CHAPTER XXI.

MEHER AND MŪSHTERI—CONCLUDED.

THE WEDDING—A COUNCIL—ROYAL CAVALCADE—THE MESSENGER—RECEPTION.

A pavilion was built beneath the palm trees, and the fire-flies lit their signals afresh in the thickets of foliage, for it was amidst the shades of the garden that the singers were placed, whose sweetest notes were to be poured forth at the royal wedding. Within the palace, the courts were all ablaze with light and loveliness; lamps of graven silver were swinging from the fretted roof, suspended by long chains, and fed with the perfumed oils of distant lands. Their soft light fell on silken hangings and tapestries from Eastern looms, while crystal vases gleamed here and there, filled with branches of orange trees or sprays of magnolia blossoms. It was here that Meher received his royal bride, and when the ceremony was finished, the notes of music floated in through the casement, and mingled with the breath of the flowers. Still nearer seemed to come the dream-like harmonies, as the tones of pipe and lute were mingled with the voices of the singers and the musical ripple of the fountains.

Then the dancing girls floated into the bright halls, and swayed gracefully through the soft measures, and all was motion, light and jewels. Golden chains were woven in their dark hair, and silver bangles gleamed upon the shapely ankles, where little bells kept time with gliding feet. Each dancer held a dainty lute of gold and sandal wood, which answered to the swaying of her arms and the soft beat of graceful hands. And still the music from without floated through the lattice and mingled with the harmonies within. But in this festal scene Love was the honored guest. He came to rule the court and grove; his were the symphonies that breathed a richer note than all the garden singers; his were the harmonies that shaped the loyal lives, and led the happy feet along the aisles of time.

Bewildered with the beauty and love of his bride, Meher lived for weeks unheeding the lapse of time, for all the days were crowned with gold and radiant with the blossoms of love. But there came a morning when the picture of his grieving mother was forced upon his heart and mind with all its power, and he remembered that not alone to his lovely wife belonged his fealty.

They were sitting together beneath the sheltering branches of a great magnolia tree, whose creamy flowers were bursting from the green sheath of the bud, and the air was rich with fragrance. On the green bank beyond them, the peacocks drew their gorgeous trains, and birds sang in the tall trees in the distance.

The dark eyes of the prince had a look of sadness in them, and there was a cloud, the first that Nahīd had ever seen upon his handsome brow; she drew closer within the sheltering arm, and her soft, dark eyes looked anxiously into his. His own heart read her pleading question, even before her lips had framed it, and then he told her of the loving mother who was grieving her life away amidst the splendors of another court—of the faithful heart that looked longingly for his return and refused to be comforted, because he came not.

“But what can we do?” questioned the princess. “Thou canst not leave the wife to go even to the mother.”

“No,” answered the prince, “but can I not take my bride with me? Can I not take my peerless pearl to the royal court which is my rightful inheritance? Can I not bear to her arms the beauteous daughter that I have given her? Surely my wife should receive my mother’s blessing! Let me take thee there before the faithful mother-heart is cold in death.”

“But my father,” faltered Nahīd, “will he consent? Will he allow thee to bear me away to a strange land to claim the lost inheritance?”

“The king should remember that not only filial love demands my return, but I can never make my bride the queen that she should be—I can never place a royal crown upon her lovely brow unless I return to the land of my fathers,” answered the prince; and then he told her, with loving thought, of the land where the palms grew higher by striving toward the sun, of the marble palaces of Istakhar, standing beside the river that came down from the heights rippling with low harmonies, as the waves dashed on the sanded shores; told her, too, of the mountains beyond the marble city, where the wild swans came to their nesting places,—white voyagers on the seas of blue, calling, in soft notes, down the line, while love was leading them homeward, to the sheltered nooks beside the pools of the mountain stream.

Long they stayed in loving converse, and when they turned to the palace court, the prince had won from his bride a promise that she would see the king, and win, if possible, his consent to the long bridal trip, that she now looked forward to with pleasure.

ROYAL CAVALCADE.

The king listened patiently to the plea of Nahīd, for though he knew that the long journey would take her from him, perhaps forever, he also knew that the throne of Persia might be waiting for their coming, and at last he consented that the prince should bear his bride away to wear a crown in the halls of the proud Sassanian kings.

