Part 23

“In the _mejlis_” (_i.e._, the council), “and in the presence of others,” replied Reschid, “the Kiahia will talk before Mohammed Ali with great solemnity and severity about offences against the laws, &c., but when they are together in private, he will tell him that you were a hot-blooded youngster, driven mad by the insulting cruelty of Osman Bey; and it is fortunate that even the merchants and villagers who have sent in complaints of having been plundered by your band have always written that you never permitted any bloodshed, and that you often restored to the poorest the booty taken from them. No, no, Hassan; you have nought to fear, for we will bring such a battery to bear upon the Viceroy that he will not be able long to hold out. We will attack him in front, while a certain Khanum, whom I could mention, will besiege the harem; for we have all heard how you saved the life of Delì Pasha’s daughter, and as Fate seems to have destined you to be a robber, you began your trade by stealing her heart.”

“Not so, Reschid,” replied Hassan, laughing; “I gave her my own first, and if she would not give it me back, but chose to give me hers in place of it, you cannot accuse me of theft.”

“I wish some dark-eyed houri would steal mine,” said Reschid, “for it is a very troublesome article to keep in one’s own possession. I know not why I should have lent you a large slice of mine from the date of our first acquaintance, for you do not deserve it; you have not even offered me your congratulations.”

“On what event?” said Hassan. “On your marriage?”

“Marriage? no,” replied his merry friend; “on becoming a great man! Have you not heard that since we parted I have been made _khaznadâr_ to the Kiahia? Mashallah! it is a wonderful office. Bakshishes are plentiful as petitioners, and if I wanted money I should only have to stand for a minute before our divan with my hand open and my eyes shut. Wallah! Hassan, I am in a fair way to become a greater robber than ever you have been.”

“I will not dispute the precedence with you,” replied Hassan. “I congratulate you heartily; but as I am now a poor prisoner, and have no bakshish to offer, I fear I cannot expect that your Excellency will intercede with the Kiahia on my behalf.”

“Bakkalum! we shall see,” answered Reschid with mock gravity, and took his leave.

Another of the earliest and most frequent of Hassan’s visitors was his old friend Ahmed Aga, who brought him many kind messages from Delì Pasha, although the latter had been forbidden by the Viceroy for the present to visit Hassan in person. Neither did our hero long remain without secret communication with his lady-love; for he had not been two days in Cairo ere the _bowàb_ sent up word that a dumb boy wished to see him, and Murad rushed into the room and kissed Hassan’s feet and hands with every demonstration of overflowing attachment.

Our hero was much touched by the grateful affection of his mute _protégé_, whom he received with all his former kindness, and he soon found himself seated by the side of the intelligent boy practising over again the finger-language that he had partially forgotten. His efforts did not long go unrewarded, for he was soon able to comprehend that his youthful companion was a frequent visitor to Delì Pasha’s harem, where he was a great favourite of the old chief eunuch and of Fatimeh Khanum, and that he sometimes had the honour of being introduced into the presence of Amina herself. The young lady flattered herself that the interest which she felt in the dumb boy arose entirely from compassion for his infirmity, but it _may_ have been partially owing to his having been a _protégé_ of Hassan.

How happily Hassan made him relate all his little tales of the harem—how he had bought some fine blue beads for the eunuch and some sweetmeats for Fatimeh, of which she had given him a portion to eat. “And see what I got from another,” and as he spoke he pulled out a little bouquet of flowers.

“Who gave you these? and for whom were they intended?” said Hassan, impatiently.

“I must not tell,” replied the sly little messenger, giving them to Hassan; “but I have done with them as I was bid.”

“And I,” replied Hassan, “must not give you any message concerning them, but you may say what became of them,” and as he spoke he pressed them to his lips, and opening his vest placed them near his heart. The little boy smiled, and kissing his protector’s sleeve, withdrew to give an account of his mission.

Cheered by such visits, Hassan’s time passed agreeably enough. Nor was his confinement irksome, for at the back of his father’s house was a space sufficiently large to admit of his taking his favourite exercise, and he employed several hours in breaking in and training for the jereed game several high-couraged young colts which he found in his father’s stable.

