnumbered them, but
the troops of Keiwan stood bravely at their post and sent their death-
dealing arrows into the ranks of the foe.
The Tartar chief clad in black armor was leading his troops in person,
and he looked a very fiend as his bloody falchion made great vistas in
the ranks that opposed his progress. The heads of horsemen rolled
beneath his splendid charger, and it seemed that only another Rustem
could withstand the fury of his attack. The black banners were spread
upon the air, and the wild music of gong and tymbalons cheered his
reckless hordes in their fatal work.
There was the clash of spears, the ringing of armor, and the shouts of
the chieftains, mingled with the trampling of horses and the cries of
dying men; still onward came the Tartar chief, cleaving his path through
the opposing forces, even while blade for blade sprang up to meet him.
The Khārizmians were falling back before the irresistible fury of the
onset, and victory was surely perching upon the black banner above the
fatal field. Confusion already reigned amidst the flying troops, when a
warrior youth with a broidered vestment rode out of the retreating ranks
and called upon the men to follow him.
It was a voice of imperial command, the order of a man who rode
fearlessly into the ranks of the foe, and the troops of Keiwan quickly
rallied, the officers reformed their lines, and followed the new leader
into the very jaws of death.
Kāra Khān laughed mockingly as he saw the stripling, who had turned the
retreating lines, riding towards him, but in another moment the boy was
by his side, and before he could draw his sword a quick motion had
thrown him from his horse; the cry went through the Tartar ranks that
the king was slain, and, in the momentary panic caused by the false
alarm, he was captured by the dauntless youth, who hurried him back
within the Khārizmian lines.
Leaving his prisoner in the hands of his own attendants the prince again
turned his horse to the front, and again he led the troops of Keiwan,
this time to an easy victory; the fate of the day being turned by the
capture of the Tartar king, the hordes of the invader either fled from
the field or surrendered to the new leader.
When the royal prisoner was brought before the victorious king, the
order was issued according to the barbaric custom, that he should be
beheaded; but Meher interfered, with the plea that it were far better to
send him back to his own dominions pledged to make an annual tribute to
Keiwan. This would not only increase the royal revenue, but it would
hold the Tartar host in subjection, and also preserve the peace;
whereas, upon the execution of their king his successor would declare
perpetual war against the Khārizmians.
After a time Meher succeeded in convincing the king of the wisdom of a
humane policy, and the captive was allowed to depart in peace, having
taken a solemn pledge to send a rich tribute to the conqueror every year
on the anniversary of his attack.
Keiwan acknowledged that the victory had been secured by Meher, and he
was escorted back to the palace by a portion of the royal guard, while
the honors bestowed upon the prince were second only to those received
by the king himself.
A GARDEN SCENE.
The enameled cupola of the palace, rich with its arabesques of gold, was
partially hidden by the boughs of the tall trees that stood like
sentries around it; at their feet were fountains that poured their
silvery streams into marble tanks, where the gold-fish glided through
the waves, and white lotus blossoms rose above them, filling all the air
with their fragrant breath. There were aloes with their spikes of
silvery blossoms, and pink oleander sprays were reflected back in the
water of the lilied tanks. The bulbul sang in the thickets of roses, and
the sunbirds fluttered through the taller trees, where their eggs of
mottled gray were safely hidden.
As the triumphant warriors returned to the palace the low sun dappled
the green with creeping shadows, and rays of golden light tinted the
trees with splendor. The prince was exhausted with the strong excitement
of the last few days, and especially wearied by the bitter conflict
which he had just passed through: the voices even of victory seemed to
jar upon his ears and he sought in the cool shades of the garden the
rest which he could not hope to find within the palace walls. Here, upon
a bank of verdure, he laid his weary form, and soon fell asleep amidst
the flowers.
On the other side of the tall trees, the princess Nahīd was walking with
her nurse, and they were talking in low tones of the great victory, the
news of which had reached even the apartments of the women. The princess
stood beneath an orange tree, and the tints of rose were blushing
through the soft olive shades of her face, while the dark eyes were
beaming with a wondrous light, for she had heard the name of her beloved
in connection with the deeds of valor upon that well fought field. Her
love-lighted eyes were curtained with long sweeping lashes, and the
mouth of rose and pearl was curved with a smile divine, as they walked
through the green aisles and spoke in joyous whispers of this new
triumph, which could not fail to bring Meher nearer to the heart of the
king. Nahīd was walking slowly in advance of her attendant when she came
to a little opening in the trees, and there upon the bank lay the man
she loved, still held in the restful arms of sleep. She checked the
exclamation of surprise that sprang to her lips, and, cautiously
advancing, she bent above the silent figure and looked long and lovingly
upon the face she knew so well.
The sleeping prince felt her presence, and through his mind there passed
a vision of loveliness; he dreamed that a beautiful woman bent above his
couch holding a pomegranate blossom—the flower of faith. Upon her dark
hair there rested a little cap sewn thick with beaded pearls, and
something whispered in his dream that this was the princess who had
scorned a Tartar king for his sake.
And still the prince dreamed on, and still the bright face bent above
him, all unheeding the frantic gestures of the attendant who would call
the imprudent Nahīd away. But the bulbul in the rose-tree had bolder
grown, and his voice rose higher in a joyous song,—the sleeping prince
awoke, and lo! the vision of his dream was bending o’er him; with one
quick movement, all unheeding Eastern law, he caught her in his arms,
and, as she lay blushing and trembling there, he told her the sweet old
story, which is ever new to the listening heart.
In vain the attendant pleaded that he had no right to even look upon her
unveiled face—in vain she warned them that if this meeting came to the
ears of the king, the life of Meher must pay the penalty of the
forbidden kiss; long he held her there in his warm embrace, and then a
Huma bird floated slowly above them and the attendant thought that a
future king and his queen were before her; for never doth this bird of
happy omen fly around a human head but it will sometime wear a crown.
