In the centre was a great baldachin of amaranth silk enriched with long fringes of silver, stretched on twelve pillars of twisted gold, and underneath there sat upon the Great White Divan, Hámed, son of Mohammed el Bákèri, the all-powerful Sultan of the Ahír. Upon his head was a turban of pale green silk, in front of which was a splendid diamond aigrette, while the robes he wore were of rich white silk brocade. Behind His Majesty stood two negro slaves cooling him with large fans of peacocks’ feathers. Around him were his gorgeously-attired body-servants, to whom he was giving some instructions, being just about to rise from his midday meal. As I burst upon them, with the gigantic eunuch in pursuit, the guards were in a moment on the alert, and those who were prostrate before their sovereign sprang to their feet and drew their swords.
“Seize him!” cried the eunuch excitedly. “He is a slave who hath escaped!”
“My gracious lord the Sultan!” I gasped breathlessly, prostrating myself before the royal divan as the slaves pounced upon me. “Hear me, I beseech thee! Let not thy servants remove me before I have spoken.”
“The slave hath merely some paltry grievance,” exclaimed the eunuch, with ceremonious obeisance.
“It is no grievance,” I cried wildly. “I come to give thee warning, O Sultan, Mighty of the Earth, that ere the shadows lengthen thou wilt die!”
“Silence, slave! Heed what thou sayest!” the Sultan thundered, pale with anger as he rose stately and superb from his divan. He was tall and of majestic presence, though his dark, sinister features bore distinct impress of the vile and brutal passions which actuated him. “Silence!” he cried again, and his servants fell before him with genuflections inspired by awe. “Slave! thou, who hast passed the portals of the private courts of thy Sovereign to prophesy his discomforture, hast dared to address thy Ruler without leave! Knowest thou not that none are allowed in this our pavilion unless commanded, under pain of instant death?”
“I come to forewarn thee, O August Ruler, of impending evil — ”
“Stop thy chatter, dog!” he shouted, his face livid with sudden passion. The storm burst, and the dark cloud, swollen with his accumulated exasperation, exploded in a tremolo full of threats. When the Sultan Hámed broke out, he was terrible. “I heed not the croakings of a common slave who — ”
“But men, jealous of thy position, have plotted to compass thy death ere to-day’s sun hath set!”
“Liar! Thou art indeed demented,” he cried, in full combustion. Then, in the frightful rumbling of his phrases, in the incessant crackling of his words, he roared bitter corrosive invectives that caused his robust frame to vibrate as they issued forth. Suddenly, turning to his trembling body-servants, he added, “Seize him! Let his prophetic tongue be torn out as a punishment for daring to predict evil in our presence!”
“Hear me, I pray thee, Just and Mighty one, slow to anger and of great mercy! It is to save thy Majesty’s life that — ”
“The Sultan of the Ahír desireth not the aid of a slave!” he answered proudly. “I would send thee to execution at Azarmádarangh at once, only I think thy mind is deranged, and if so, thy boldness is not of thine own fault. But the chatter of the idiot annoyeth the sane, therefore thy tongue shall be removed, so that, though mad, thou wilt in future be dumb.” Turning quickly to my captors, he added, “Let him be cast into prison and rendered speechless. Away with him!”
For this rebuff I was totally unprepared, and my courage sank.
“Wilt thou show no mercy towards thine humble slave, who hath risked his life to prostrate himself before thee and give thee warning?” I ventured to cry earnestly, in final appeal.
“Take him from my sight,” commanded the Sultan, waving his hand angrily. “See that his glib tongue wags not after sundown.”
“Merciful Allah!” I implored, struggling violently with those who held me. “Behold, I am thy slave, O lord the Sultan! Hear me, I beseech of thee!”
But His Majesty, uttering a string of voluble curses upon my family through generations, turned his back towards me with a gesture of impatience, and I was unceremoniously hurried from his terrible presence.
The Sultan had, however, stepped from his divan, therefore, at the entrance to the pavilion I was held back by the four stalwart guards in order to let him pass through to the spacious Hall of Audience. Surrounded by his body-servants, he strode along with regal gait and keen, observant eye; then, after he had gone, I was dragged onward at a distance behind not so great as to prevent me watching his progress.
Gaining the Hall of Audience, one of the most gorgeous apartments of the Fáda, Mukhtar, the Grand Vizier, suddenly appeared, and, bowing low, craved a hasty and private word with his royal master. The plot was being carried out before my eyes! The Sultan, halting at the entrance to the long arched arcade that gave access to the Court of the Treasury, waved his hand, motioning those surrounding him to pass onward.
The armed janissaries standing erect and mute as statues along the walls of the audience-chamber exchanged expectant glances full of meaning, and I knew that they were anxiously awaiting the commission of the dastardly crime. I would, even at that moment, have shouted a last warning, but, alas! the men in whose hands I stood powerless had gagged me in compliance with the desire of their irate master.
Until the servants and guards had passed through the long dimly-lit arcade and crossed the paved court beyond, Mukhtar held his royal master in earnest conversation, then, prostrating himself humbly, he rose and took his leave, while His Majesty, hitching his robes of spotless silk about him, moved onward briskly and alone down the silent arcade.
Upon Mukhtar’s lips a momentary smile of satisfaction played as he stalked away. It told me that the doom of the Sultan Hámed was at hand! Walking still in the grip of the guards, I watched the upright and truly regal figure of His Majesty receding until he had passed half-way along the great arched corridor. Then suddenly a second figure was sharply silhouetted against the brilliant sunlight at the end of the vista. A strong arm was raised, a gleaming scimitar whirled aloft, and a loud cry of surprise and dismay echoed until it reached the spot where we stood.
Next second the headless body of Hámed, Sultan of the Ahír, lay at the Chief Eunuch’s feet, and upon the polished marble pavement a dark, ugly pool was rapidly forming.
My four captors, paralysed and amazed, released me and dashed along towards the prostrate body of their master, but in an instant the scimitars of the guards of the Hall of Audience were hovering over their heads, and after a desperate but brief struggle they were secured and gagged.
So swiftly indeed had the secret assassination been accomplished, that, ere I could realise that the plot had been carried out, the body had been thrust into a sack and removed, slaves who had actually held water in readiness had washed the stains from the marble, and almost before one could regain breath, every trace of the terrible crime had been erased.
Chapter Twenty Seven
The False Cadi
The gulf of accident lies between what is and what might have been. Strangely enough, the very tragedy which I had endeavoured to avert saved me from the torture and imprisonment to which the brutal autocrat had condemned me, for when my guards were hurried away to the prison cells, and I explained to my master, the murderer Amagay, the fate to which the dead Sultan had condemned me without telling him the cause, he bade me return immediately to the Court of the Eunuchs, sending two of the guardians of the harem to escort me thither.
Thus