Nevertheless, day after day passed without bringing any material change in his situation. The exertions of his friends seemed to have failed in inducing Mohammed Ali to grant him a free pardon, and Dervish Bey refused to make any second application, saying—

“If the fact of the brave boy’s having saved the life of Mohammed Ali’s faithful soldier and servant does not merit reward in his estimation, I would rather cut out my tongue than apply to him again.”

Time wore on, and Hassan’s spirits, which had begun to be depressed by the monotony of his life, were again refreshed by the arrival of Abou-Hamedi leading Shèitan, who had entirely recovered from his wounds, and whose coat, saving two or three honourable scars, was as bright and glossy as ever.

A packet also reached Cairo from Hadji Ismael, the merchant, sent in reply to a letter written to him by Hassan immediately on his arrival. The packet contained all the relics which had been found on Hassan’s infant person. Although not necessary to confirm Hassan’s identity, of which the veteran had never entertained a doubt, a tear fell as he saw these reminiscences of his youth and of his long-lost wife.

“Hassan,” said his father, “I have ascertained that the old woman from whom I had hoped to learn something of your mother’s fate is dead; but we must not abandon hope. Allah is great, and he is the revealer of secrets. Our proverb says, ‘Patience is the key of happiness’; let us be patient, my son, and trust in Allah.”

One day Dervish Bey, in consequence of a message received from Delì Pasha, had gone to Boulak to pay him a visit. After the interchange of the customary pipes and compliments the attendants were dismissed, and Delì Pasha told his old comrade that he had just seen the Kiahia Pasha, and had learnt from him that he entertained a good hope that Hassan would soon receive a full pardon from the Viceroy, in confident anticipation of which he wished to speak with him on the subject of the marriage of their children, of whose mutual attachment there could be no doubt.

Dervish Bey assured his old comrade of the sincere pleasure which the alliance would give to himself, and after a brief and friendly discussion respecting the dowry and the provision to be made for the young couple, which terminated to their mutual satisfaction, Delì Pasha said—

“Now, Dervish, that we are to be related by the marriage of our children, and as you have no wife to settle these harem affairs for you, it is right that you should see your intended daughter-in-law, and I will send and inquire whether she is in her apartment and can receive us now.” He clapped his hands and delivered the message to a servant, who speedily returned from the harem door with the reply, “On our head be it, we shall be honoured by your visit.”

Amina remained in her inner room. How her heart beat at the thought that she was going to see Hassan’s father, and as she reflected that her father could not have brought him to the harem had not the marriage been agreed upon between them. Fatimeh Khanum was charged to receive them and pay the first compliments in the outer apartment, after which she was to introduce both to Amina’s presence.

As soon as they entered the harem curtain-door Fatimeh, in her capacity of Kiahia Khanum, received them with a courteous salam, and commenced the usual complimentary phrases of welcome, when her tongue began to falter: she threw back her veil to see more clearly the features of Dervish Bey, and then, throwing wide her arms in the attempt to embrace his knees, she exclaimed, “Selim! Selim!” and fell fainting at his feet.

Raising her gently and placing her on a divan which was near, the veteran gazed upon her altered but pleasing features, and tears of joyful emotion started in his eyes as he said, “It is, indeed, my long-lost Zeinab! Allah be thanked! what blessings has he poured on my grey head.”

Amina, alarmed at the exclamation and the fall of her faithful friend, whom she loved almost as a mother, rushed into the room, and giving a rapid glance of greeting to her father, hastened to the side of the insensible Khanum.

With what overwhelming emotions did the rude old soldier, who had been for so many years cast out from all the comforts and tender ties of domestic life, contemplate the lovely figure bending with all the anxious care of a daughter over his newly-found wife. She sprinkled her brow with water, chafed the cold hands within her own, and when she found that her efforts were successful, and that the Khanum began to recover her senses, she threw back the redundant tresses that had fallen over her face and neck, and looking up in her father’s face, said, almost in a tone of reproach—

“Father, what has been said or done to reduce my dear Khanum to this state?”