The sun had rolled away behind the crimson curtains of the west before
the princess stole to her room, but not to sleep, for if a treacherous
eye had seen her with Meher, she might be called with the dawn to
witness his execution.
AFTERWARDS.
The prince went to his chambers with his heart filled with conflicting
emotions; on the one hand was the beautiful princess, who had confided
her love to him, and on the other was the humiliating knowledge that he
had betrayed the trust of his royal friend, the king, who had taken an
unknown youth into his heart and home. Full well he knew that he had no
right to even look into the unveiled face of the princess, no right to
touch the soft hands which were henna stained upon the palms, and yet he
had violated the most sacred law of hospitality by holding her in his
arms—nay, he had even pressed her crimson lips with his own; in that
hour of strong self-condemnation he did not dread the righteous anger of
the king, he felt rather, that it devolved upon him to go into the
court, and make a full confession of his base act and bravely receive
the deserved punishment.
Another bitter thought added not a little to his self-reproach, for was
he not also a traitor to the sacred trust of friendship? His chosen
friend was in constant peril, he knew not where, and he was living in
ease and luxury without trying to find him; he thought he could go to
the king, and, by proving his royal birth and his claim to the Persian
throne, he could hopefully ask for the hand of the princess, but this
would be a virtual desertion of the cause of his friend, and he could
not consent to thus sacrifice the sacred claims of fraternal love for
his own pleasure and happiness. Long he tossed upon his sleepless couch
and still the matter was far from settled; at last he fell into a
feverish slumber which was haunted by a fair face, with dark, loving
eyes, but there were also visions of a loyal friend who was suffering on
account of his unyielding devotion to the prince—even the vindictive
face of Behrām passed before his mind, and the morning found him still
weary and disturbed. He decided, however, to pursue his search for
Mūshteri, even at the risk of losing Nahīd, for was not this his first
and most sacred obligation?
Having resolved to follow what seemed the path of duty, at whatever
cost, his tempest-torn heart was at rest. Surely the sacrifice and
renunciation were better than the gratification of self-love, and when
he had found his friend he would present to the king a formal request
for the hand of Nahīd. While yet he pondered, a messenger was announced
from the king with an order for his immediate presence in the council
chamber of the palace.
THE DECISION.
The imperative nature of the summons bore with it an air of danger; it
was not the kindly invitation which he had been wont to receive, or at
least the messenger did not deliver it as such, and the scene in the
garden with all its possible consequences, flashed before the mind of
the prince. He dismissed the chamberlain with the reply that the call
would be promptly obeyed, and then sat down to collect his thoughts in
order to be prepared for whatever ordeal might await him.
He could not avoid the conviction that he must now pay the penalty for
his betrayal of the king’s trust, and he thought of the broken-hearted
mother who was grieving her life away over the uncertain fate of her
child; he had no hope that he could even send her a message, for
Oriental monarchs were not in the habit of granting such privileges to
men who were condemned to execution.
But he had little time for sad reflections, and soon he was on his way
to obey the imperial summons. He was ushered into the royal presence and
was received with the usual courtesies, but the king ordered the Vizir
to leave the room, and then Meher knew that he should soon learn his
fate.
The monarch slowly recounted the principal incidents of their
acquaintance, and after giving an account of the battle and the victory
which Meher had snatched from the very hands of defeat, he said: “I have
consulted with my principal counselors, and we have decided that the
only suitable reward which we can confer upon the unknown Persian youth
is to give him the Princess Nahīd in marriage.”
Meher fell upon his knees in an ecstacy of gratitude, and it was some
time before he could even thank the king for his great kindness; but he
could not prove himself further unworthy of this great trust, and after
expressing, as best he could, his appreciation of the priceless gift, he
proceeded with true manliness, to tell his whole story to King Keiwan.
He told of his parentage, his claims to the crown of Persia, his
unchanging friendship with Mūshteri, who was exiled for his sake, of his
determination to find his friend, and his great appreciation of the
kindness of his royal host.
Nothing was hidden in this manly confession; the scene in the garden was
given with unfaltering truthfulness, even while the narrator watched the
dark frown that was gathering upon the brow of Keiwan. The angry king
listened in dismay, though he could but admire the moral courage of the
prince, who, when he had finished, threw himself upon the clemency of
Keiwan.
There was a silence that seemed to bode little good to Meher, and then
the king said: “I have seen how thou could’st forgive, even a foe; I
have seen thee plead for Kāra Khān, who would gladly have taken thy
life, if it were in his power; a king cannot afford to be less
magnanimous than thyself—arise and receive my forgiveness. But the
grateful prince remained at his feet and there expressed his devout
thankfulness.
In this long and candid interview he also told Keiwan that while he held
in his heart a great love for the beautiful princess, and nothing in
life could give him greater joy than to call her his own, still he dared
not give up, even for her sake, his search for the friend of his
childhood, who might even now be in jeopardy on account of his loyalty.
Again he braved the royal displeasure, by seeming to undervalue the
priceless gift, even while his own heart cried out for his love. Again
that ominous frown passed over the brow of the king, and his words were
followed by a silence so profound that he could hear his own heart-
beats. After a time the king spoke, but only to chide him for his ill-
chosen friendship, only to tell him that his hope was useless, and to
urge him to give up the fruitless search.
Meher replied that it was impossible—that he could not be happy in
heaven itself, if he had betrayed the trust of his friend, and whatever
might be the cost, he must either find him or give his life to the
unavailing search; he was then dismissed from the king’s presence, and
went away feeling that although he was under the royal displeasure, he
must still be true to himself.