But she should not go dowerless to the home of her husband. Keiwan therefore gave orders for the fitting out of a magnificent cavalcade, comprising a thousand camels of the purest Syrian blood, a thousand splendid Arabian steeds and a thousand Indian slaves, besides a military escort composed of the finest troops in the service of the king.

The morning was radiant with golden sunlight when the splendid procession left the city of Khārizm; the streets were gorgeous with flags, and branches of flowering trees stood by every doorway, while the palace itself was covered with silken banners, lightly draped with wreaths of flowers. The excited horses, with their golden caparisons, tossed their heads in the air, and pranced with joy as the strains of music rang out from the balconies around them, and the camels gently shook their light-toned bells in every passing breeze. Hundreds of banners floated above the troops and waved like the wings of birds in the sunlight; the gleaming swords of the warriors were pointed up to heaven, and a thousand voices rang with joyous acclamation. Keiwan and his queen rode in the imperial chariot immediately behind the camels bearing the luxurious cushions of the prince and his bride, for they traveled a day’s journey with them before bidding their children farewell, and then returned sorrowfully to their lonely palace home.

The gorgeous cavalcade moved slowly onward, over hill and plain, and through a forest where all the branches laughed with songs of birds, and trusses of scarlet pomegranate blossoms gleamed here and there through the rich foliage. When night came down upon the landscape an encampment was made beside a river, and pavilions of scarlet and gold were furnished with costly cushions that invited repose.

THE MESSENGER.

The uneventful days passed slowly by, and still the great cavalcade was far from its destination, when Meher ordered his especial attendant to mount one of the swiftest Arabian horses and carry a letter to his father asking if he wished him to return.

The Persian monarch was sitting in the council hall surrounded by his counselors, and they were considering an important affair of state when a messenger was announced. He was ordered into an adjoining room to wait until King Shapur was ready to receive him, and here he could look upon the once familiar form of his sovereign.

He was astonished to see how greatly the Shāh had changed with the passing years; only three times had the seasons made their cycles, and yet the stalwart form was bent as if with age, the dark hair was already silvered and the furrows upon the weary brow told that grief and remorse were leaving their impress upon his once serene countenance. At last the word was brought that the messenger could now approach the king, but he replied that his was a secret mission, he must see his majesty alone, and after a time he was ushered into the private audience room.

He then told the king that he brought him news from Behrām, who had obtained a magnificent caravan under the pretext of finding the prince. The king listened eagerly while the messenger gave a graphic description of the pursuit and capture of Mūshteri but his brow darkened with an ominous frown as the recital continued. He had been the prey of evil advisers who cared only to flatter him for their own gain, and in the years that had gone he sadly missed the faithful advice and unfailing loyalty of his old Vizir. He often reproached himself as the indirect cause of his death, and decreed in his heart that if the banished son could be found he should be recompensed, so far as lay in his power, for all sufferings of the past. When, therefore, he learned of the persistent brutality of Behrām his anger grew almost uncontrolable. He inquired anxiously for the prince. “You bring me bad news enough;” he cried, “can you give me no knowledge of my son?” And he answered: “Oh, king, great and mighty ruler of the wide realm, I can bring thee news of the prince, for I have seen him in a foreign court.” “Where didst thou see him? What is he doing, and why does he not return to the land of his fathers?” he rapidly questioned. “He has risen, oh, king, to great eminence at the court of a foreign potentate, and he hath no need to return to thee, but his heart yearns for his native land; he cares much to spend his years near to the father whom he still loves, and he longs to take his beloved mother into his arms again. I have brought thee a letter from him,” and then he placed the document in the royal hand. “A letter!” cried the Shāh, “a letter from my son!” and he ceased to be a king, for now he was only a father, and the manly tears coursed down his cheeks as he caught the precious missive and pressed the hand of the messenger.

As soon as he could read the communication from Meher he called for writing materials, and with his own hand he penned a long and loving letter to his son, telling him that not only his home but also the Persian crown awaited his coming, urging him to return and bring with him the faithful friend who had suffered so much on account of his loyalty to the prince. Then he hastened the messenger away, that he might reach Meher at the earliest possible moment, and he himself went to bear the glad tidings to the sorrowful queen.

The next day a proclamation was issued that the heir of the throne was coming to the capital city, and orders were given to the Grand Vizir, to the chamberlains and other officers of the crown that suitable preparations be made to welcome the prince and his bride.