“Come into the next room, my child, and I will tell you all,” said Delì Pasha, leading her away; and then observing that the Khanum was fast coming to herself, he added, addressing the other attendants, “Begone, all of you, and wait without.”

While Delì Pasha was explaining to his daughter the unexpected accident by which Dervish Bey had found in their Kiahia Khanum, whom they had always known as Fatimeh, his long-lost wife Zeinab, the reunited couple, left alone, were recounting to each other the incidents and adventures that they had met with during their long separation; and when Fatimeh learnt that Hassan was indeed her son, tears of grateful pride and joy streamed from her eyes as she said—

“Oh, Selim, a secret voice in my heart whispered this to me, and yet I dared not believe it. I saw him, and I loved him with an affection that I could not explain to myself. In fear and terror I was the confidante of his love for Amina. I thought that I was doing wrong; and yet, while I warned and reproved them both, Allah knows how my heart bled and longed to see them united. Allah be praised for all his goodness. They will yet be happy! for in truth, Selim, there lives not in all Egypt a maiden so sweet, so adorned with all high and lovable qualities, as my Amina. Let us go in and see her, and let her know how happy we are.” So saying, she led the way into the inner room, where Amina threw herself into the Khanum’s arms. The tender words of “my mother” and “my child” interchanged between them could scarcely add anything to the affection which they had borne to each other in their former relation of instructress and pupil.

Seldom does it happen that a Mohammedan soil, so sterile of domestic affections, can witness so happy a kindred group as was there assembled; and the news soon spread throughout the house that their Kiahia Khanum was the mother of Hassan and the wife of Dervish Bey. All the eunuchs and slave-girls in the harem crowded round her to kiss her hand, and she found in their sincere congratulations a reward for the gentle rule that she had exercised over them.

The other wives of Delì Pasha also sent over from the opposite wing of the harem a message that they wished to come over and pay her a visit of felicitation; and as it was contrary to etiquette that Dervish Bey should see them, he availed himself of the opportunity to rise and take his leave, saying—

“I must go and communicate this happy news to our dear boy: you know not how his heart has longed to find and embrace his mother. Amina, may I take him a message from you? What shall I say to him?”

A blush passed over the face of the maiden as she replied in a low voice, “Say to him what your kind heart dictates. With my father’s permission I will not gainsay your words.”

“May I tell him, then,” said the veteran, “that his faithful love is returned?”

Amina raised her liquid eyes to her father’s face, and meeting there an approving smile, she murmured, “Now, and for ever!”

With what a light and buoyant heart did the old soldier mount his horse to return to his house and communicate his budget of glad tidings to his son; but he was doomed to disappointment, for on inquiring for Hassan he was nowhere to be found. One of the _sàises_, on being questioned, stated that he had ridden out early in the morning, accompanied by Abou-Hamedi, but no one knew whither he had gone.

“Rash boy!” exclaimed Dervish Bey; “now has he overthrown all our plans, and dipped our hands in scalding water. He was under arrest, and ordered to remain within these walls. Mohammed Ali will be furious, and Allah knows how we shall appease his anger.”

Let us now explain the circumstances which had led to Hassan’s sudden disappearance.

Before the dawn of this same day Hassan had been roused from his sleep by the entrance of Murad, the dumb boy, who had with the greatest difficulty awakened the drowsy _bowàb_ and obtained admittance. Our hero saw at a glance that his young _protégé’s_ countenance was haggard and careworn, and that he was exhausted by fatigue.

After ordering some bread and a cup of coffee to be brought immediately, he asked Murad in his usual kindly tone what had led him to come before daylight, and why he looked so pale and fatigued. The little boy gazed at him earnestly, and then with his fast-moving fingers said, “A matter of life and death.”

“Rest and compose yourself for a few moments,” replied Hassan, who saw that the boy was in a state of nervous excitement, and he would not permit him to begin his story until he had eaten some bread and drunk his cup of coffee. But the secret with which Murad’s breast was charged was of such a nature that he longed to unburden it to his protector, fearing that the loss even of a few minutes might be productive of disastrous consequences.

