“The nuptials will be celebrated at sunset,” said Kayenna to him as the wedding dinner ended, and the ladies retired to their apartments to prepare for the great festivities.
“But, Great Allah,” he exclaimed in horror, “do you know what then? Unless something happens, we are lost,—thou, I, the gentle Princess, thy daughter”—
“Have no fear, good Shacabac,” she replied smilingly: “something will happen ere thou knowest it.” Again she smiled, the smile of confidence or of fatuity, he could not tell which, and moved away in the bridal train.
And something did happen,—something not down on the programme of King or Queen, Sage or Soothsayer. As the last of the retinue disappeared behind the hangings, a trumpet-blast was heard without the court, and a messenger, who had evidently ridden in hot haste, was admitted to the royal presence.
“Your Majesty,” he said, bending low, “I bring evil news. There is trouble in Ubikwi. The great Pasha Muley Mustapha is besieged in his palace by a rebel rabble, led by a scurvy Soothsayer, and, unless help be sent to him forthwith, woe to him and his household, and to all the friends of Ubikwi!”
The King of Nhulpar, as we have said, was a warrior who loved the music of battle. The sound of clashing arms was sweet to his ears, and the savor of blood was as fragrance to his nostrils. The call to action came at an opportune moment; for the preparations of the past weeks had been a burden to his soul, which liked not the effeminate adjuncts of matrimony.
“Ha, sayst thou so?” he exclaimed. “Then, by the beard of the Prophet, thy words are welcome. I would fain see how this stripling, my son-in-law and heir to be, can bear himself in the lists of war. He seemeth over-confident in those of love, for one of such stern stuff as the King of Nhulpar should be. Here, slave, go to the apartments of the Prince of Ubikwi, and say to him that the King beseeches his company on a pleasant joust. Bid the wedding guests await our return, which may be anon or later.”
“‘I bring evil news’”
“Allah help our Kayenna now and her bantling!” exclaimed Shacabac to himself, as the warlike preparations went on. “I can but join the cavalcade, though little stomach have I for blows and blood. Nathless, I think that my head will be safer at Ubikwi than before the jaws of this battle-loving king. Verily, the sandal-maker should stick to his sandal-wood, and the man of wisdom to his preaching, leaving to fools the dangerous work of practising the same.”