Following these came interesting songs and recitations by local talent, all encored. Nor was the impatience of Shacabac relieved when a portly personage in spectacles was introduced by the presiding officer as “the far-famed and immortal Ben Haround, the Pauper Poet.”
“Truly, a tautological title,” murmured the Sage, as the bard, stepping forward, proceeded to unroll many lengths of an ode written for the occasion, or for any occasion, and respectfully dedicated to the illustrious Prince of Ubikwi. The verses, unfortunately, have not been preserved, notwithstanding that the Poet presented to Kayenna a copy beautifully woven in silk, and distributed among the throng several thousand other copies printed on a cheaper material. Ben Haround’s works had a large circulation during his lifetime; but his zeal in disseminating those gems of poesy kept him constantly poor, whence came his title of the Pauper Poet, to distinguish him from the opulent bards of other lands.
This being the first visit of the Ubikwians to Nhulpar, several youths in brazen armor, bearing tablets and writing instruments, pressed forward at this point, and, respectfully accosting the strangers, begged to be informed regarding their “impressions of the country.”
Happily, at this juncture, the King himself rode up, and averted an international quarrel by ordering the indiscreet youths to be immersed in a caldron of brine for the next twenty-four hours. Then, courteously welcoming his guests, he gave order that the feast should be spread.
The King of Nhulpar sat at the head of the banquet table. On his left sat Kayenna; beside her the lovely daughter of the King, and at her side the child whom all believed to be the son of Muley Mustapha. Shacabac was awarded a place on the opposite side of the table, next to the favorite spouse of Nhulpar, the mother of the intended bride. Women are not commonly admitted to share in the feasts of state; but exception had to be made in the case of Kayenna, and the others were allowed to keep her countenance,—a provision entirely unnecessary with her.
Shacabac vainly endeavored to catch her eye and signal a warning, when he perceived, to his dismay, that the Princess of Nhulpar was engaged in animated discourse with the potential cause of all future trouble, the Prince of Ubikwi, who, in truth, bore his assumed honors with becoming gallantry. Never, indeed, had a genuine prince carried himself with more debonair grace.
The illusion was perfect, so that even hardened, old courtiers exchanged furtive winks and nudges, as who should say, “Our coming King hath a merry way with the women, and will not lose his bride for lack of brave wooing!”
Meanwhile Kayenna and the King kept up a gay conversation. The royal mother beamed approval on the young people, and indulged in the original remark to the Sage that “Heaven made and hath matched them,” whereat Shacabac, stifling a groan, smiled a courtier’s smile and murmured assent.
After the feast there were speeches, dignified, gracious, affectionate, and not too brief; but Shacabac had broken his fast, and feared naught that fate might bring until—until it brought the worst,—discovery, discomfiture and ruin.