His narrative was as follows: On the preceding day he had accidentally passed by a café situated near the Bab-en-Nasr (the Gate of Victory), when he heard a voice within, which he thought he recognised as that of Osman Bey, in conversation with another man, and he distinguished plainly the names of Mohammed Ali, Delì Pasha, and that of the Kiahia, mentioned in rapid and eager tones. In conclusion the one speaker said to the other—

“It must be done quickly: meet me here again to-night, two hours after sunset, and bring the others with you.”

Murad felt an irresistible curiosity to learn the subject of this evening conference, and he did not anticipate much difficulty in doing so, as he was well known to the keeper of the coffee-shop, a bluff old Arnàout, who had often allowed the friendless and mutilated child to earn or beg a few coppers at his door before the kindness of Hassan and Amina had placed him beyond the reach of absolute want.

Hastening home, Murad took out of his box an old and ragged dress, which he had not worn for a twelvemonth, and having put it on, hung round his neck a tablet with which he had formerly solicited the assistance of the charitable, and on which was written in Turkish and Arabic, “Give a few _paras_ to the deaf and dumb for the love of Allah!”

He sallied forth about an hour after sunset, and made his way to the café. Old Arnàout, on noticing him, said, “Murad, poor little fellow, it is long since I have seen you; where have you been?” Receiving no reply, he added, “I forgot that he can neither hear nor answer me”; so saying, he dropped one or two copper coins into his hand, which Murad put into a little tin box which was slung beside his tablet. He then entered the café, as had been his custom of old, assisting the urchin who waited on the guests in carrying them lighted coals for their pipes or taking away empty _finjâns_ of coffee. But the guests were few, for the café was in an unfrequented part of the town, and the weather was cold.

The last of them were just retiring when Osman Bey entered, accompanied by three or four other men, all of whom, like himself, were wrapped in large cloaks. It was evident that they were desirous of preserving an incognito, for they had brought with them neither servants nor pipes: they sipped, however, some coffee, and smoked the rude _chibouques_ of the café.

After a short time they were joined by another party, consisting also of four or five men, in the foremost of whom Murad recognised Ali Bey, the colonel of the regiment of Bashi-Bazouks who were on duty at the Esbekiah, and guarded Mohammed Ali’s palace in that quarter. For some time they conversed on indifferent subjects, but ere long they called for arrack, which seemed to loosen their tongues, while Murad went about among them renewing their pipes.

“Who is this youngster?” said Ali Bey, catching him by the arm, while he addressed the coffee-house-keeper.

“He is a poor child whom I have known for several years,” replied the Arnàout. “He comes here sometimes to earn or beg a few _paras_; he is deaf and dumb.”

“Is he?” replied Ali Bey, drawing the boy towards him and reading the tablet on his breast; “then he is just the boy for us. Send out those lads of yours, and Wallah! if we catch one of them coming within earshot we will clip their ears for them; we want to talk over our private affairs.” He added a few words in Greek which Murad did not understand, to which the Arnàout replied by a wink and disappeared.

“Bring me a pipe,” said Ali Bey, suddenly turning to Murad and speaking in a loud stern voice. Murad never stirred, but stared in the Colonel’s face and opened his little tin box.

“Jaffier spoke the truth,” muttered the Colonel half aloud. “I thought he would not dare to deceive me; the imp is as deaf as a stone.” They then continued to drink their cans of arrack, which Murad refilled for them, while they spoke without reserve of the plans which they had met to arrange, and which were neither more nor less than to seize or kill Mohammed Ali and overthrow his Government.

“Are you sure of your Bashi-Bazouks, Ali?” inquired Osman Bey.

“Never fear them,” replied Ali; “the dogs are as savage as bears. We have drawn their pay from the Treasury, but we have not given them a _para_ of it for some months, and have told them that Mohammed Ali refuses to pay them and threatens to bastinado any of them that demand their pay. They are all on guard at the Esbekiah Palace, and if he falls into their clutches he will not give us much more trouble. The difficulty is how to bring him there, for the guards at Shoobra are obstinate fellows, and would fight like devils!”