THE RECEPTION.

The announcement of his coming was a signal for general rejoicing; even the children loved the young heir and knew the story of fraternal affection between him and Mūshteri. The Shāh had been bitterly blamed in the hearts of his subjects, although such was the force of Oriental despotism that a man scarcely knew the thought of his neighbor. Never were the imperial orders more willingly obeyed than when the Shāh commanded a festal scene to be arranged for the reception of Meher, and never was the marble city fairer than when the coming of the royal cavalcade was announced. Silken banners waved in triumph from every wall and battlement, while strains of martial music floated through the air, and the streets were strewn with white lilies and the fragrant roses of Persia. Gilded barges on the river wore their festal flags, and bore the minstrels down the stream to the shore, where the voices of singers were mingled with the notes of lute and psaltery.

Without the city the Persian road of palms was festooned with arches of roses and strewn with the flowers of the valley, for all the way was glad with blossoms and vocal with the songs of welcome.

In the early morning a swiftly-mounted courier had been stationed on an eminence a few miles from the city, where he could see the approaching cavalcade far down the valley, and when he rode into the city with the message that the advance guard was already in sight there were loud acclamations of joy. For hours the finest horses in the royal stables had stood impatient, with tossing plumes and gorgeous trappings, waiting for the advance, and now the Shāh, with his chosen guard, rode out in royal state to meet the coming prince.

The white Arabian steeds, the costly armor of the troops and the rich raiment of the Shāh, made a gorgeous picture in the sunlight, when they swept down through the rose-covered arches and under the palms. As they rode onward a new strain of music saluted their ears, and a long line of camels came swinging slowly into view, their heads tufted with bright tassels, while their light-toned bells were shaking silvery notes upon the air, and their drivers were singing and playing on pipes. But lo! the lines were opened for a small troop of horsemen who galloped towards the Shāh, and Meher, swinging gracefully down from the saddle, came to his father’s feet.

King Shapur quickly recognized the familiar face, and hastily dismounting, he caught his son in his arms. The hardy Persian soldiers turned away from the sacred scene with tears in their eyes, but after a time Mūshteri came forward, and humbly kneeling at the monarch’s feet he craved forgiveness. The Shāh laid his hand upon the head of him who, in his childhood, had seemed almost as near as his own son, and freely gave the royal pardon; then the lines were reformed, Meher and Mūshteri riding on either side of the king, and the horses were turned toward Istakhar.

The sun was sinking behind the western mountains when the cavalcade approached the gates of the city, and the dark thickets by the roadside were vocal with the song of the nightingale; but his voice was soon hushed by the notes of martial music and the triumphant shouts of welcome that greeted their first appearance to the people who had been held back by the spears of the soldiery. Although the distant peaks still wore the crimson crowns of sunset, the side of the mountain was already dark with the gathering shades of twilight, and signal fires flashed from the gray depths of the forest or blazed upon the leafless slopes of granite beyond them. Within the city all was joyous tumult; but Meher had little heart for the general rejoicing, and scarcely waiting to be announced he hurried away to the apartments of his mother. A little later the Princess Nahīd was ushered into the rooms of the queen, and was folded closely to the warm, loving heart, so fully prepared to receive her. Little cared the mother for the wondrous beauty of the princess, but much she valued the loyal heart which had been given so fully into the keeping of her son, and from that day forth she was cherished as a loving daughter in the royal household.

The days flew by on joyous feet, but King Shapur was weary of the cares of state—weary of a life whose very pleasures were burdened with responsibility and embittered with the knowledge that treachery waited only for a favorable opportunity to show her cruel fangs. He therefore abdicated in favor of his son, and voluntarily invested Meher with the robes of sovereignty.

All the resources of the kingdom were taxed to provide for the splendors of the coronation ceremony. Again the royal procession swept through the streets, and feasts were given where the richest wines of the East were poured in jeweled cups and the tables were laden with the choicest viands from many climes. There were plantains, golden and green, and grapes of gold; there were apples and pomegranates from Kabūl, apricots from the fairest gardens of Īrān, and the sunniest fruits in all the lands of the Orient.

Again the dark face of the mountain blazed forth at night with the signal-lights of victory, the river was covered with barges bearing illuminations, and the night rivaled the day in the splendor of its offerings at the feet of the new Shāh, and Mūshteri, his Grand Vizir.