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.