“I will manage that matter,” said Osman Bey. “Those Shoobra guards are from Delì Pasha’s regiment. I will go there to-morrow morning and ask an audience of Mohammed Ali, and will easily persuade him that those guards are not to be trusted, for that Delì Pasha wants to marry his daughter to that outlawed robber Hassan, who is now in Cairo, and as they have not been able to obtain his pardon, they are conspiring against the Viceroy and tampering with the guards, who are of Delì Pasha’s own regiment. Mohammed Ali will assuredly believe there is some truth in this statement, and will agree to my proposal of coming in at once to his palace at the Esbekiah.”

“Have you succeeded yet in introducing the brother of your man Ferraj into the household at Shoobra?” inquired another of the conspirators.

“Yes,” replied Osman Bey. “Hadji Mohammed is employed in the house, and tells me all that goes on. If our other plans fail, that scoundrel can do the job for us with a cup of coffee; and he _must_ do my bidding, for he knows that a word of mine can send him when I will to the _gellad_ [executioner] or the galleys.”

“How are your fellows, Nour-ed-din?” said Ali, the Colonel, addressing one of the conspirators. “Can we count upon them?”

“I am not sure,” replied the officer thus interrogated. “I have kept back their pay too, and have thrown out a few phrases to stir their discontent. They grumble enough, and if our first blow succeeds they will doubtless join us; but they are much afraid of Ibrahim Pasha. How is he affected in this matter?”

“We must not tell it him beforehand,” replied Osman Bey; “for with all his cruelty he is a craven at heart and might betray us, not from the love but the fear that he has for Mohammed Ali. Let us put the Old Lion out of the way, and I will answer for managing Ibrahim afterwards. He will not be very angry, depend upon it.”

They then exchanged a few more sentences to regulate their proceedings for the following day, of which Murad only caught the words, “You all meet at my house at noon.” This was spoken by Ali Bey, who as he rose up to go away almost stumbled over the prostrate form of Murad, who had rolled himself in his old torn cloak and lay on the floor feigning sleep, but listening with eager anxiety to the dangerous secrets of which he had accidentally been made the partaker.

“What is this son of a dog doing here?” said Ali Bey, pointing with his foot to the recumbent form of Murad.

“It is only the deaf and dumb child,” replied one of the others contemptuously.

“Supposing he should prove to be neither deaf nor dumb, nor asleep?” said the suspicious Arnàout.

“I will just give him six inches of my dagger in the ribs, and then I shall be sure that he is deaf and dumb.” So saying, he drew his dagger, and held over the boy’s face a half-expiring lamp that he snatched from the table. A start, a tremor, the slightest indication of consciousness, would have been Murad’s instant death-warrant; but the brave little boy bore the severe ordeal. Not a muscle nor a quickened respiration betokened aught but the quiet slumber of youth.

“Pish!” said the rough savage, “his sleep is fast enough, whether he be deaf or not. Inshallah! before long my dagger will drink better blood than his.” So saying, he strode out of the café, followed by the other conspirators, who separated and went to their several homes.

For nearly an hour after they were gone Murad remained motionless collecting his scattered thoughts, which, unaccustomed as they were to dwell on conspiracies or political revolutions, seemed oppressed and overwhelmed by the terrible secret which he bore about him.

No sooner, however, did he recover from the terror which he had endured from the Arnàout’s dagger than he resolved at once to hasten to Hassan and tell him everything. This he did before dawn, as we have above mentioned; and our hero, having heard his tale, and made him repeat certain portions of it so as to feel assured of the accuracy of his memory, told Murad to remain in his room till he returned.

Having armed himself with a brace of pocket-pistols and a short dagger, which he concealed within his vest, he mounted his horse, and, accompanied by Abou-Hamedi, rode out towards the desert by the Gate of Victory. After skirting the desert for a couple of miles he turned to the left, through some cultivated fields and olive-plantations, until he found himself at the gates of the Shoobra garden. His only fear was that he might be denied access to the Viceroy; but he had made up his mind to demand it through his old acquaintance the medical interpreter.

Assuming, therefore, an authoritative air, he said to the gatekeeper in Turkish, “I wish to see the Hakim-Bashi, and my business with him is urgent.”